4 • Six Inches

James had never been to Netherfield House. At least, not under invitation. As a boy he would pull Jane onto the estate grounds during the day—when there was no one renting it, there was no one to say otherwise. The gardeners held no qualms over two children playing; if anything, their laughter was welcomed, and in the darkness of night the single guardsman was easily avoided during their explorations. No one cared whether two children wished to see the luxury they would never themselves have.

All that seemed far away now, another lifetime as James leaped clear over a brook and felt a puddle’s splash soak into his trousers. He kept running, seeing the pale façade appearing through the trees until his boots tread over fine gravel instead of mud and grass. The fingers of branches reached for his hair and coat but he was soon clear of them as the rain finally began to ebb. By the time he took the curved, white stairs two at a time up to the double doors, the servants had already dried off the terrace banisters.

The footmen took in his appearance with a critical and dubious eye, however the doors parted for James without a word. The memories of this place drifted to the forefront of his mind, calculating the house’s recipients to be breaking their fast in one of the main parlors instead of the large dining room…

Again, the footmen opened the path for him, and James rounded the columned entrance of the room in his filthy and dripping state, much to the shock of the butler and maids present—

Of the people sitting at the table, Mr. Darcy was the one who shot to his feet. James could only imagine how he looked: the worn black coat fell to his mid-thighs while the collar lying high on his neck must have given him the visage of a beggar. Though his trousers were tucked within his boots he had been through kilometers of mud and grit; he did not know whether his sodden hair rested flat against his cheeks or stood in frizzy licks. And after running all the way here…he must have appeared every bit a mad man.

He realized, suddenly, that his jaw was stiff and trembled slightly from the cold. He steeled himself to say, “May I see my sister?”

Charles Bingley glanced between him and Mr. Darcy, his mouth unsure whether to gape or stay shut. Finally he settled with, “Yes, of course. Show him to Miss Bennet’s room, please.”

The butler appeared to be the least willing person to allow James anywhere else in the house, but he complied. As soon as he was out of the room, Mrs. Hurst uttered, “Is he here before the messenger’s returned?”

“That hardly matters,” Caroline declared. “His boots look as if they’ve been six inches deep in mud! Darcy?”

The man blinked, and found his seat once more.

“Do take care to walk along the marble and not the carpets,” the butler requested stiffly. James did so but more as a second thought as he was nearly walking ahead of the butler in his haste to reach their destination. It was some consolation that Jane’s door looked out over the vast foyer on one side and her room opened to a terrace on the other, so it was well ventilated. But no sooner had the butler turned the knob then James swept inside, startling a frighteningly pale Jane.

“Jamie!” she gasped, but with immense relief, as if she had been waiting for him. She struggled to sit up but reached for him. “Oh Jamie…your hands are ice. You look like an absolute fright.”

One of his hands parted from hers to feel the moisture on her temple and throat. “You’re feverish, Jane.”

“I didn’t wish to concern you or everyone else,” she admitted as he eased her back onto her pillows. “I suppose I failed any how. Now I’ve gotten you ill as well. Take off that sodden coat.”

He looked to the fireplace, whose embers burned low. “And hang it over what fire? Have they done nothing for you?”

She laughed tiredly as he set to work over the embers. “They’ve done a great deal for me, Lizzy—Lizzy! Your boots and trousers…”

From his wet pockets he dispensed various parcels and jars, one of which he unloaded into the growing flames. The room filled with the aroma of piney rosemary and eucalyptus. He stood to plunge dried mint leaves in the metal kettle on the bedside dresser for her tea.

“Your shirt too,” Jane urged. “Jamie, I can see your shoulder blades, take the thing off! You’re fit to keel over any minute.”

Mechanically he did as she bid, but he did not pause until the room was fit to his standards. From the pitcher of water he dampened a cloth for Jane’s forehead to remain cool while her body sweated through the fever. By her request he had finally removed his trousers and boots which were surely caked in mud. Left in his pants, he stopped for breath, and voiced, “Mama said Netherfield was only two kilometers…”

Jane laughed over her tea. “Yes, I discovered the same. It seems Netherfield is closer to five kilometers’ distance. Mertyon is what’s two kilometers away.”

