The Angel of Longbourn Read online

  “Her wishes?” was Mrs. Bennet’s slightly stupid reply.

  “Yes, Mama. Do you not see that Jane enjoys Mr. Bingley’s company very much and that he likes nothing better than to be with her? I believe if you leave them to their own devices, Mr. Bingley will come to the point in his own time. But if you interfere and push her toward Mr. Darcy, it may all come to naught.”

  Mrs. Bennet actually considered Elizabeth’s words as she fell silent for several moments. Clearly, she had not considered it in such a manner.

  “You think Mr. Bingley loves Jane?” asked she a moment later in a timid voice.

  “I know nothing of the sort. But it is obvious that Jane favors him and that he clearly favors her. Allow them to deepen their understanding of each other in their own time.”

  A slow nod was Mrs. Bennet’s response. “I suppose you are correct. We have Mr. Bingley interested. It would not do to tamper with that interest.”

  Satisfied that she had managed to stave off disaster, Elizabeth excused herself to return to Mr. Darcy’s room. As she was leaving, however, she overheard her mother speaking to herself.

  “I wonder if Mr. Darcy can be directed toward Lydia.”

  Shaking her head and thinking to herself that she would be very disappointed if Mr. Darcy turned out to be interested in empty-headed girls, Elizabeth returned to her post, relieving Mr. Hill, who had been watching over Mr. Darcy in her stead.

  The first few days of Mr. Darcy’s residence at Longbourn had seen sporadic periods of fever, but nothing which would cause alarm. Since the previous day, however, his face had been cool and clear, and he seemed to sleep peacefully, moving but little, and even then, in an easy fashion, a brief shifting of position as a sleeper might, rather than thrashing, indicating perilous health or vivid nightmares.

  As Elizabeth sat down on the chair next to the bed, she checked him over, satisfied with the way he appeared. But then noticing his lips to be a little dry, she took a cloth, moistened it in a small basin of water, and then turned back, intending to wipe his lips.

  His eyes were open.

  Startled, Elizabeth gazed at him in wonder, noting the pale, clear blue of his eyes, seemingly deep enough to reach into his very soul. He was watching her, a hint of curiosity furrowing his brow, but there was no censure in his eyes as she might have expected to see when a man awakened to find none but an unknown woman in his room.

  “Oh!” blurted Elizabeth, unable to force any coherent words through her lips.

  She started to rise, thinking to summon her father, when the man’s softly spoken “Water, please” through parched lips brought her up short. Mr. Darcy’s voice was rough from disuse and his eyes, slightly unfocused, but his request was clear and urgent.

  The water in the pitcher set on the side table was cool, and Elizabeth raised a cup to his mouth and allowed him to sip from its contents. The way he sighed suggested that it was the most wonderful thing which had ever passed his lips.

  “Not too much, sir,” cautioned Elizabeth, lowering the cup to ensure only a little entered his mouth. “You have been unconscious for four days. Do not make yourself ill.”

  Nodding, Mr. Darcy continued to sip from the cup until his thirst, for the moment, was slaked. Then when Elizabeth lowered the cup and set it back onto the table, he fixed his gaze upon her, seeming to see right through her. Within her chest, Elizabeth’s heart beat almost painfully.

  His first attempt at speaking was nothing more than a croak, but he paused, cleared his throat, and spoke again. “Where am I? And what is this pounding in my head?”

  “You are at Longbourn in Hertfordshire, sir. We found you unconscious not far from here.”

  “Hertfordshire,” breathed the man and his eyes closed. “Bingley. I was to join Bingley.”

  “At Netherfield Park, sir. Mr. Bingley has been here several times to see you.”

  The eyes opened and Mr. Darcy regarded her again. “And your name is?”

  “I am Elizabeth Bennet. My father owns this estate. Please wait, for I will fetch him.”

  “Miss Bennet?”

  Elizabeth paused in the act of rising and turned to look at him. He appeared almost frightened as his eyes beseeched her.

  “You will return?”

  “I will be back with my father in a moment.”

