Page 28 of Mr. Darcy's Christmas Letters
Elizabeth did not wish for Miss Bingley to command Mr. Darcy’s attentions. Not tonight and not any other night, either. “You did not tell me anyone was ill.”
“Another reason why you should remain upstairs today. We are trying to contain it.”
Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. She had not detected any of the usual signs of a house with illness inside. Even if the sickness was downstairs, there would have been a few maids missing as they would be needed to nurse the invalid. “Jane, has anyone else been taken ill?”
“No, not yet, but Charles says . . .”
Elizabeth arched one eyebrow. Charles said? “And how long has it been?”
“Only a few days.”
“Janie . . .”
“Lizzy.” Jane returned Elizabeth’s disbelieving stare with an expression of pure innocence. Elizabeth did not wish to insinuate that her new brother was prevaricating. And really, what purpose would there be to telling such a story?
“I would prefer you remain to rest, but if you insist, you may come downstairs. I must sit with Caroline.” Jane said, moving smoothly past Elizabeth’s pointed gaze.
“Where are the men?”
“Riding. Charles is taking Mr. Darcy out to look at a particular field that floods in the winter.”
Any desire to show herself downstairs vanished. “Hmph. Very well, if you will bring me something to read or sew or do, I will remain here. But I will absolutely be at dinner. I must witness Miss Bingley’s first look at Mr. Darcy.”
“Do not be too hard on him, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I notice you have not asked any clemency for Miss Bingley.”
“Miss Bingley’s heart is not my concern. I fear that if you are unkind to Mr. Darcy, you will only hurt yourself.”
“I promise to be kind, Jane.” She was learning that she did not wish to be anything else—not to him.
Darcy was grateful to be away from the house this morning. Though it had been cold when they left the manor house and the temperature did not seem to be rising, it gave him time away from Miss Bingley and distance to consider what he would say to Elizabeth. In the meantime, Bingley was quizzing him about what could be done for the low-lying field that appeared to flood each winter if he decided to purchase Netherfield.
Here he was on familiar ground. “You could always plant river birch trees. It would take time, but the wood could eventually bring a nice profit.”
“You would not advise draining the field?”
Darcy scanned the landscape. “You could. But it is not so large a plot that you need worry about lost crops. If you build drainage, it is one more thing to maintain and repair. And the trees would not take much tending once they were well started.” His horse pawed at the ground, tired of standing still. “It is always easier to work with nature than against it,” he said, and then led his mount into a trot in the other direction.
Bingley rubbed the back of his hand against his mouth, clearly trying not to smile.
“Bingley, what is the matter with you?”
“Nothing. Why do you ask?”
“You cannot hold a conversation without smirking at me.”
“I am doing no such thing. Smirking, indeed.”
Darcy frowned. “You are up to something. Please tell me it does not have to do with your sister. Miss Bingley, that is, not the sister you have more recently acquired.”
Bingley laughed aloud at that. “I am only amused that you, of all men, are suggesting I allow nature to take its course.”
His friend found it humorous, but Darcy was deeply chagrined. “Bingley, I . . .”
“You have already apologised, Darcy, and I have accepted. But do not make the mistake of believing I have forfeited the enjoyment of teasing you about it from time to time.”
“When I need it, I presume,” Darcy grumbled.
