Page 5 of Penned By Mr Darcy
“What a pity we could not bring Cook down with us from London,” Caroline lamented. “Or stolen yours away fromPemberley, Mr Darcy. I am sure we would enjoy far finer meals weretheyin the kitchen.”
“Really, Caroline,” Mr Bingley said, “you are far too exacting. You are stricter than any colonel I have encountered.”
Caroline smiled tightly.
“One must rule one’s home with a fist of iron, or else face the consequences of being cheated by one’s servants. Wouldn’t you agree Mr Darcy?” Caroline asked.
“I cannot say.”
“You do not rule your household with, as Miss Bingley puts it, a fist of iron, sir?” Elizabeth asked, unable to resist the temptation to tease him. “I cannot imagine you are a lax master, for you have such exacting opinions.”
“My housekeeper, Mrs Reynolds, is a most competent and trusted overseer. And my stewards and agents have my full trust. In fact, there is little they require my assistance with.”
“You need a wife, Mr Darcy,” Mrs Hurst said. “A house as grand as Pemberley needs a mistress at the helm, not just a housekeeper.”
Mr Darcy said nothing, his jaw tight. The table fell into silence, and Lizzy was almost impressed at the influence the man had over his friends. They seemed to look to him for an example of behaviour. How strange, to admire a man who had so little to recommend him, save his fortune.
He was handsome, she supposed, stealing a glance to her right. In a cold, severe sort of way. Men who were in possession of fine looks were often too-well informed of such. It had no doubt contributed to his vanity. Men less-endowed with handsome features and pleasing looks had to cultivate other charms – perhaps that was why Mr Darcy had none.
The luncheon continued, and Lizzy put Mr Darcy out of her mind – as much as one could when sitting directly beside him. She paid no notice to the rare word he spoke, and nor did she notice that he smelled rather nice, of something clean and foreign to her senses. She paid him no mind at all.
“What a shame your sister has fallen ill, Miss Eliza,” Caroline said. “Tell me, is she prone to such bouts of illness?”
“I am pleased to say that she is not.”
“It is perhaps best she is situated here in the country. I doubt she would enjoy living in town with such weak lungs,” Caroline continued, paying Lizzy’s words no mind at all. “The air is not so clean as it is here, but it has never troubled me. London has so much to offer, if one has the constitution for it.”
“My sister has been to town on several occasions, Miss Bingley, and she enjoyed it greatly. As I say, such an illness is unusual.”
When the meal had concluded, Lizzy made her excuses to return to Jane. She ascended the stairs slowly, admiring the decorated ceilings and intricate carved banister as she took each step. She longed to explore, having spent most of her life hearing of Netherfield’s wonderful library and exquisitely appointed rooms. Perhaps Miss Bingley would consent to giving her a tour – although, Lizzy thought, Caroline would be an unnatural guide, unable to keep scorn from her voice for more than a moment or two. Elizabeth had quicky gathered that Netherfield could never measure up to all Miss Bingley had seen elsewhere.
When Lizzy reached Jane’s bedroom, she slipped inside without knocking. Jane was awake, sitting back against the pillows, coughing heavily.
“Oh, Jane! I am sorry, I should never have left you.”
“I…I am well,” Jane wheezed.
“What can I do?” Lizzy asked.
What had her mother done – or rather, what had Mrs Hill done – when they had been sick as children? Lizzy tried to remember, and recalled a time when Hill had made her inhale steam for hours upon end to ease a head cold.
“Hot water,” Lizzy said. “I will go and fetch some.”
Jane nodded.
Lizzy left the room, and stood in the corridor. The house was unfamiliar to her, and she did not know where she could find a servant. To return downstairs would draw the attention of Mr Bingley, as well as his sisters, and she did not wish to attract more scrutiny to her sister’s illness after Caroline’s comments over luncheon.
She ventured in the opposite direction of the stairs, hoping to find another staircase that would take her downstairs without notice. As she passed several doors, she did indeed find a staircase – one that was in use.
Mr Darcy was coming up the stairs, his head down as he focused on the task at hand. She said nothing, watching him in silence until he noticed her standing there. His gaze lingered on her feet for a moment, before rising to look at her.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
“Mr Darcy.”
“How is your sister?” he asked.
“She is quite unwell, I’m afraid. Forgive me for wandering the halls, but do you know where I might find the housekeeper? I would like some hot water for her to inhale.”
