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“Hm,” said Mr. Gardiner.

Miss Elizabeth lowered her eyes to her teacup, but Darcy thought he detected a smile.

Thankfully the door opened before he was required to say anything more. Mrs. Gardiner entered, followed by Bingley and Miss Bennet.

“Mr. Bingley has seen his sister,” Mrs. Gardiner told her husband. “And she has informed him what she thinks of the mattress.”

“At some length, I fear,” Bingley said as he waited for the ladies to sit and then dropped into a chair. “The injury will keep her abed for a time, but she is not seriously hurt.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Darcy said.

“Mr. Hinshaw does not advise moving her,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Three miles in a carriage travelling over London streets would cause her a considerable deal of pain and could delay her recovery. He recommends that she remain with us for a fortnight before she makes the attempt.”

“A fortnight?” Bingley asked.

Darcy recalled that Miss Bennet had been ill at Netherfield, though she had returned home in less than half that time, and Miss Bingley had a large cadre of servants to do most of the work for her. Not to mention that Miss Elizabeth had taken on much of the care for their guest that would normally fall to the mistress of the house.

“That is a very great imposition upon you, madam,” Bingley said with such an eager sort of regret that Darcy felt embarrassed for him.

“It is no imposition,” Mrs. Gardiner said.

“It is, and I shall not pretend that it is not. But if the surgeon says Caroline must stay, then she must stay, and I am very much obliged to you.” He drew a deep breath. “I shall call every day.”

“You would be most welcome,” Mrs. Gardiner replied without any trace of satisfaction, only the benevolence of a woman who knows her duty.

“You must forgive me,” Bingley continued. “I have no carriage of my own in town, and my sister Louisa is unlikely to . . . well. So Darcy here will come with me. His carriage is in Grosvenor Street half the week anyway, when I am there.” He caught Darcy’s gaze and held it. “He does not mind. Do you, Darcy?”

Darcy understood at once that this was to be his penance for setting his own wishes against Bingley’s choice. He was going to be forced to supply transportation to Gracechurch Street and to witness Bingley’s courtship unfold. What Bingley did not know, and Darcy would not tell him, was that being in this house would be a torture for another reason entirely.

He could have refused. He had business of his own and no personal reason whatever to call each day upon a family in the City. But he would not say any of that aloud.

“I do not mind” was what he said instead.

Bingley nodded, satisfied.

A bell rang again somewhere down the passage.

“That will be Miss Bingley,” Mrs. Gardiner said, rising.

Miss Elizabeth rose with her. At the door, she glanced back over her shoulder. For an instant, Darcy thought she meant to say something to him, but she pressed her lips together. It was a gesture he had noticed in Hertfordshire—as though there was more she wished to say but did not feel it wise to do so.

Whatever it was, it remained unspoken. Miss Elizabeth merely followed her aunt out of the room.

Darcy might have begged off coming to Gracechurch Street every day for a fortnight. He could have devised a way to phrase it that Bingley would accept.

The problem was that—torture or no—he did not wish to.

CHAPTER 7

The handbell rang for the third time in an hour. Elizabeth put her mending down and walked into the sickroom, where Miss Bingley lay prone on the bed, her head turned towards the door.

“Where is the girl?”

“She has gone down to the kitchen to eat,” Elizabeth said. “I told her I would listen for the bell. What may I do for you?”

“The fire is out,” Miss Bingley complained.

It was not out. Elizabeth crossed to the grate, took up the poker, and moved two coals an inch to the right. “There.”