The door opened again. “Dinner is served,” Graham said.
Darcy stood to allow the servants to set up a table next to the bed. Graham came in with a tray that had small legs attached to it at an angle and placed it over Bingley’s lap.
“That is a clever contraption,” Darcy said.
“Mr. Bennet made it for his mother some years ago when she was poorly,” Mr. Graham said. “He sent a maid to the attics for it this morning. Not his design, he says, and not much in use, but valuable for circumstances such as this.”
Darcy admired the tray nearly as much as the thoughtfulness which must have prompted Mr. Bennet to have it retrieved. It would preserve Bingley’s dignity by allowing him to eat his soup unaided.
When the second course was served to them, Darcy noted that Bingley’s meat had already been cut for him, much as it would be for a child. While Bingley was a tad embarrassed by his infirmity, it would have been a great deal worse to have a servant cut the meat while Bingley waited. That would have been difficult to abide.
Again, he was almost ashamed of his previous thoughts about this family. For all their faults, there was more true gentility in their household than there had been at Netherfield.
After dinner, Darcy asked, “Can I do aught else for you, Bingley?”
His friend nodded. “Go write your note, then relay my gratitude to the Bennets. I have put them out a great deal today, and yet no one has been anything but kind and helpful.”
“I will,” Darcy said.
Chapter Four
Elizabethheardaheavytread descending the stairs even before Mr. Darcy appeared in the open doorway to the sitting room. Kitty and Lydia were giggling over a novel in one corner, and Mary was sorting through her music. None of them so much as glanced up. Jane was working on a letter to their aunt, and had her back to the door, and Mamma was fussing over . . . a magazine. Perhaps a fashion plate? Poor Mr. Darcy, to be so ignored. She waited a moment as he stood uncomfortably, waiting to be noticed. It was rather endearing, for his expression was uncertain, and his feet were half out of the house slippers Mr. Gardiner sometimes used when he visited. She did not keep him waiting long before she offered him a greeting. “Good evening, Mr. Darcy.”
Mamma looked up and waved her handkerchief at him as she stood. “How do you find Mr. Bingley, sir? We are all very concerned for him. He is nearly a member of the family, you know.”
Jane’s shoulders tensed before she placed her pen down to greet Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth tried to fight back the blush that threatened to turn her as red as a summer sunset, but the heat in her cheeks warned her that she had failed. Fortunately, Mr. Darcy answered her mother with perfect civility.
“He is not himself, madam, but thanks to your daughters and the diligent care he has received, he will mend. Bingley is a hearty sort of fellow. I do not doubt his recovery will be swift.”
He actually sounded thankful. Not that Elizabeth should wonder at that, for she knew they were great friends.
“Oh yes, my Jane was ever so clever to find that wagon and bring him here,” Mrs. Bennet crowed.
Elizabeth would not roll her eyes at her mother, but she did wish to. All day she had been alternately the target of her mother’s ire and utterly ignored by her whilst Jane’s heroic efforts on Mr. Bingley’s behalf were exclaimed to everyone who would listen. It had been enough to propel her out into the cold again to make certain the residents at Netherfield knew that their friend and brother was safe. It was for his benefit, of course, but for hers as well, for she had been developing a monstrous headache. “Will you not sit with us, sir?”
Mr. Darcy glanced about, probably hoping to find Papa nearby, but after a moment, found a chair and sat down.
“It is already so late, you must stay with us tonight, Mr. Darcy. I cannot think of you riding back to Netherfield with it being so cold. Even Mr. Collins has chosen to remain at Lucas Lodge for the night. They invited him to dine, you see.” She glared at Miss Elizabeth.
Mr. Darcy glanced at Elizabeth. He appeared perplexed, but Mamma kept speaking.
“What if your horse were to slip on the ice as Mr. Bingley’s has? What should we do then?”
“Mamma,” Jane said softly, “Mr. Darcy is here to assist his friend. We must allow him to decide whether or not he wishes to remain.”
“I thank you, Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy replied with a warmth he had not displayed before.
Elizabeth pressed her lips together. She did not want Mr. Darcy to be a good man, as Mr. Bingley had insisted he was. She did not want him to be loyal. She wanted to believe he was rude and arrogant. That way, she would not have to care about his insult to her looks and her negligible value in his eyes.
She had never believed herself either as pretty or as good as Jane. That, in her opinion, was not possible for anyone. But she was vain enough to believe herself rather prettier than the average young lady and it had been a blow to hear that her own assessment was not shared by a man she had at first thought very handsome.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said at last, glancing at her younger sisters who had not bothered to greet him, “would you prefer to remain here tonight?” They had assumed Mr. Bingley’s sisters would wish to spend the night here tending to him and had made preparations to receive them.
Mr. Darcy’s expression relaxed. “I should like that very much, Miss Elizabeth. Bingley is never out of sorts for long. Seeing him in such a condition . . . well, I should like to offer whatever help I am able.”
Whatever else he was, Mr. Darcy was a loyal friend, just as Mr. Bingley had said. She wondered a bit about Mr. Wickham, whose story had conveniently supported her ill opinion of Mr. Darcy. The lieutenant was very handsome too, and had praised her, but somehow, she had a difficult time seeing him visiting a friend in his sickroom. Why was that?
Elizabeth glanced up as her mother stood and left the room. At the last moment, Mamma turned her head and glared back at her.