“She ought not be exposed to the weather.”
“She was exposed to more in coming here, and that was not by choice.”
Bingley faltered, pained by the reminder. “Still, I cannot like it.”
“Nor can I,” Darcy said before caution could restrain him.
Elizabeth turned to him, and the guarded composure in her expression chilled him.
“If it were my sister,” he continued, more quietly, “I should hesitate to remove her so soon after fever.”
“But she is not your sister,” Elizabeth said. “She is mine.”
The room fell silent.
Darcy felt the blow as surely as if she had struck him. Not because the words were unjust. They were perfectly just. Jane was Elizabeth’s sister, Elizabeth’s care, Elizabeth’s right. He had no claim to advise, not after withdrawing every sign of friendship the moment she had begun to trust him.
Jane leaned slightly toward Elizabeth and whispered something too soft for Darcy to hear.
Elizabeth shook her head once, almost imperceptibly, but her hand found Jane’s beneath the table.
Miss Bingley, who had been remarkably silent through the first part of the exchange, now folded her hands and smiled with exquisite mildness. “I am sure Miss Elizabeth must know whatis best for her sister. It would be cruel to keep Miss Bennet from home if she is so desirous to return there.”
The words were sweetly spoken and poisonous beneath the sugar. Darcy saw Bingley’s face change, the doubt striking exactly where Miss Bingley intended it. Did Jane wish to leave? Was his house oppressive to her? Had his attentions become a burden?
Jane saw it too.
She straightened a little, though the effort cost her. “Indeed, I am very grateful for every kindness I have received here. I could not have been better cared for, nor more generously treated.” Her eyes moved to Bingley, and a delicate flush touched her cheeks. “I shall remember it with great pleasure. But I do not wish to burden our friends any longer, nor to keep Lizzy from home when she has already done so much for me. If the carriage may be spared, Mr. Bingley, I would be grateful for it.”
Bingley looked at her as if she had asked for his estate and he would have given it gladly, though with a broken heart. “Of course. If you truly wish it, I cannot refuse you.”
“I think it best,” Jane said softly.
He turned at once and rang the bell. When the servant appeared, Bingley ordered the carriage to be made ready, then added that hot bricks, extra blankets, and every possible comfort were to be provided. His voice was too cheerful by half.
“You will need time to pack,” he said, turning back to them. “There is no hurry. Pray do not hurry.”
Elizabeth’s answer was calm. “Thank you, but Susie has already begun to gather our things.”
Darcy looked at her again.
Already.
She had not asked on impulse. She had decided before she came down. Perhaps in the night. Perhaps while he had beenlying awake, blaming himself for hurting her, she had been arranging the only escape propriety allowed.
Jane glanced at Elizabeth, then softened the firmness of her sister’s words with a small smile. “But while we wait, we would be very happy for your company.”
Bingley brightened a little at that. Miss Bingley looked less pleased. Mrs. Hurst murmured something civil, and Hurst asked whether there would still be ham.
Darcy said nothing.
He could not.
He sat through the remainder of breakfast with a numbness settling through him, cold and heavy. The magnitude of what he had done unfolded not all at once but in cruel increments. He had feared loving Elizabeth because it might make him fail in duty. To prevent that, he had treated her with such distance that she had determined to leave the house where he might have repaired the harm. He had imagined sacrifice in grand terms—fortune, family, estate, future—and had not recognized the smaller, meaner sacrifice he was making in the present moment: kindness withheld, trust wounded, hope extinguished before it had been allowed to breathe.
After breakfast, the party moved to the drawing room while the carriage was prepared and the trunks brought down. Jane sat near the fire again, with Bingley beside her, speaking in low tones that Darcy did not attempt to overhear. Elizabeth remained near her sister, answering when addressed and smiling when civility required it. She did not look at Darcy.
He deserved that too.