“Huh…” he voiced softly. Jane managed to flip the covers on the other side of the bed open for him to fall into, and he slept.

When he awoke, the sunlight had changed and Jane was picking leaves out of his hair. “You’re a mess,” she whispered.

He blinked heavily, observing the indigo shadows around her eyes. “You have not slept enough.”

“No, but my fever’s broken, thanks to your stubbornness,” she smiled. “Thank you for coming.”

He sniffled only to find his sinuses quite full. “There was no way of you getting better here. You need a touch of home to heal.”

She huffed, “It does smell like it now, with the rosemary. All that’s missing is mama’s lavender. This house is so minimally used it only smells of paint and…” She yawned, “Things I do not recognize.”

“Gold leaf and silk,” he teased.

“I have yet to see either of those things,” she rebuked. “Charles visited while you slept.”

James’ eyelids drooped to half-mast. “And that is why you haven’t.”

She smiled guiltily but then revealed. “Lord Darcy came too. You must have given them such a scare at breakfast.”

“Have they taken my boots away for burning?”

Her eyebrows lifted as she shook her head. “No one’s touched your raiment. On the contrary, Charles brought his own garments for you to wear to dinner if you’re feeling well enough.”

He sighed raggedly. “I must dine with these people…if nothing else than out of courtesy for letting you stay here.”

“I am not so much of a nuisance,” she defended, “but yes, you must. Charles said dinner was at five o’clock.”

“When is that?”

She leaned high enough to see over the mountainous covers at the clock on the mantle. “Twenty minutes.”

“Ugh,” he groaned, flipping the covers over his head. He roused a moment later, though, and put more eucalyptus leaves over the fire to clear his and Jane’s sinuses while he dressed. “Cotton,” he remarked upon sliding his arms through Bingley’s dress shirt. “How middle-class of them.”

Jane peered at him from where she rested upon the piled pillows. “You’re not going to be this way during dinner, are you?”

“An arse, you mean?”

“If I was inclined, yes,” she confirmed.

He laughed and finished buttoning the soft material to his throat. Bingley’s dark green breeches were a material James could not identify; a luxurious blend of some sort which he buttoned around his hips. After tying the satin cravat of blue and green paisley design, he sat down to clean his boots. Enough cloths had been provided for Jane’s fever, so he used them now to scrape and collect the clumps from the worn riding boots. One of the kerchiefs was enough for this purpose, and then a second with oil removed the last of the grit. When Jane was not looking he tossed them behind a log to burn into nothing.

“Now then?” he requested. He stood straight for her inspection.

She smiled. “You look like a lord.”

His shoulders slumped. “Be serious.”

“What makes you think I’m not? All you’re missing is the waistcoat, but I think they will excuse it.”

“Well according to Mr. Darcy, lacking all of the pieces can get one eliminated from an assembly,” he remembered while straightening the cravat.

She breathed for patience. “Give them another chance, Jamie. Please?”

He ceased fiddling with the cravat and leaned over to kiss her forehead. He felt her hand on his chest. “Send for me if you need anything. Anything, Jane.”

“Yes, yes,” she pushed him toward the door. “Currently I need you to thank our hosts for their hospitality.”

He shut the door behind him and the butler was waiting for him at the end of the corridor. To James’ surprise, he was led to the original breakfast parlor. The room was aglow with the late sun’s orange light while the maids were lighting the first candles for the evening. This time Charles sprang to his feet.

“James! I’m so pleased to see you on your feet. You seemed fit to fall off them last I saw you.”

Charles shook James’ hand with both of his own, his skin cool to the touch. “You clean up remarkably well!”

James laughed. “I owe everyone my apologies.”

“Hush,” Charles assured, moving his hands to James’ arms. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“Especially in such fine colors,” Caroline said from the table. “Your cravat certainly does suit him, Charles. It softens the severity of his eyes.”

James blinked. Severity?

