Page 42 of Ashes and Understanding
Elizabeth followed at a more measured pace, but as she stepped into the hall, she allowed herself a small, satisfied smirk. Bingley’s devotion to Jane was becoming more and more apparent, much to Miss Bingley’s frustration.
And, she could not deny, it pleased her greatly.
Jane’s face was a becoming shade of pink as Bingley carried her down to the stairs and into the drawing room. He gently placed her on a settee near the fire, then courteously stepped back and averted his eyes as she arranged her skirts to cover her elevated ankle and foot.
“Are you in need of anything, Miss Bennet?” he asked eagerly, bouncing a bit on his feet “A pillow, perhaps, or a rug?”
“I am quite well, Mr. Bingley, thank you.” Jane’s voice was soft and slightly breathless.
Bingley dragged a chair over from another part of the room and sat at Jane’s side, engaging her in quiet, earnest conversation.
The remainder of the party, all of whom had followed Bingley upstairs to fetch Jane, trailed into the room after them. Elizabeth sat on a comfortable chair where she could observe the goings-on, while Darcy took a seat at a writing desk. Hurst stretched out on a sofa and quickly fell asleep, and Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst sat together near the tea tray, their faces pinched in identical expressions of pique.
Elizabeth took up some needlework, though her eyes strayed more often to her sister and Mr. Bingley than to her stitches. It was impossible not to be pleased at how attentively he listenedto Jane, how he seemed to hang onto her every word as though nothing in the world could be of greater importance.
Miss Bingley, meanwhile, stirred her tea with increasing agitation. At last, she could hold her tongue no longer. “It is such a shame that you must endure such an injury, Miss Bennet,” she said with saccharine sympathy. “Had I known how treacherous our steps were, I would have warned you before you left.”
Jane, ever gracious, smiled. “You are too kind, Miss Bingley. It was entirely my own misstep.”
Bingley, however, frowned. “The steps are not treacherous at all. We have had no trouble with them before.”
Miss Bingley shot her brother an exasperated look before returning her attention to Jane. “Perhaps the damp weather made them more slippery than usual. One can never be too careful.”
“Indeed,” Elizabeth murmured, arching a brow. “And yet, I cannot recall hearing you offer the same warning to anyone else who has come or gone these past two days.”
Darcy, who had been engrossed in his writing, glanced up briefly at Elizabeth’s words. There was an unmistakable flicker of amusement in his dark eyes before he returned his attention to his correspondence.
Miss Bingley’s lips pressed together in irritation. “Regardless,” she said stiffly, “I am sure you will be most relieved when you are finally able to return home, Miss Bennet.”
Bingley, startled, turned sharply toward his sister. “Miss Bennet shall not go before she is fully recovered! She must not risk further injury.”
Jane looked at him with wide, luminous eyes. “You are very kind, Mr. Bingley.”
Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from laughing. Miss Bingley’s expression was nothing short of murderous.
Mrs. Hurst, clearly sensing the need for intervention, cleared her throat. “It is a fortunate thing that the gentlemen returned when they did last night,” she remarked, her gaze sliding toward Darcy. “I do not think Miss Bennet could have been persuaded to remain otherwise.”
Darcy, though still writing, nodded slightly. “I daresay Bingley would not have allowed her to leave, regardless.”
Bingley grinned. “Of course not!”
Miss Bingley gave an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, Charles, you are far too obliging.”
Elizabeth smirked. “I, for one, find it quite admirable.”
Miss Bingley, desperate for a change in conversation, looked frantically around the room, and her eyes latched on to the paper on which Darcy wrote.
“And what, pray tell, are you writing so secretly, Mr. Darcy?” she purred, rising from her seat and crossing the room to stand at his shoulder.
“It is no secret. I am writing a letter.”
“A letter? Oh, I do hope it is not another tedious matter of estate business—how dreadfully dull those must be.”
Darcy glanced at her briefly before responding. “No, this is to my sister.”
At this, Miss Bingley’s entire demeanor shifted into one of affected warmth. “Oh, dear Georgiana! How I long to see her again. I do hope she is well?”
“She is,” Darcy replied simply.