  Then without any further words and without a backwards glance, Elizabeth departed from the room, intent upon finding her father. Down the stairs she went, taking them much more swiftly than was prudent, and when she arrived at the door to her father’s room, she opened it and entered without hesitation.

  “Mr. Darcy has awakened,” said she.

  The words of censure which she was certain were on the tip of her father’s tongue died, and he set his book down, standing with all haste. “He has?”

  Elizabeth replied with a vigorous nod. “He awoke a few minutes ago and asked for water. I spoke with him, but he appears to be weak and disoriented.”

  “That is to be expected,” replied Mr. Bennet.

  Motioning to her, father followed daughter from the room, back up the stairs, and into the guest bedroom down at the end of the hall. When Mr. Bennet entered, Elizabeth stayed behind, wary of those clear eyes which seemed to see into her very soul.

  “Elizabeth, come in here.”

  Though with the greatest of reluctance, Elizabeth obeyed, entering the room at her father’s command. Mr. Darcy’s eyes were once again closed, and his breathing was deep and even.

  “He was awake a moment ago,” said Elizabeth, feeling defensive before her father’s amused smile and raised eyebrow.

  “I do not doubt he was, my dear,” replied Mr. Bennet. “But he appears to be asleep again. It is likely the best thing for him at present.”

  Nodding, Elizabeth’s eyes found Mr. Darcy’s form again, and she wondered what she should do. Mr. Bennet seemed to sense this, and he chuckled and guided Elizabeth from the bedroom, holding her elbow in an affectionate grasp.

  “I do understand, Elizabeth. Now that he is awake, it would not be proper for you to be in his room. I will have Mr. Hill and the footman sit with him, and I will take a turn myself. I do not believe there is any reason to wake Mr. Snell—he sat with the gentleman all night, after all.”

  To her father, Elizabeth smiled to show her gratitude, but inside she was a roiling mass of emotions. Something in her had been stirred by her brief conversation with Mr. Darcy, and she was loath to give his care over to another. Or perhaps it was not his care that she coveted, rather than the simple pleasure of being near him.

  It was silly, she decided. She had sat by the ill man’s bed for four days, and she had exchanged only the briefest of words with him. But she felt drawn to him like no other, and she was not able to explain it. She was not Lydia! She was a woman full grown and nearly of age.

  But that did not change what she felt. And for a long time that evening, Elizabeth kept to herself, thinking about this strange pull, wondering about it.

  Though the man was still ill, it appeared that he would soon be on the mend, if his waking and his relative coherence were any indication. And though Bennet had nothing more than Elizabeth’s assurances concerning the matter, he knew Elizabeth was the most intelligent and level-headed of his daughters. Her word was eminently worthy of trust.

  The hope for Mr. Darcy’s recovery kindled, Mr. Bennet allowed his thoughts to turn to that of his favorite occupation: watching those about him and finding amusement in their dealings. And though his second eldest daughter rarely gave Bennet any reason to laugh at her, it seemed like this was to be an exception. He loved Elizabeth to distraction, but her behavior in all of this had piqued his interest, and if Bennet’s suspicions were in any way correct, they were all in for an interesting time of it.

  As he had promised, Bennet took his own turn by Mr. Darcy’s bed, watching him. Of course, the man himself still slept, a condition which did not appear like it would change, at le
ast for that day, so much of Bennet’s time was spent perusing his book. The man slept all night, a fact which caused his faithful valet a certain amount of annoyance, eager as he was to greet his master. It was while Mr. Hill was sitting with Mr. Darcy the next morning that word came to him that the man had awoken again. With a smile and a sense of anticipation, Bennet left his book room and made his way to the invalid’s room.

  Mr. Darcy’s eyes were open, indeed, when Bennet entered the room. The man caught sight of him and struggled to raise himself a little, which his general weakness prevented.

  “Do not trouble yourself,” said Bennet, his tone jovial. “You have had a time of it, and it is bound to have left you with less than your full vigor.”

