Page 67 of Cousin Conundrum

Elizabeth squeezed her eyes closed. She wished she had never attempted to aid Mr. Darcy. Never abandoned Jane. Never hit her head. What if Jane did not marry Mr. Bingley and the words swam about the page forever? No happy sister. No nieces and nephews to love their ‘Aunt Lizzy.’ No reading. No writing letters. No keeping accounts. Likely not even playing the pianoforte. She’d gone from a miss with a small dowry but an agile mind to being fully useless.

“Elizabeth?” Mr. Darcy whispered her name, his voice cracking. “Whatever it is, I will make it right. I swear to you.” A strong, warm hand cupped her cheek.

She leaned into his touch, indulging in his surety. In the memory of being protected and cared for. Reaching up, she covered his hand with hers.

“Elizabeth?” he reiterated.

She opened her eyes to twin pools of longing, his gaze roaming her face.

“What is upsetting you?”

Swallowing down more tears, she dropped her hand.

Slowly, he drew his away, but his gaze locked with hers.

Fear nearly stealing her words, she murmured, “I cannot read. My head…” She touched her temple. “The words swim about on the page and I am afraid—” Her voice shook. “I am so very afraid they will never settle in place again.”

He caught her icy fingers in a warm hand. “Surely, it is temporary. Have you asked Mr. Jones’ opinion?”

“I cannot. What if he says I will never read again?”

“I will ask him for you and then share what I am certain will be good news.”

She pulled her hand free, surprised by his presumption. “I will ask him when I am ready.”

Mr. Darcy merely nodded. “In the meantime, perhaps I might read to you?”

“Read to me?” That didn’t seem a very rogue-like offer.

“Yes. It is a normal thing for a gentleman to do. Read to a lady.”

“Why yes. I imagine it is.” Still, the only gentleman who had ever offered before was Mr. Collins, and his offer hadn’t been directly to Elizabeth. Fortunately. “I… Yes. That would be kind of you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth allowed. Why was he being so solicitous? Had something happened at the pool to fill him with guilt? He could not possibly wish to spend time with her. Not a rake like him. But nor could he hope for another kiss when he knew her to be so unwell.

Could he?

A smile warming his serious countenance, he stood. “What do you wish to hear? A genre, please, not a specific title. I am afraid the library here is fairly limited.”

“In all honesty, whatever you wish to read. I am certain anything you choose will be suitable.”

He bowed, straightening to proffer a handkerchief. Leaning down, he pressed it into her hands, then pivoted. Long strides carried him away, and Elizabeth could not help but admire his fine form. Belatedly, she applied the handkerchief to her cheeks.

“But can you not see, it does not matter?”

Elizabeth turned at Jane’s bereaved exclamation to find her sister running across the lawn. Her hands pressed to her cheeks, Jane pelted up the terrace steps and fled into the house. Out in the garden, Mr. Bingley stared after her, his expression miserable. He looked down, his whole frame drooping. Feet shuffling, he wandered away.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. She would get well quickly, and she would find a way to free Mr. Bingley from his obligation to Miss Catherine Archer. Assuming Miss Bingley did not first. As snippy as Miss Bingley could be, Elizabeth had a great deal of faith in her ability to drive off a woman she considered unworthy of her brother.

Chapter Nineteen

Kitty came down the steps, her arms laden with bonnets and shawls, and turned in the direction of the terrace. She was halfway down the corridor when Jane charged up it, tears streaming down her cheeks. Not slowing, Jane raced past.

Kitty swung around. “Jane?”

“Leave me alone,” her sister cried as she pelted up the staircase.

Her mouth hanging open, Kitty stared after her. Jane never ran. Or shouted. Or cried. She’d said, ‘Leave me alone,’ but Kitty doubted Jane truly meant—

“Psst, Miss Kitty,” a low, masculine voice hissed from a dark parlor to her right.