“Mmph,” he agreed and leaned back, staring up at the sky.
When Mr. Bingley closed his eyes, she rubbed her arms vigorously before admonishing him. “Do not fall asleep again, Mr. Bingley.” She reached over to tuck the cloak around him more tightly.
His eyelids cracked open. “’Sss cold.”
It certainly was. “It is, but we will soon put you to rights,” Elizabeth assured him. “Were you riding to London alone? I am surprised Mr. Darcy did not wish to accompany you.”
A ghost of a smile graced his face. “Sisters will stay . . . if Darcy does.” He grunted. “Just a . . . few days.”
Elizabeth laughed softly. “Does Mr. Darcyknowyou will be gone?”
When Mr. Bingley wheezed a small laugh, she was pleased with her success. “Yes,” he said softly, still drowsy, “I would not. Abandon him. He has enough of . . . that.”
Elizabeth very much wished to ask what Mr. Bingley meant, but it would be impolite at the best of times.
“Well, he is fortunate to have such a thoughtful friend in you,” she declared, and was pleased to see that Mr. Bingley’s cheeks were beginning to gain a bit of colour.
“Darcy . . . is . . . most thoughtful . . . man of . . . my acquaintance.” He closed his eyes entirely again. “Too proud. But . . . good man.”
Elizabeth changed the subject. “My sisters and I had a wonderful time at your ball last night. I believe Jane had the most charming partners.”
He did not smile, but he did speak again. “Your sister is an angel,” he declared in a burst of energy. He said no more, but he did not close his eyes. He merely held himself very still.
“It will not be long now, Mr. Bingley,” Elizabeth said reassuringly as she stood to glance down the road and heard the rattling of a wagon. It was not possible that Jane could have returned from Longbourn in so short a time. Yet there she was, emerging from the curve of the road on Mr. Bingley’s horse and followed by a wagon carrying several large men. Elizabeth waved her arms in the air and then crouched down next to the shivering Mr. Bingley.
“It appears as though my clever sister was able to find someone from Meryton willing to assist us,” Elizabeth said with a smile. “It has saved us a great deal of time. We shall have you at Longbourn very soon, Mr. Bingley.”
Chapter Two
Elizabethshutthedooragainst her mother’s lamentations. Perhaps it had not been a mercy to Mr. Bingley to bring him to Longbourn first. She was grateful that he was being seen to by Papa and his valet while they awaited Mr. Jones, but it had been a harrowing morning, and she was exhausted. Jane was beside herself in a calm, rational sort of way, but as Mrs. Bennet could not see Elizabeth without bursting into tears and tirades, Jane was now forced to take care of their mother. Mrs. Bennet was sure that Mr. Bingley was about to die. Apparently, her mother’s nerves were Elizabeth’s fault, for if only she had accepted Mr. Collins . . .
Elizabeth sighed and tried to warm her hands by the fire. The men from the blacksmith shop had arrived in great haste, but they had not brought more than the one blanket they had used to lift Mr. Bingley into the cart, and under him it remained. She had perched herself on the seat of the cart without her cloak and was quite frozen through on her return.
Before Elizabeth could repair downstairs for some warm food and drink, however, she intended to send a note to Netherfield. For that, she required solitude.
She was grateful that other than Mamma, she was able to find it, for Mr. Collins had not been here to greet them when they returned with Mr. Bingley. Charlotte Lucas had come to see her and, according to Mamma, stolen the heir to Longbourn away with an invitation to spend the day at Lucas Lodge.
She mended the pen that Lydia had left out and settled in to write. The day was already wearing on, and though the weather was not warming, Mr. Bingley’s sisters would certainly wish to venture the three miles to offer him whatever succour they were able. She supposed his guest would feel obliged to attend him as well. Elizabeth sighed and blew on her hands. Having Mr. Darcy in the house would be a trial for her, but she would withstand his presence for Jane and Mr. Bingley’s sakes.
One day, it might be amusing to tell the story. Jane had fallen ill at Netherfield and now Mr. Bingley was injured and here at Longbourn. Well, perhaps it was a story that would entertain their children. For though she did not believe Mr. Bingley’s injuries to be severe, had he remained out in the elements an hour or two longer, he might have been in some danger. It was one of those tales that would become more romantic the farther one was removed from the events.
Still, Elizabeth mused, there had been a divine hand in Mr. Collins’s proposal after all. Had it not been so entirely dreadful in every particular and had Elizabeth not been so furious at his unwillingness to accept her polite and repeated refusals, she would not have fled out of doors on such a day—or at least, she would not have walked so far. And had she not been so very angry, she would not have left so unprepared, and Jane would not have been required to join her so that she might have her cloak. They had both been required to come to Mr. Bingley’s relief. Elizabeth had spotted him and spurred Jane to action; Jane had amended Elizabeth’s plan and made it better.
If Mr. Bingley’s declaration that Jane was an angel was anything to go by, she would lose her nearest sister and best friend sometime soon. It was not something she wished to contemplate, though she had known long before Mr. Bingley’s arrival in the neighbourhood that the parting was inevitable. If it were not Mr. Bingley, it would be another man who saw Jane for the splendid woman that she was and marry her as soon as he could gain her consent.
When Elizabeth had finished the short missive and written Miss Bingley’s name across the front in her best hand, she sealed it and called for Hannah to take it to Mr. Whaling, the blacksmith who had assisted them with the wagon. He and his men were currently in the kitchens, being offered hot coffee and something to eat. He could take the note as far as Meryton, and one of his sons would carry it on to Netherfield.
With the missive completed, Elizabeth carefully stepped out of the room and down the steps in search of Mrs. Hill and tea. After a day such as this one, she was certain she deserved it.
Although it was growing quite late, Fitzwilliam Darcy was almost afraid to step out of his bedchamber. Bingley had already departed for London—he had never understood how his younger friend functioned so well on only a few hours of sleep. Darcy was generally up early, even when in town, but he did require a full night’s rest to perform at his best. However, he was glad of one thing. If Bingley was able to begin his business today, he would be returning to Netherfield that much sooner, meaning that Darcy should not be required to spend much time with Miss Bingley hanging on his every word. Hurst had sworn he would not drink himself into oblivion for the short time Bingley was required to be away—but the windows were painted with frost, and he suspected there would be no easy way to escape the company of the ladies. He wondered how cold it was in Derbyshire, and how his younger sister Georgiana was faring in London with Mrs. Annesley.
When he entered the breakfast room, the food was still hot, and Miss Bingley was tossing something in the fire. It appeared to be a note, but he did not bother to ask why she was burning it. It was her own correspondence. If she wished to burn it, she might.
“What do you think, Mr. Darcy?” she asked when she saw him enter, her lips pressed together and drawn thin. “A note from Miss Elizabeth the very morning after the ball. What must we do for the Bennets now?” She and Mrs. Hurst wore matching expressions of offense.
“I cannot imagine Miss Elizabeth Bennet would make any demands upon you.” Her mother would. The youngest sister already had. But neither Miss Bennet nor Miss Elizabeth was cut from the same cloth as the rest of their family.
“I suppose not,” Miss Bingley said, though she could not entirely mask her displeasure at his sentiment.