Page 30 of The Wager
“Of course,” Miss Bingley replied. “As I am occupied for the moment, I give you leave to make your request directly to Mrs. Nickers.”
“Nicholls, Caroline,” Mrs. Hurst admonished, again. “The housekeeper’s name is Mrs. Nicholls.”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Miss Bingley huffed out and began to sort her cards by suit.
Elizabeth bid them all goodnight and escaped to the outer hall, whereupon she asked Matthews to advise the housekeeper that her maid required a bed for the night. She then spent the rest of the evening tending Mary, who was still a little drowsy from not only hitting her head but also from the reaction of her body to the shelled fish she had ingested.
The next morning, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hursts attended the sick room and spent a few hours with Mary, talking about music and their busy social lives in town, leaving only when they noticed she still suffered a slight headache. For the rest of the day, Elizabeth ensured her sister drank the requisite draughts and tinctures procured from Longbourn’s housekeeper until Mary declared she felt much better, expressing a desire to return home on the morrow.
“We do not need to rush back to Longbourn. I know it is only a distance of five miles, but I worry the jostling of the carriage will aggravate your head. After such a storm as we had last night, the roads are deplorable.”
“I truly wish to go home, Lizzy. I want to sleep in my bed, in my room, and I desperately need to hear the sounds of Longbourn. This house is much too quiet!”
“There is truth in that observation. I hope when Jane marries and takes over Netherfield, she quickly sets up her nursery. This draughty old place needs the sound of children’s laughter.”
“Whom do you think she will choose to help fill this nursery?” Mary asked, her eyes taking on an extra sparkle – something Elizabeth was glad to see.
“I am not certain. She enjoys the attention of both Viscount Ashton and Mr. Bingley and remains vexatiously tight-lipped about where her affections lean. Both men are handsome, intelligent, exceptional conversationalists…”
Her words trailed off as the image of another handsome gentleman intruded upon her thoughts. She and Mr. Darcy had enjoyed a few interesting conversations – more like debates if truth be told. Mary, quite oblivious to the direction her wandering mind had gone, blew out a soft sigh.
“I wonder what it is like?”
“What do you mean?” Elizabeth asked.
“To have more than one man coveting your attention.”
“I would not know,” Elizabeth said with a light laugh. “I have not had the pleasure of fending off admirers. I have not had even one!”
“You most assuredly have an admirer in Mr. Darcy.”
“Why would you say that?”
“He looks at you a lot.”
“If he does, I am certain it is only to find fault. No, he does not admire me. I am simply a familiar face in a sea of strangers.”
“Believe that if you must, but mark my words, he more than likes you. I think he is besotted.”
“Oh dear, that bump on your head has affected you more than I expected,” Elizabeth teased and lightly placed the back of her hand on Mary’s forehead. “It is making you see things that do not exist.”
Mary reached up and took Elizabeth’s hand in hers and squeezed.
“Do not run from this, Lizzy. I believe he is a good man and would make you a good husband.” She yawned and dropped her hand. “If my headache continues to recede, I would like to come downstairs for breakfast before we depart.”
“That would be lovely. I shall leave you to rest and check on you before I go to bed.”
Elizabeth leaned down and kissed Mary on the forehead, noting that her sister had already fallen asleep. She quit the room, quietly closing the door behind her, and joined the others in the drawing room whereupon she noticed Mr. Darcy had isolated himself at a small desk near the window, ostensibly to write a letter. Miss Bingley, seated as close as possible on a small settee, made several attempts to engage him in conversation. Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were at Piquet, and Mrs. Hurst dutifully observed their game.
Elizabeth, thinking she would make a detour to the library to find something to read, was delayed by the entrance of the viscount. He quickly dropped onto the seat next to her and began a friendly conversation about their mutual relatives. Theirtête-à-têtepaused at the absurdity of Miss Bingley’s pitiful attempts to capture their reticent cousin’s attention.
“You write uncommonly fast, Mr. Darcy.”
“You are mistaken. I write rather slowly.”
“Pray tell your sister that I long to see her.”
“I have already told her so once, by your desire.”
