Page 37 of A November to Remember

“That,” Mr Bennet said, a faint smile touching his eyes, “is the established privilege of a father who has just travelled three miles with a portmanteau containing Mary’s sermons, and garments whose names I never wished to know.”

He walked back to the bed and kissed Jane’s forehead gently.

“Whatever else may be true of these London men, Lizzy, they have behaved well today.”

Elizabeth could not dispute it.

“Send word if Jane worsens. Your mother wishes to come and take command, and I shall do my best to prevent her. I make no promises, though. You know how she is.”

Once the door closed behind him, Elizabeth sank back into her chair.

The contradictions bewildered her, and none of them resembled the man she had judged so harshly at the assembly, although that man had certainly provided ample evidence against himself. He remained proud and difficult, and he had still failed to offer a single word of apology for his insult.

Jane woke up near dusk. She accepted a glass of water, four spoonfuls of broth, and half a biscuit before sleep reclaimed her once more. The fever had eased just enough for the tight band of anxiety around Elizabeth’s chest to finally loosen.

Shortly after nightfall, Sarah returned carrying a dinner tray, followed by two burly footmen hauling a wooden cot.

“Mrs Nicholls says you’re sleeping here, miss, and there’s no use arguing about it,” Sarah announced, directing the footmen to place the cot near the hearth. “She’s known you since you climbed trees in your stockings, she said, and then she said you’ve never made a sensible choice after sunset in your life.”

“She remembers that?” Elizabeth asked, appalled.

“She remembers everything, miss. She talks with Hill back at Longbourn when they have their teas.”

Once the cot was arranged and the footmen had departed, Sarah set the dinner tray near Elizabeth. She had almost reached the door to leave when a man’s shadow crossed the candlelight in the passage.

Lord Keathley stood in the passage, both feet planted beyond the threshold.

“Miss Elizabeth?” he called in a hushed whisper.

Elizabeth stood and reached the door.

“How is she?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

“Sleeping. There is no danger, but the fever has not broken yet.”

“Has she eaten anything at all?”

“A little broth and half a biscuit.”

His tense shoulders eased visibly. “Good. Very good. The colonel will be pleased about the broth.”

“He seems to consider it a major military success,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

“He has formally requested that Cook provide hourly progress reports.” The viscount glanced past Elizabeth to the bed, his expression concerned. “Do not tell her that I asked after her. Please.”

“My lord...”

“There is no reason, Miss Elizabeth, I beg you.”

Elizabeth stared at him one moment longer, but his face was emotionless. “I shan’t, my lord.”

The viscount bowed stiffly and withdrew into the shadows.

Elizabeth returned to the bedside.

Jane slept on, blissfully unaware that a gentleman did not want her to know of his concern. He was only one of a circle of men who had behaved with far more kindness and utility than the ladies who claimed Jane as a dear friend.

Most inconvenient of all was Mr Darcy.