He then had the acute experience of having Charles’ blue eyes trained on him. “Severity? Caroline, you sound as if you’ve never seen grey eyes before.”

“Grey eyes, assuredly,” she commented. “But none quite so pale.”

Charles’ mouth formed an upside-down crescent. “Pale on occasion, perhaps, but not so now. Darcy? What say you?”

Charles stepped aside and revealed Mr. Darcy not a step behind him. James could hear his mother’s voice in his head. My word, his height...but what handsome features. The evening light shined through the man’s eyes, which saw from a view a head taller than either James or Mr. Bingley, revealing them to be far from a dark color; they were a rich amber, molten gold if the light had not cast them an orange hue.

“They were brightened by the exercise,” he said in his soft baritone. And that was all.

James blinked, and looked to Charles, who laughed. “Come, I know you’re famished.”

James found himself seated between Charles and Mr. Hurst. The ovular table lent a far more casual atmosphere than he expected; James sat opposite Mr. Darcy, with Caroline and Louisa to the left and right. James mutely watched a selection of dishes being set down: broccoli and cheese stew, ragout, lamb cutlets, and glazed pears. James dipped his spoon into the stew and was relishing the creaminess with a unique, salty tang of cheese when Charles asked, “How is she?”

He was caught with broccoli in his cheeks but quickly swallowed to say, “Her fever’s broken but she needs vegetables. Dark ones, preferably…like this broccoli.”

He shoveled more into his mouth. His eyelashes swept up to see Charles call the butler to him and assure Jane had such requirements for her own supper. Mrs. Hurst gripped his attention, “You like the soup, Mr. Bennet?”

He chewed quickly, covering his mouth just in case. “I do. It’s delicious, thank you.”

“I’m curious,” Charles voiced, “why you specified dark vegetables.”

“I’m hardly an apothecary or botanist,” James admitted, “but lighter ones seem to be only water and fiber. When we were ill as children, our mother always fed us the darkest vegetables she could find, and we were better within a short number of days.”

“Mrs. Bennet?” Caroline chimed. Her smile gleamed like a cat’s after achieving the mouse. “How wonderful that she attended you all in place of a governess.”

James chose not to respond to that, and did not need to for Charles spoke next: “What else would you prescribe? I’ve sent for Mr. Jones and he should be here on the morrow.”

Caroline stated, “I don’t understand why poor Jane should wait till tomorrow. Is everyone in Longbourn and Mertyon ill? I told you we ought to send for a proper physician in London.”

“Then I should think we would be waiting a week instead of a day,” James chuckled.

Caroline was without mirth as she inquired coolly, “What would you say Mr. Jones’ credentials are, since you are familiar with the man?”

James had to think back to when he had last interacted with the man. “I would say his specialty is children’s maladies. He is quite passionate for falconry and is thus skilled at setting fine bones, such as within hands or when children’s energies result in dislocations or fractures.”

“The injuries of farmers,” she surmised. “Not the ailments of the weather.”

James reached for a bread roll so he would not be required to speak. Charles continued to voice his joy that he had come, though, and that he was sure between he and Mr. Jones, Jane was sure to feel better soon.

“Are you often in Meryton?” he asked after a time.

James nodded. “My mother has a sister there. She and her husband are the Philips. She owns a miller’s shop while he is an attorney.”

“A hat shop!” Caroline brightened. “What a charming enterprise.”

James was caught off guard by Mr. Hurst. “You do not like the ragout, Mr. Bennet?”

He stared at the man for a blunt moment before he looked at the abandoned portion on his plate. “It is not to my tastes, no, but I much prefer stews…”

Mr. Hurst had looked away halfway through is answer. James wanted to explain how he simply wanted more cumin in the dish but his wife reclaimed his attention.

“Have you any family in the city?” Louisa asked.

“My other aunt,” he nodded, reaching for his cup. “She and her husband, Mr. Gardiner.”

“Whereabouts?” she furthered.

James much preferred when the sisters were worrying about Jane. “Cheapside,” he finished, gulping his water.

