Page 154 of What Change Entails

“She has already sent for coffee, toast, chocolate, broth, and a screen to shield her from the light.”

Lydia nearly choked on her tea.

Georgiana pressed her lips together and applied herself to her plate with suspicious dedication.

Mr. Darcy sat at the head of the table, his expression grave enough for a funeral and his eyes betraying not the smallest surprise. “I trust she will recover soon.”

Elizabeth bent her head to hide her amusement. Soon might mean before dinner. Soon might mean after the Bennets had removed from Pemberley altogether. She was uncharitable enough, for one guilty instant, to prefer the latter.

That guilt did not last long.

The breakfast room felt less oppressive in Miss Bingley’s absence. Air seemed to move more freely. No one corrected Georgiana’s preference for honey, no one remarked upon Lydia’s appetite, and no one attempted to arrange the conversation around Mr. Darcy like furniture positioned before a fireplace. The servants moved with less stiff ceremony, no longer obliged out of duty to their master to show any deference to Miss Bingley. Bingley spoke easily. Mrs. Gardiner laughed over something Lydia said about Horace’s moral deficiencies. Mr. Darcy’s countenance suggested a diminished weight, although his seriousness surpassed that observed before the prior evening’s events.

Elizabeth had not missed that.

Very little concerning him escaped her now.

It was dreadful. Pleasing, but dreadful.

Her awareness had become an inconvenient companion. She knew when he entered a room before she turned toward the door. She knew the difference between his public civility and the warmer look he gave Georgiana. Elizabeth noticed how his voice was affectionate when he spoke to Mrs. Reynolds and how his attention, when directed toward Elizabeth herself, could make a teacup feel suddenly heavy in her hand.

This morning, with Miss Bingley upstairs and the table wrapped in ordinary domestic ease, Elizabeth found him more difficult to ignore than ever.

He was speaking to Mr. Gardiner about a road beyond the western fields where recent rain had damaged one of the lower tracks. Nothing could have been less romantic than drainage. Even so, there he sat, discussing gravel, labor, and the movement of carts with such unshowy competence that Elizabeth had to look away before her interest became visible.

Lydia did not have the delicacy to permit anyone to remain comfortable for long.

“So, what shall we do today?” she demanded, leaning around Georgiana to address the table. “If Miss Bingley is confined above, we ought to use the hours wisely.”

Mrs. Gardiner gave her a warning glance. “Lydia.”

“What? I mean that headaches are tragic and must be respected from a distance.”

Georgiana made a small sound into her napkin.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes lowered to his plate.

Bingley brightened. “An excursion?”

“I cannot,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Your uncle and I are to visit Mrs. Granger in Lambton. I promised yesterday, and she will expect us before noon.”

“And Louisa and I mean to drive into the village,” Mr. Hurst added, though it was unclear whether he meant to shop, sleep in another location, or merely escape his sister-in-law’s suffering.

“Yes. I require thread, and Mr. Hurst insists the inn has a particular cheese worth investigating.” Mrs. Hurst sounded resigned.

“An excellent cheese,” Mr. Hurst said with more animation than he had shown all morning.

Lydia swung her attention toward Georgiana. “Then we shall take Horace to the gardens.”

“Horace has already eaten one glove this morning,” Georgiana replied.

“All the more reason to provide him with fresh air and moral instruction.”

“He requires a tutor.”

“He has me.”

“Then he is lost.”