Page 22 of Attempted Compromises
“She seemed fine at first,” Mrs. Hurst added, “but she grew pale during dinner and asked to lie down. She was caught in the rain on her way here.”
Bingley’s expression darkened. “Caught in the rain? Why was she riding in such weather?”
Darcy echoed his friend’s frustration. “She rode here in the rain? Surely, she did not choose to do so willingly.”
Caroline gave an exaggerated shrug. “Who can say? She should have known better than to come on horseback with such clouds overhead.”
“She said it hadn’t begun to rain when she left,” Mrs. Hurst explained, “but by the time she arrived, it was pouring.”
Bingley’s rubbed his forehead with a worried hand. “Why would her family send her on horseback in such weather?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he glanced at Mrs. Hurst, who said, “She is resting upstairs now.”
Bingley’s face darkened with worry. “Why was I not informed sooner?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Caroline replied smoothly. “There was nothing to be done; she simply needs rest.”
Darcy’s expression grew stern. “Has the apothecary been called?”
“There was no need,” Caroline said, waving off the suggestion. “I’ve ensured she is comfortable. Besides, she should be on her way home before the man could even arrive.”
“Not in this weather,” Darcy replied grimly. “The creek is over its bank; we scarcely made it home ourselves.”
Bingley was already halfway to the stairs. “I must see her.”
Caroline called after him. “Charles! You cannot simply barge into a lady’s room.”
Bingley was undeterred, his concern overriding his sister’s reassurances. Darcy followed, his mind racing. Though he had spent the evening in good company, the thought of Jane’s delicate state unsettled him. He knew well the dangers of an untreated illness, and his sense of duty to Bingley—and, perhaps, to Miss Bennet—urged him to ensure all was being done for her.
As they reached the guest room, they found Georgiana sitting quietly by the bedside, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked up as they stood in the opened doorway, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.
“She is feverish,” Georgiana said softly. “But she is resting now.”
Bingley’s face tightened. “It never occurred to me that she would not take a carriage, or even that Caroline would decline to send one,” he murmured. “It was foolish of me. I ought to have ensured her safety.”
Darcy placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his voice calm but firm. “What matters now is ensuring she recovers.”
Bingley nodded, glancing back at Jane, who stirred faintly in her sleep. Georgiana rose, moving to stand beside her brother. Darcy smiled his approval. “The servants will take care of her,” he said,his tone resolute. “She is in safe hands, and we can summon the apothecary in the morning.”
Bingley nodded, though his worry was evident. Darcy admired his friend’s devotion and suspected that this situation would only deepen Bingley’s feelings for Miss Bennet. As the household settled into an uneasy quiet, Darcy found his thoughts lingering on Jane’s quiet strength and Bingley’s evident attachment, reflecting on how these moments often revealed the truest nature of one’s character.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth quietly spread jam on her toast at the breakfast table in Longbourn. Jane hadn’t come home the night before, and there had been no word from Netherfield. Just then, the maid entered with a folded note. The sight of it immediately caught her attention, and her unease from the previous day increased.
“This arrived from Netherfield, miss,” the maid said, placing it into Elizabeth’s hands.
Elizabeth broke the seal quickly, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. The letter was from Mr. Bingley, written with all the civility and concern she would expect from him, though its contents filled her with worry.
Jane was unwell. A cold, likely brought on by her exposure to the rain, had left her feverish and confined to bed. Mr. Bingleyassured her that Jane was being well cared for, but Elizabeth could hardly sit still long enough to finish reading.
“Jane is ill,” Elizabeth said aloud, her voice tight with worry. “She is confined to bed at Netherfield.”
Mrs. Bennet looked up sharply. “Ill? Oh, nonsense, Lizzy. She is likely a little chilled, that is all. Mr. Bingley and his sisters will care for her—this is no cause for alarm.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “Mama, she was caught in the rain yesterday because you insisted she ride. She should not have been exposed like that.”
“Now, now,” Mrs. Bennet replied, brushing aside her concerns with a wave of her hand. “It is a slight inconvenience at most. This could work to Jane’s advantage. Mr. Bingley will see how delicate she is and feel compelled to dote upon her.”
