Page 6 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“I daresay you will find her in the servant’s quarters.”
“I presumed as much,” Lizzy snapped before she could hold in the words. “But as I am unfamiliar with Netherfield, I do not know where they are located. Thank you for your assistance, Mr Darcy.”
“I will ask my valet to liaise with her on your behalf. You may return to your sister, stay by her side. My sister is susceptible to colds, and he is familiar with the treatments our family doctor prescribes.”
Lizzy blinked with surprise; she had not expected his help to be so forthcoming, or so very practical.
“I would be very grateful for any assistance. I do not have much experience as a nursemaid.”
“Your sister is fortunate to have such attentive family. Return to her, Miss Elizabeth, and I will see that you receive all that you need.”
“Thank you.”
He acknowledged her thanks with nothing more than a nod, before turning from her and walking away down the corridor. Lizzy stared after him; the encounter had been so strange it did not feel real, and she returned to Jane’s room as he had instructed in a daze.
Chapter Two
Darcy
There were few things more disagreeable to Mr Darcy than the arrival of houseguests. Unexpected ones, especially, were a particular nuisance.
Upon waking that morning and learning that the eldest Bennet daughter had taken ill under Bingley’s roof, his initial thought, rather uncharitably, was that it must have been a scheme devised by Mrs Bennet to entrench her daughter further into Bingley’s affections. A more scandalous suspicion followed, one he would never admit aloud: that Miss Bennet had contrived her visit and illness in order to place herself in a position where she might find herself compromised
After the physician’s visit, he had been forced to review his assumptions. The young woman was genuinely and alarmingly unwell. Darcy had seen her himself – face as pale as bone, unable to sit upright, wracked by a cough that echoed down the corridor like the rattle of a death knell.
And now her sister had come to tend to her.
Elizabeth Bennet. Something about her presence gnawed at him, though he could not put his finger on the precise reason why. Hecould not bear to look at her for any great length of time; and yet he noticed her constantly. Her voice– bright and unfiltered – provoked the most unwelcome sensations within him. Her eyes were enchanting, her wit so expertly aimed that he could not even be insulted when it was aimed at him. He wished for her attention, however unwelcome.
She had not even been a guest for three hours, and he found himself deeply unsettled.
He exhaled sharply as he made his way toward his chamber, determined to rid his mind of her entirely. He found his valet, Smith, folding linen with his usual military precision.
“Good afternoon, Sir,” Smith said with a quick bow. “I was not expecting you ‘til dinner.”
“I need you to speak to Mr Bingley’s staff. Instruct them to prepare the treatment Miss Darcy uses when she has a cough, the one with rosemary, for Miss Bennet. I have told her sister you will see to it.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Thank you.”
When Smith had gone, Darcy remained motionless for a moment. Then, almost absently, he reached beneath his pillow and drew out the small leather-bound diary he had hidden there that morning. It was a poor hiding place, but he had no fear that Smith would ever read his words, or that anyone else would be as bold as to enter his bedroom.
He descended the stairs with measured steps, turning down the quieter corridor that led to the one place in Netherfield where he knew he might find solitude. Caroline seldom entered the library, (having little enough interest in books) and when shedid, she had quickly learned to retreat when he failed to rise to conversation.
The room was as he preferred it: cool, quiet, sunlit from the western windows. He moved to the writing desk, unfastened the journal’s clasp, and turned to a blank page. He dipped his quill into ink, held it over the paper.
He had kept a diary since he could first write; an outlet for the inner workings of his mind. As a child, the scribblings had been minimal. ‘Rode a horse today’ or ‘ate mutton’. As he had grown, the diary had become a channel for the thoughts he struggled to voice. In the privacy of these pages, he was never shy, never reserved. He could speak his mind freely without the awkwardness or restraint. If he used a wrong word, or his tongue was too sharp, there was nobody to take offence, or to mock.
The nib of the quill rested uselessly against the paper, a blotch of ink spreading until he snatched his hand away. No words would come to him.; an unusual occurrence, for usually his hand could scarcely move fast enough to meet the rapid progression of his thoughts.
He knew the cause of such a disturbance.
Elizabeth Bennet.
He set down the pen, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.
He could leave. Return to Pemberley and get away from Hertfordshire. He had no reason to stay. He had no pressing obligation to Bingley, nor had he promised to stay for any set period of time. But, the truth of the matter was that Bingley needed some protection from his own impulses. Left unchecked, the man would propose to Miss Bennet that very evening if he could. He was bewitched, lovestruck and had taken complete leave of his senses.
