Bingley looked at him blankly. “Miss Bennet?”
Miss Bingley made a small sound and lifted one hand to her eyes, as though troubled by a sudden ache. The gesture was too theatrical to be believed.
Darcy said nothing.
Bingley set down his cup. “What of Miss Bennet?”
Miss Bingley lowered her hand and forced a bright, unconvincing laugh. “Oh, Charles, did the servants not tell you? How very strange. They certainly should have done.”
Bingley’s expression altered. “Tell me what?”
“Only that Miss Bennet was so unfortunate as to be caught in yesterday’s rain on her way here. She felt unwell after dinner, and we insisted she remain the night. It is quite a trifling cold, I am sure.”
“You insisted she remain,” Bingley repeated. “And no one told me?”
“I did not wish to disturb you. There was nothing to be done.”
“Was the apothecary sent for?”
“Of course,” Miss Bingley said, with a touch too much impatience.
Darcy looked at her. Bingley did as well.
Miss Bingley’s color rose very slightly.
Bingley rose and crossed to the bellpull. “Then we shall send another message to Mr. Jones, for I should like to know when he may be expected.”
“Charles, truly, there is no need for such alarm. Ladies take colds. It is hardly a matter for the whole household.”
“If Miss Bennet is ill under my roof, it is very much a matter for my household.” Bingley rang the bell, then returned to his place with more firmness than Darcy had often seen in him. “Mrs. Nicholls will see to it.”
The housekeeper appeared so promptly that Darcy suspected she had been near enough to anticipate the summons. She curtsied to Mr. Bingley with perfect composure.
“Mrs. Nicholls,” Bingley said, “send at once to Mr. Jones and ask him to attend Miss Bennet as soon as may be. If a message has already been sent, send another.”
“Yes, sir,” Mrs. Nicholls replied. Her eyes flickered briefly, very briefly, toward Darcy before she added, “I shall see it done immediately.”
“Thank you. And please send someone to inquire after her. She is not alone, is she? Has she been given a breakfast tray?”
“A maid is with her, sir,” Mrs. Nicholls said reassuringly. “I will have a tray sent at once, if one has not already gone up, and that servant will return with news on her condition.”
“Thank you,” Bingley repeated gratefully.
The housekeeper nodded, bobbed a curtsy, and withdrew.
Miss Bingley’s smile had become fixed. “You are very good, Charles. Miss Bennet will be quite overcome by so much concern.”
“I hope she will be recovered,” Bingley said, which was answer enough.
Darcy lowered his eyes to his plate, both to hide his satisfaction and to avoid provoking Miss Bingley into further foolishness. He was relieved that Bingley had acted at once. His friend could be led too easily by those he loved, particularly when they spoke with confidence; but when his kindness was engaged, it had more strength than many credited.
For several minutes, breakfast proceeded with an uncomfortable quiet. Hurst ate steadily. Mrs. Hurst made twoattempts at conversation and abandoned both. Miss Bingley stirred her coffee though she had long since ceased drinking it. Bingley looked toward the door every few moments, as though expecting news of Miss Bennet to appear there by force of wishing.
Then Miss Bingley glanced toward the window and stiffened.
“Good heavens.”
The words were low, but sharp enough to turn every head at the table.
