“I shall.”
“Not that she is to hasten it,” he added quickly. “She must not think we wish her gone.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I shall word it very carefully.”
Miss Bingley gave a graceful little laugh. “Charles is in danger of becoming so anxious a host that Miss Bennet may begin to fear recovery would disappoint him.”
Mr. Bingley colored, but not enough to hide his pleasure at any mention of Jane. “I merely wish her comfortable.”
“She is,” Elizabeth said, and meant it. “You have all been very kind.”
Miss Bingley’s expression softened a little, as it had upstairs. “Your sister makes kindness very easy, Miss Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth was surprised into silence for half a moment. “Yes,” she said at last. “She does.”
“Idohope she will be well enough soon to perhaps join us for a short time,” Bingley said.
“I believe she will, provided she obeys Mr. Jones and does not attempt to persuade everyone she may go home tomorrow.”
“I shall command the carriage horses to be unavailable,” Bingley said with a laugh.
For a time, conversation moved harmlessly enough through the weather, the state of the roads, the possibility of Jane being moved in a few days, and Mr. Bingley’s growing acquaintance with the neighborhood and familiarity with Netherfield.
“Netherfield is adequate, of course,” Miss Bingley said, “but some of the household arrangements are a bit curious. We are not in town, however, and one cannot expect London polish in servants who do not regularly accompany their masters to town.”
“Nor do they need to,” Darcy said. “The Pemberley housekeeper scarcely goes to London, but I have found that polish is sometimes less valuable than judgment.”
Elizabeth looked at him then, and the warmth in her eyes was so swift and private that Darcy’s breath caught. She knew he spoke not only of servants and their duties. Somehow, she knew about the small conspiracy of Mrs. Nicholls informing Bates, Bates informing Darcy, Darcy informing Bingley about Miss Bennet’s illness the first morning she was there.
It was another shared thing between them, not spoken aloud but present all the same.
Miss Bingley did not miss the glance. Her posture straightened. “I confess,” she said, with sudden brightness, “that I admire ladies who can make themselves useful in so many ways. Nursing, walking, estate matters, housekeeper consultations—Miss Elizabeth, you put us all quite to shame.”
Bingley looked uneasy. Mrs. Hurst looked down at her plate. Hurst ate.
Elizabeth lifted her glass and took a small sip before answering. “Then I must hope the shame is temporary, Miss Bingley. I would not wish to create lasting discomfort.”
Darcy pressed his lips together.
Bingley coughed into his napkin.
Miss Bingley’s smile tightened. “I only meant that your talents are so very practical. In London, true female accomplishment requires a more elevated cultivation. Music, languages, drawing, a graceful manner, a well-informed mind, and extensive reading. Such things fit a lady for elegant society.”
“Do they?” Elizabeth asked.
“Surely.”
“Then I must be grateful I have so little elegant society to fit myself for. It saves a great deal of labor.”
Bingley grinned. “Come, Miss Elizabeth, you read very well. Darcy would not have emerged from the library this morning with one of your recommended books if your taste were suspect.”
Miss Bingley turned to Darcy. “A recommended book?”
Darcy inwardly cursed Bingley’s cheerful innocence.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “Miss Elizabeth was kind enough to suggest a volume of essays.”
“How studious you both were before breakfast.”
