Page 75 of The Same Noble Line
Fitzwilliam bowed. “I shall. Good day, and thank you again, Miss Bennet.”
As Elizabeth returned to the carriage, her thoughts remained clouded with worry. She had done what she could, but the sense of unease lingered. Whatever had unsettled Mr. Darcy, she was sure it was no mere cold. Yet she could do no more until he chose to confide in her, and he could not do that until he was well.
As the carriage rolled away from Netherfield, Elizabeth gazed out at the frost-dappled fields, her heart heavy with unansweredquestions. She could only hope that her gesture, however small, might bring him some measure of comfort.
“What are you doing, Lizzy?” Lydia asked from her seat, where she lounged with a piece of lace in hand. “You look as though you expect a ghost to appear at any moment.”
Elizabeth forced a smile. “I am merely thinking.”
“Thinking about Mr. Darcy, I warrant,” Lydia said slyly. “He has not visited for days, has he? Perhaps he has changed his mind.”
Elizabeth ignored her sister’s gibe and turned back to the window. The hedgerows beyond were bare, their skeletal branches outlined against the pale sky. The sight only deepened her unease. “He is ill, Lydia.”
Her mother’s voice began to rise to a higher pitch. “Oh, what shall become of us if your father remains unwell? I shall be forced to beg assistance from your sister Jane. How dreadful it will be to live at the mercy of others!”
Elizabeth closed her eyes briefly, her patience fraying. “Mamma, Jane is your daughter, not a stranger.”
Lydia nodded. “Indeed, Mamma, Jane is Mrs. Bingley now, and they have so much money! You have no need to worry about the hedgerows so long as she has a roof to offer us.”
Mrs. Bennet sniffed but seemed mollified. She poured a cup of tea. “I shall take this to your father. He will recover sooner if I tend to him myself.”
Elizabeth watched her mother leave the room, her gait more purposeful than before, and let out a small sigh of relief. At least her mother had found some direction for her energy. And Papa probably would improve more quickly if only so that he would beleft alone. She smiled. He would never admit it, but she knew he enjoyed having Mamma cosset him.
“You are very dull, Lizzy,” Lydia declared after less than a minute. “I am going to find Kitty.”
She barely noticed Lydia’s departure. Her thoughts returned to Netherfield, replaying every detail of her short visit. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s words, polite but evasive, had done little to ease her concerns. Mr. Darcy’s illness was troubling enough, but the distress she had witnessed haunted her. What burden weighed so heavily upon him that even his formidable composure had faltered? She stared out the window.
The frost outside had thickened, giving the fields a crystalline beauty that Elizabeth might have admired under different circumstances. Now, they only seemed bleak and unyielding, much like the walls Mr. Darcy had built around himself. She longed to understand, to help, but how could she if he would not allow it?
Was this what it would be like to be married to him? Would she forever be on the outside looking in?
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of her father’s cough from upstairs, faint but persistent. Elizabeth straightened her shoulders. There was no use dwelling on what she could not control. Mr. Darcy was in good hands, and her father needed her here.
She turned from the window and made her way back to the stillroom. The faint scent of dried herbs greeted her, a reminder of the practical care she could offer. With steady hands, she measured out another dose of the horehound syrup that had soothed her father’s cough the night before. His throat, while irritated, was able to be soothed with hot tea, and she had been sure to keep hot water coming up from the kitchen all morning. Mamma prepared it the way he liked it when he was feelingunwell. She wondered who was making Mr. Darcy’s tea. He preferred lemon, but the fruit was difficult to find in the winter.
Perhaps her gesture for Mr. Darcy would prove useful, even if she never learned the full truth of his troubles. For now, she would focus on Papa and trust that time would reveal what her intuition could not.
Papa leaned back in his chair, a cushion propped behind his back, as Mamma flitted about, fretting over whether the tea was warm enough. Her hands fluttered to the teapot, then to the blanket draped over his knees, and finally to the bowl of broth that Mrs. Hill had just brought in.
“Fanny do sit down,” Papa drawled, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “I am quite certain the tea is sufficiently hot, and if it is not, I have every faith in your ability to ask Mrs. Hill for more water.”
Mamma huffed but complied, finally perching herself on the edge of a chair close enough to her husband to pat his knee from time to time. “It is no trouble, Mr. Bennet. You must be properly cared for, and it is my duty to ensure that you are!”
Elizabeth fought a smile. Her father, though still pale, had regained much of his strength and with it, his playful irreverence. He adjusted the blanket slightly, his fingers toying with the edge.
“Lizzy,” Papa said, his tone languid, “you have done admirably these past days, but it is high time you leave me to your mother and Mrs. Hill. I suspect I shall survive under their care.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Are you certain, Papa? I fear Mrs. Hill and Mamma might compete to see who can most quickly anticipate your needs.”
Papa did not deny it. His gaze softened, and his voice lowered slightly. “It is my way of telling you to rest, Lizzy. I shall be well; I promise you that.”
Mamma sniffed, though there was no mistaking the relief that brightened her features. “But if Lizzy is to leave, you must promise not to overexert yourself. Your tea and broth are here, you see, and you must keep warm.”
To emphasize her words, she placed another blanket on his lap over the first and tucked them both in with exaggerated care. “There. Now you are perfectly comfortable.”
Elizabeth’s amusement grew. “Very well, Papa. I shall leave you to your comforts. Have Mrs. Hill come for me if you have need.”
Papa waved a hand dismissively, though his smile was fond. “Rest well, my dear.”