  “It seems you are correct, sir,” said Mr. Darcy. “I feel as weak as a newborn kitten, and my head aches, my stomach roils, and the mere thought of food makes it that much worse.”

  Bennet nodded with sage agreement. “According to Mr. Bingley’s doctor and our own apothecary, it seems you have fallen ill with typhoid fever. Having experienced that particular malady with my daughter Elizabeth—though it was a mild case—I can well understand your feelings at present.”

  “Typhoid,” said Mr. Darcy, a frown creasing his brow. “I cannot imagine where I might have contracted it.”

  “It does not matter in the end. We do not understand the reasons for all these things, and it does no good to dwell on them. The best thing you can do now is to concentrate on regaining your health.”

  “I thank you, sir. May I assume that I am in the presence of Mr. Bennet?”

  “You may,” replied Bennet. “This is my estate, Longbourn. We found you less than a mile from where you currently rest.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded, then his face was stricken by a sudden thought. “Did you find my mount as well?”

  “An excellent animal, Mr. Darcy. He is currently a resident of my stables, though given his stature and spirits, I do not doubt he will grow restless before long. I did not wish to presume while you were unconscious, but if you like, I can have one of my stable hands exercise him from time to time.”

  “That would be very much appreciated, Mr. Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy, his voice overflowing with relief. “Jupiter was one of the last horses foaled under my father’s direction before his passing. I would hate to lose him.”

  “We will give him the best of care,” assured Bennet.

  “And this is your estate?”

  “Yes. It is not large, and we do not move in the highest circles of society, but my family has held this land for centuries. Unfortunately, that will come to an end with my death, as I have no sons, and the estate is to devolve, through entailment, to a distant cousin.”

  “You have no sons?”

  “No, I have only five daughters.”

  Bennet sat back in his chair, interested to see if Mr. Darcy would say anything about Elizabeth. He frowned for a moment, as if trying to remember something, and then his eyes rose to meet Bennet’s.

  “The young lady who was here when I awoke yesterday. She is one of your daughters?”

  “My second, Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Bennet.

  “And she has stayed by me through my convalescence?”

  “As I mentioned, Elizabeth is the only one of my daughters who has been ill with typhoid,” replied Mr. Bennet. “My wife, you will no doubt discover, is a woman beset by worries. She would not countenance any of her other girls being exposed to illness, but as the apothecary suggested that Elizabeth would not likely contract it again, she agreed to attend you.

  “Of course,” continued Bennet in a conversational tone, “we were careful for your reputation and hers. The door was always ajar, and my butler and our footman, and your own valet, Mr. Snell, also took their turns sitting with you.”

  The piercing gaze of the younger man was on Bennet at those words, and Bennet thought he caught a questioning quality to Mr. Darcy’s gaze.

  “I thank you, sir,” said Mr. Darcy at length. “As an intelligent man, I do not believe I need to inform you that many might have taken advantage of my situation to engineer . . . an improvement to their circumstances.” Mr. Darcy paused and showed a wry smile. “I am certain, knowing Bingley the way I do, that you know something of my situation in life.”

  “I do,” allowed Bennet.

  “If your estate is small and you have five daughters, your situation would be improved by ensuring that I had little choice but to marry one of them.”

  A chuckle escaped Bennet’s lips. He was anything but offended by Darcy’s softly spoken assertion. He was aware of the lengths to which many—including, he did not doubt, Mr. Bingley’s haughty sister—would go to snare a wealthy husband and ascend the ladder of society.

  “I assure you, Mr. Darcy, that you are quite safe from us,” said Bennet, “though I cannot guarantee that would have been the case had you fallen ill at Netherfield.”

  Mr. Darcy’s shaken head confirmed that he was well aware of the character of his friend’s sister.

  “I understand my family’s position, Mr. Darcy,” continued Bennet. “But I am much more concerned with the happiness of my daughters than with securing untold riches for them. Our integrity is a precious thing and not to be discarded under any circumstances. In particular, I am certain that my daughter Elizabeth, whose acquaintance you have already made, requires a young man she cannot only love, but respect. She is not like other young ladies, Mr. Darcy. She is intelligent and unafraid to share her opinions, and her lively talents would not only be wasted, but be a detriment, were she to marry a man who did not appreciate them.”

