Page 17 of Mr. Darcy and the Mysterious "Miss B"
“Unlike her aunt, Mrs Phillips. Or, I assume, her mother. I heard talk at the assembly that she was rather outspoken and given to histrionics.”
Bingley laughed. “Mrs Bennet is rather… enthusiastic from what I hear even from Jane. Not so much now, given her loss. In any case, Jane is nothing like her mother or her aunt in temperament. She is calm, thoughtful, kind. I find myself quite desperately wanting to know her better.”
“Charles—”
“I know what you are thinking,” Bingley interrupted. “That I am being hasty. That I barely know her. But I am certain.”
Before Darcy could respond, footsteps echoed in the corridor. Caroline swept into the room, her silk skirts rustling with each step.
“What a delightful evening,” she declared, though her smile seemed forced. “Though I confess myself rather exhausted by such… rustic company.”
Darcy bit back his first response. “The Miss Bennets were perfectly pleasant guests.”
“Oh, certainly. Though one does notice the difference in breeding, does one not? The younger sister especially—MissElizabeth—has such decided opinions. Quite bold for a country miss.”
“I found her conversation refreshing,” Darcy said coolly.
Caroline’s smile faltered for a moment before returning full force. “How charitable of you, Mr Darcy. Though I suppose even the most basic education appears impressive when one’s expectations are sufficiently modest.”
“Caroline,” Bingley warned.
“I merely observe that there are certain refinements of manner that come only from moving in the highest circles,” Caroline continued, positioning herself near Darcy. “One learns to moderate one’s expressions; to consider the effect of one’s words. These are skills that cannot be taught from books.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. “Are you suggesting Miss Elizabeth lacks proper breeding?”
“I would never be so ungracious. I note that country society has different standards. What passes for wit in Hertfordshire might seem rather provincial in town.”
“Then town society is the poorer for it,” Darcy replied.
Caroline blinked in surprise. “Mr Darcy, surely you cannot prefer provincial bluntness to refined elegance?”
“I prefer honesty to artifice,” he said. “And intelligence to empty flattery.”
The barb hit its mark. Caroline’s cheeks flushed, but before she could respond, a commotion erupted in the entrance hall. Raised voices, hurried footsteps, someone calling for Mr Bingley.
All three rushed towards the sound. In the entrance hall, they found Elizabeth supporting her sister Jane, who was alarmingly pale and clearly in distress. They had left a quarter of an hour ago, and to see them again—and in this condition—was alarming.
“Good God!” Bingley exclaimed, rushing forward. “Miss Bennet, what has happened?”
“I am quite well,” Jane whispered, though her grip on Elizabeth’s arm suggested otherwise. “I merely lost my footing on the stairs as we were preparing to leave.”
Elizabeth’s face was tight with worry. “She fell hard. The carriage took some while to arrive and I had gone to the paddock to pet the horse. I heard her scream and rushed back. When I reached her, she could barely stand.”
“My back,” Jane admitted, wincing as she tried to straighten. “And my ankle. I fear I may have twisted it.”
Without hesitation, Bingley swept Jane into his arms. She gasped in surprise.
“Mr Bingley, I can walk—”
“Nonsense,” he said. “You shall do no such thing. Caroline, please prepare the blue bedchamber. Mr Darcy, might you send for the town physician immediately?”
Darcy nodded and strode towards the servants’ quarters whilst Caroline hurried upstairs, muttering about the inconvenience of unexpected guests.
Within the hour, Mr Morrison, a surgeon rather than a physician, had arrived and conducted his examination. The verdict was troubling: Jane Bennet had severely bruised herback and twisted her ankle. Complete rest was essential—several days at minimum.
“She cannot be moved,” the surgeon declared. “Any jostling could worsen the injury to her back. She must remain perfectly still.”
Elizabeth’s face crumpled. “But we cannot impose upon your hospitality, Mr Bingley. Mama will be beside herself with worry.”
