A small smile touched her mouth, but it faded almost at once. The strain of the day remained plain in her face, and Darcy suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and share just a little of her burden. "I am very sorry Miss Bennet is unwell," he said. "And I hope you will believe that I mean it, though I have given you little reason to think well of anything I say."
Elizabeth's gaze lifted to his and he paused, caught by the pleasure of her looking at him with something other than distaste. Darcy forced himself to continue. "I have thought often of what passed at the assembly. My apology was hurried, and I do not believe I said what I ought to have said. The remark was unkind, and the fact that I believed you could not hear it onlymakes it worse. You had every right to be angry with me. You must know, you must know, that I did not mean any of it."
For several moments, she said nothing. Her fingers tightened slightly around the knob, and when she looked away he feared he had only added to her distress. At last she drew a slow breath. "It did wound me," she said, "but I knew even then that you were ashamed of it."
"I was more than ashamed. I was horrified. You are… you are anything but…"
She looked back at him, and the steadiness of her expression faltered. Her eyes shone suddenly, though whether from exhaustion or fear for her sister he could not tell.
Darcy took one instinctive step towards her before stopping himself. "Forgive me. This is not the time to burden you with my regret."
"No," she said, her voice unsteady. "It is not that. I am only tired, and I have been so worried." She looked down at the floor, blinking quickly. "Her fever has eased, and I know I ought to be grateful for that, but I cannot seem to stop imagining how much worse it could have been."
"She is improving," Darcy said gently. "She has eaten, her fever has fallen and she is resting peacefully. Those are all substantial reasons for hope."
Elizabeth nodded, though her eyes still shone. "Yes. They are." At the assembly she had faced humiliation with her head high and her eyes blazing, but this quiet distress affected him far more deeply. The urge to reach for her came with such force that he clasped his hands behind his back.
"I wish there were something more I could do."
She looked at him then, and the warmth in her expression caught him entirely unprepared. "You have been very kind."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Elizabeth drew a steadying breath and glanced towards the room behind her. "I should return to Jane before dinner."
"Of course."
She opened the door, but paused before stepping inside. "I shall see you downstairs, Mr Darcy."
Darcy inclined his head. "Miss Elizabeth."
The door closed softly behind her. He remained upon the landing for several seconds, staring at the place where she had stood, then turned towards the stairs with the uncomfortable knowledge that dinner would offer him no refuge from her at all. She was not for him. Her family was unsuitable, her connections offered nothing and a marriage between them would bring no advantage to Pemberley.
He could summon and classify every objection easily when she was absent. The moment she stood before him, with those bright eyes filled with intelligence and kindness and those perfect expressive lips curved in a smile, they lost their force. Her nearness unsettled every careful resolution he made. If she was wrong for him, it was becoming increasingly difficult to remember why.
Chapter Eleven
Elizabeth, October 1811, Netherfield, Hertfordshire
Elizabeth sat in the small family parlour in her own gown and felt more herself than she had all day. Her trunk had arrived from Longbourn shortly before she dressed. The sage green muslin was not especially fashionable or fine, but the familiar weight of it upon her shoulders brought an unexpected sense of relief. After a day spent in borrowed clothes and moving through unfamiliar rooms, there was comfort in recognising herself in the glass.
Across the room, Miss Bingley appeared to have dressed with the opposite intention. Her gown was a violent shade of yellow, covered with black embroidery that crawled across the silk like an invasion of beetles, while an enormous turban had been wound around her dark hair and decorated with three upright feathers. It made her tall frame even more imposing, and the entire arrangement suggested a foreign dignitary had taken a wrong turn on the way to a coronation.
Elizabeth had tried not to stare when Miss Bingley entered the room before dinner, but the turban made discretion almostimpossible. Miss Bingley had caught her looking and given a faint sniff. "It is the very latest fashion from London, Miss Eliza. Please do not worry that your own gown is so plain."
Elizabeth allowed her gaze to travel once more over the towering arrangement. "It is quite an astonishing feat of dressmaking."
Miss Bingley looked like she was about to laugh, but instead sniffed again and lifted her chin. Elizabeth still did not know what to make of the woman. She seemed to move between fierce kindness and outright insult without rhyme or reason. She had spent half the day attending Jane with genuine concern, then swept into Elizabeth's room before dinner, declared that she would reduce her already limited chances of finding a husband if she grew any scrawnier and ordered her downstairs like a disobedient child.
Elizabeth had wanted to remain with her sister and would have been perfectly content with a tray, but Jane was sleeping and Miss Bingley had spoken with such force that she thought it was best to keep the peace and show her face downstairs.
That peace lasted only until everyone entered the dining room and began to sit. Mr Hurst had already claimed the chair nearest to the large decanter, while Mrs Hurst settled beside him and Mr Bingley took the place with the clearest view of the door. Elizabeth had just begun to lower herself into one of theremaining chairs when Miss Bingley looked around the table, frowned and began to wave her hands in agitation.
"No, no. This will not do at all. Up, everyone. Up, up, up."
Mr Hurst stopped halfway into his chair and stared at her. Mr Darcy, who had already unfolded his napkin, looked down at it for a moment before placing it back upon the table with great care.
Charles did not move. He looked instead at his sister with a weary eye. "This was meant to be a quiet family dinner," he said. "You have arrived dressed like the Sultan of Arabia and now mean to manage the entire company like we are children at a picnic. Caro, can you please let us sit down and eat."
Mr Darcy rose at last. "I confess I had also thought the seating arrangement complete."