  Though Mr. Darcy’s expression had been shocked when Bennet had started to speak, he gradually grew contemplative. A certain hint of confusion still hovered about him, as if he had never expected to confront integrity in a person so unknown to him. But Bennet was satisfied that Mr. Darcy too was an honorable man and one who would appreciate the trait in others.

  “Very well spoken, Mr. Bennet,” replied Mr. Darcy at length. “You have made your intentions clear and alleviated any concerns I might have had. I do appreciate it. Would it be too much to ask for you to allow me to thank the diligent nurse who has borne the large part of the weight of my care?”

  “Of course, sir!” said Bennet. He smiled. Yes, this had proven to be interesting, indeed. And though it was still much too early to know for certain, he thought it entirely possible that his daughter had met her match.

  When her father had informed her of their guest’s request, Elizabeth was confused and gratified all at the same time. On the one hand, she was not certain why Mr. Darcy would wish to see her when he could wait until he was able to leave his room to extend his thanks. On the other hand, it was clear that Mr. Darcy remembered his brief period of consciousness from the previous day. She had not been certain he would.

  “Come now, Lizzy,” said her father, beckoning her into the room from where she hesitated in the hall. “You will forgive me if I stay to keep a close eye on things. I would not wish for you to take advantage of our guest, after all.”

  “Papa!” exclaimed Elizabeth, mortified that he would choose to jest about such a thing in front of the convalescing man.

  She took a step forward without thinking about it, which brought her into the sight of the man lying in the bed—which had obviously been her father’s intention—when she froze at the sensation of his eyes on her. Mr. Darcy was propped up against several pillows, and he was already looking better than he had the previous day. The hint of tension about his jaw and the slight wince he made, due to the light, she thought, betrayed the fact that he was still far from being recovered.

  “Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Darcy, his voice melodious, hardly resembling the hoarse croak of the previous day, “I wished to thank you for your care and attention. I understand that I am in your debt, not only for sitting by my side day after day, but also for finding me in the first place.”

  “There is no debt
, sir,” said Elizabeth. “I was happy to escape the house for a short time, as the opportunities have been limited of late. It is fortunate, indeed, that I came upon you.”

  “It is, indeed,” said Mr. Darcy, though his voice was almost too quiet for her to hear. “You must be an intrepid young lady, if you walk as much as your words suggest.”

  “I am very fond of walking,” said Elizabeth. She almost winced at the inanity of the comment.

  “Indeed, our Lizzy would never be in the house at all, if she had her way,” said Mr. Bennet. “And she is quite able to while her hours away with a book, if it comes to that.” He winked at her. “In fact, I suspect that her eagerness to care for you was nothing more than a convenient excuse to spend time in her favorite activity.”

  “Papa!” cried Elizabeth. She felt her cheeks flaming, not only because of her father’s teasing words, but also because she felt the heat of Mr. Darcy’s scrutiny. He was not a demonstrative man—this she determined within a few moments. But his examination of her suggested a careful disposition, and though he did not appear displeased, she could not be certain of what his thoughts consisted.

  “If you would like, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet, “I would be happy to share some of my library with you, for I sense you are a bibliophile yourself.”

  “I am,” replied Mr. Darcy. “If ever you should be in the position to see my library at my estate, I believe you would be impressed. It is the work of many generations.”

  “Excellent,” said Mr. Bennet. “I shall anticipate it keenly. I would enjoy someone with whom to debate. Lizzy provides an admirable contest, but her opinions are often similar to my own. Hopefully you and I will be more contrary.”

  Mr. Darcy smiled and nodded.

  “And if you are an adherent of the game of chess, perhaps I could have my chessboard brought up, and you and I could share some few games.”

  “I would be delighted, sir,” said Mr. Darcy. “I have not had a good game for some time now.”