Silence. Then Caroline changed topics, providing James with the quietude he needed for the rest of the meal. The glazed pears were delicious but when everyone stood at supper’s completion he found himself already at the door when Charles called, “Jamie! Won’t you join us for coffee in the library?”

“Have you tasted coffee?” Caroline asked while rounding the table. Her fingers slid along its surface until she crossed behind Mr. Darcy to take his arm. “It is an acquired taste.”

“Hardly,” Charles laughed as he approached James. “It is bitter, but nothing a little milk won’t cure. If nothing else, assist me in picking a volume or two to bring up to Jane.”

Unable to argue, James felt himself drawn into the next room: a rectangular space he originally thought to be oddly small for such an estate, smaller still with furnishings. The walls were paneled with lush wood while numerous windows provided natural light during the day. A number of bookshelves had been added which stood approximately to his hip, their tops performing as a platform for bouquets which added a floral aroma to the burning wood in the fireplace.

James noted how Caroline preferred a glass of sour wine as the butler poured coffee for the others. She broke from Mr. Darcy to direct his attention to the nearest bouquet. “How do you like them? Are you familiar with this bloom?”

“Paeoniaceae,” he murmured, more so under his breath than for her ears. Louder he provided the answer she sought, “This is a bulb flower. They are not in season.”

“Peonies. We acquired them from a green house in the area,” she chimed. “The flower can be fooled to behave out of season if the temperatures and humidity are manipulated properly.”

“How cruel,” he said, quieter still. She peered at him as if she might have heard him or thought him odd for mumbling but he lowered himself in order to read the spines.

He heard the conversation behind him as if a wall divided them, until the benevolent charm of Charles’ voice broke through his reverie. “You’re acquiring quite a pile. You’re welcome to borrow them, but I do hope the state of Jane’s malady has not made you grab so many.”

James peeked up to see a cup lined with copper being held out to him. Standing up, he accepted it and smelled an aroma of which he had never the pleasure of breathing. “This is coffee?” he exclaimed in an awed hush.

Charles laughed. “I went ahead and added milk to cut the acidity,” then he leaned close enough to whisper, “I quite prefer it with sugar.”

“What is it made from?” James queried, too busy enjoying its smell to taste it.

“Beans,” Charles grinned. “Well, berries, actually. However they must be roasted before they are ground up and put to hot water similar to tea.”

Jamie uttered wistfully, “This would be such a nice smell in the candles.”

The copper head tilted to one side slightly, before realization dawned in those blue eyes. “You made those? The cedar tapers from the assembly?”

He took the cup from James’ hand and set it on the bookshelf before he was pulled from the room by the wrist. “I’ll have a parcel sent to you! How much do you think you will need?”

He neglected Caroline’s urgent summons and led James through an alternate set of doors than those returning to the breakfast parlor. Outside of the library, Charles said to a maid, “Bring up some of the coffee beans for Mr. Bennet to examine.”

James was observing the tranquil darkness of the room in which the grand staircase climbed the walls above their heads. A cup not unlike the vessel James never managed to taste arrived, and he held one of the unique spheres while Mr. Darcy emerged from the library. “Charles—”

James put it in his mouth, arresting Bingley’s attention entirely while he chewed. “Hm!” he chimed.

“It’s good?” Charles said incredulously.

“It’s…grainy,” he elaborated. “I wish I had the chocolate my father brought home long ago to pair with it. You said it can be steeped like tea?”

Charles grinned like a fool as he took James’ hand again. “Let’s just watch them brew another pot!”

“Charles,” Darcy uttered firmly. He turned to face his friend, who said, “Now is not the time. You are the host here.”

“And I’m hosting,” he replied cheerily, but James felt the stiffness pushing the words out. “Caroline is older than me, so she is already trained to last through a good deal of time without me.”

James cut in, “I do not want to be the ignition of a dispute. I meant to retire any how.” He handed the cup back to Bingley and lifted the stack of books under his arm. “Thank you for indulging me as well as letting me stay in Jane’s company. I’ll have these returned promptly—”

“There is no rush,” Bingley insisted. “Let me see you to the terrace. A set of stairs will take you directly to the upper veranda and to her room.”

