Page 25 of The Briar Bargain
He resumed his seat reluctantly, though his eyes remained fixed on her face. "Mr. Jones should examine you thoroughly when he is able."
Her eyes searched his face. "So everyone tells me. But you were in the water as well. Should you not also be examined?"
Even in her weakened state, she thought of another’s welfare.
"I am perfectly well," he assured her. “I wish only to assist your recovery in whatever way I am able.”
Miss Elizabeth regarded him thoughtfully, her fingers loosening their grip on her shawl. “Thank you.” She pulled the blanket more snugly about her and glanced towards the door. “I believe I am ready to rest again. Will you permit me to dismiss you with thanks, sir?”
Darcy rose at once, bowing slightly. “Your thanks are unnecessary, Miss Elizabeth. To have you returned safely to health is more than sufficient.”
She smiled faintly. “Nevertheless, you have them.”
He hesitated, then allowed himself one last look at her—alive, alert, and unbowed despite her ordeal—before retreating.
Chapter Eight
Elizabeth lay propped upon the pillows, watching the grey afternoon light shift across the chamber walls. She had not expected Mr. Darcy's visit earlier to weigh so heavily upon her thoughts, but she had spent the intervening hours turning over his words in her mind until her head ached.
That he should express concern for her health was natural. That he should apologise for his former pride—well, that had been unexpected.
The memory of his voice when he had inquired after her comfort was particularly vexing. There had been a gentleness there that she had never heard from him before, a quality that had made her pulse quicken in the most inappropriate manner. She pressed her fingers to her temples. She was allowing herself to think of him as her heroic rescuer, and it would lead her to trouble. She would not allow herself to be foolish.
A soft knock interrupted her musings, followed by the entrance of a young housemaid carrying fresh linens. The girl—Rebecca was her name—bobbed a curtsey before setting about her work with a sort of bustlingefficiency.
"Begging your pardon, miss," Rebecca said as she shook out a pillowcase, "but Cook says to tell you that Mr. Darcy has been asking particular questions about what might tempt your appetite, and she would like to know your favourite dishes."
The revelation struck her as both touching and deeply unsettling.
"Rebecca," came Jane's gentle but firm voice from the doorway, "I believe Mrs. Nicholls requires your assistance. I will send word to Cook."
The maid dropped another curtsey and scurried away, but not before Elizabeth caught the satisfaction in her expression. She would wager that she was a topic of conversation in the servants’ hall.
When Jane entered the room carrying a tray of tea, Elizabeth greeted her with a smile she hoped looked more natural than it felt.
"Thank you," she said, as her sister set down the tray. "But I am in no need of fortification. What I require is air and activity, but as those are to be denied me, perhaps you might explain what Mr. Darcy is doing, speaking to the cook. Is that not Miss Bingley's duty?"
Jane's smile was gentle but knowing. "As for air and activity, you shall have them once you are stronger. Perhaps in a day or so. Until then, you must bear my tyrannical supervision."
The notion of her sister as Caesar made Elizabeth's lips curve into a smile. "It is the only time you are a dictator. How fortunate for me that I am so rarely ill!"
Jane poured for them both and stirred her tea with a measured hand. "As for Mr. Darcy, well, he seems to be a better man than we once believed."
"Because he takes his sentiments to the kitchen?" Elizabeth studied her for a moment and then had an idea. "No, I rather believe Mr. Darcy's civility springs from the prospect of Mr. Bingley's increasing attachment toyou." Yes, this made perfect sense.
Jane's cheeks coloured delicately at this observation, and she busied herself with arranging the teacups with unnecessary precision. "You quite mistake the matter, Lizzy. Mr. Darcy's attentions to your recovery have nothing whatsoever to do with Mr. Bingley’s regard for me."
"Have they not?" Elizabeth studied her sister's face with increasing interest. "Then you acknowledge that there is such a regard?"
"I acknowledge nothing of the sort," Jane replied, though her blush deepened. "Mr. Bingley has been very kind during your illness, as any gentleman would be under such circumstances."
Elizabeth set down her teacup with a soft clink. "Jane, you cannot mean to convince me that you have not observed Mr. Bingley's particular attention to you. The man can scarcely tear his eyes away when you are in the room."
"You exaggerate, as always," Jane murmured, but there was a pleased tone in her voice that she could not quite suppress.
"Do I? Then perhaps I imagined the wayheinquired afteryourwelfare no fewer than six times while you were ill." Elizabeth leaned forward slightly, her eyes bright with affection and curiosity. "Come now, Jane. Surely you must have some opinion on the matter?"
Jane was quiet for a time, her gaze fixed upon her hands. When she spoke, her voice was so soft that Elizabeth had to strain to hear her. "I confess that Mr. Bingley has been most attentive. But I should not wish to presume upon his kindness or mistake civility for something more particular."
