Page 33 of To Love And To Cherish
“Why are you here?” he asked. “It is discourteous to leave the drawing room unless you are truly unwell.”
Georgiana squared her shoulders. “Miss Bingley insulted Elizabeth’s hair, her figure, and her eyes. Elizabeth left, and I did not think she should be alone while her sister lay abed. We came here to read. I think… Miss Bingley hoped to have you all to herself.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Then she must now bear the solitude she desired.”
He approached the fire and reached for the book. “I see your taste in literature has not improved, Georgiana. I have never readUdolpho. I suppose I may as well discover what all the fuss is about. Hand it over.”
Georgiana obeyed, and he began to read aloud. His rich baritone voice gave the Gothic prose a new elegance.
Fifteen minutes passed before Charles appeared in the doorway. “Darcy! I thought you meant only to check on your sister. Caroline sent me to look for you.”
Darcy did not glance up. “Caroline insulted Miss Elizabeth repeatedly, in the hope of driving her from the room. When she succeeded, Georgiana chose to keep Miss Elizabeth company. I happened upon them and thought I’d learn what made this novel so absorbing. To my surprise, it is quite engaging.”
Bingley laughed. “Well, pour me a brandy and read on. I’ll not let you enjoy it without me.”
“Help yourself,” Darcy muttered, grinning. “If I start drinking, I shall end up in my cups, and Miss Elizabeth will censure me for poor conduct.”
Elizabeth, startled by his teasing, turned toward him with raised brows.
Perhaps he was already in his cups. That could be the only explanation for his good humor.
He grinned at her, and, unable to help herself, she returned the smile. Whatever discord had lingered in the drawing room, the library had become a haven.
A quarter hour later, Elizabeth rose. “I must look in on Jane. She hadn’t touched her supper tray; perhaps I can persuade her to eat something now.”
Darcy and Bingley both stood. Darcy said, “Charles, we ought to rejoin the others before your sister comes searching for us.”
Later that evening, a gentle stir at the door announced Jane’s entrance, supported by Elizabeth and looking rather pale but bright-eyed. Mr. Bingley rose at once and stepped forward, his face lighting with relief and admiration. He moved quickly to rearrange the seating, drawing a chair nearer the hearth.
“Miss Bennet, allow me,” he said with warm concern, offering his hand to steady her. “You must not sit too far from the fire. It is very comfortable here.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jane replied softly, her smile faint but sincere as she accepted his arm and seated herself with quiet elegance.
Bingley took the chair beside her, scarcely able to believe his good fortune. She was not only the loveliest woman he had ever seen, but her fair skin, golden curls, and gentle bearing stirred something tender in his chest, and there was a sweetness in her countenance, a serenity of spirit that soothed him in ways he could not name. After years of Caroline’s sharp tones and constant manipulation, Jane’s mild voice and tranquil manner felt like a balm. She was no artifice. No calculation. She was good, steady, and kind.
“I hope your rest this afternoon was of some benefit,” he said gently.
“It was, thank you. I slept for several hours,” Jane replied. “The warmth and quiet were just what I needed.”
He smiled. “It does one good to rest and recover.”
She blushed faintly and lowered her gaze. “Thank you, Mr. Bingley, for your hospitality to my sister and me. We have quite imposed upon you with this sudden illness. I do beg your pardon.”
“On the contrary,” he said softly, “it has been my honor to serve you in whatever small way I might. Please do not imagine yourself a burden. It has been nothing but a pleasure to know you are under my roof.”
Jane glanced at him in surprise, her smile blooming wider. “You are very kind.”
Bingley felt a pleasant heat rise to his collar, but pressed on, eager to draw her out. “If I may ask, how do you pass your days when not entertaining a drawing room full of admirers?”
Jane laughed, a quiet, musical sound. “I sew for the parish children, in company with my sisters, and I work in the garden whenever the weather permits. My mother would prefer more social engagements, but I am happiest with a needle or working in the garden.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “I should like to see that garden someday. I imagine it is as peaceful as its mistress.”
Her eyes softened. “It is my refuge, when I need time to think.”
He found himself leaning toward her, drawn in by the calm she exuded. “And what do you think about, Miss Bennet, when you walk among the roses?”
She hesitated, then answered honestly. “Of my sisters. Of their futures. I think of my father, and how I might help ease his cares. And I wonder,” her voice faltered, “what life might be like beyond Longbourn.”