“Charles, no,” Darcy counteracted.

Bingley’s steps halted once more as he looked back, silently pleading. Darcy was immovable. He turned back to James, and gently held his forearms. “Just outside and to the left. You will find your way.”

His demeanor was sullen but resolved as he returned to Darcy and continued on through the library’s doors. James turned toward the doors of the terrace Charles had directed him to, but Darcy’s prolonged presence gave him pause. He turned back, but the dark shoulders were to him and were passing through the library doors.

James turned once again to the terrace, but his own name held him in place. “I do wish you would stop this, Charles. Mr. Bennet has nothing to recommend him of our company.”

“Except being an excellent walker,” Mrs. Hurst joined her sister with a brief laugh.

Mr. Darcy spoke next, “I do not believe he walked so much as ran.”

Caroline’s mirth was high pitched. “He did indeed, Lord Darcy! I could hardly keep my countenance this morning! It was very nonsensical to come at all! Why must he be scampering over the country because his sister has a cold. My word, his hair was so untidy, so blowsy!”

“It was a bit more than a cold, Carol,” Bingley voiced. “Jane had a fever all of the evening she came and all night. It only ceased once Jamie arrived.”

“Jamie,” Caroline scoffed. “Your familiarity with him is distasteful, Charles.”

“Never mind,” Louisa intercepted. “I can understand his need for haste but the state of his attire… He was absolutely oblivious.”

“This is all lost upon me,” Charles declared. “I thought Jamie looked remarkably well when he came into the room this morning. The state of his boots or hair escaped my notice.”

“To walk the three kilometers, or four kilometers, or five, or whatever it is, above his ankles in dirt, and quite alone! It seems to be to show an abominable sort of conceited affection or some other which is indifferent to decorum.”

“It shows an affection for his sister that is very pleasing,” Charles defended.

Caroline said, “You observed it, Lord Darcy. You seemed quite in awe of his visage when he arrived. After some reflection, I am inclined to think you do not hold the same regard of Mr. Bennet’s fine eyes as you once did.”

“You are wrong,” James heard him say. “There is a unique pleasure a pair of fine eyes give when set within a pretty face. It is a shame the eldest Bennet does not share her bother’s eyes.”

Caroline was decidedly silent. Until, “Well there we have it then, Charles. If nothing else, the eldest and least obnoxious Bennets have earned a modicum of regard. When shall we wish you joy?”

Darcy answered first, “That is exactly the question I expected you to ask. A lady’s imagination is very rapid. It jumps from admiration to love, and from love to matrimony in a moment. There is no reason to wish anyone joy.”

“Nay, I shall consider the matter as absolutely settled,” Caroline teased with bristles on her tongue. “Charles, you will have a charming mother-in-law, indeed, of whom you may always expect to be wherever Jane is.”

Mrs. Hurst sighed. “I do have an excessive regard for Jane. She is a very sweet girl and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it.”

“With one uncle working as an attorney in Meryton and another doing who-cares-what in Cheapside?” Caroline all but barked. She and Louisa chortled.

James left them to their ramblings. The night air along the terrace was fresh from the rain as he jogged up the stairs and identified Jane’s door. Jane was asleep when he carefully opened the French doors and set the books on the coverlet in order to attend the fire. He stoked the embers up into small, sustainable flames—

“How was dinner?” He turned to find her gazing at him. She smiled, “The stew was good, I thought.”

Instead of replying he came to sit beside her, feeling her forehead…and throat… “Jane. You’re burning up.”

“Mm hm,” she uttered weakly.

“Why didn’t you send for me?” he growled, tearing at the knot of his cravat as he sought his wool coat. Rummaging through the pockets he found what he was looking for: a jar of vinegar with lemon rind and basil leaves infused within.

Jane grimaced. “Not the vinegar.”

“Yes the vinegar,” he said firmly while stuffing the copper kettle from her bedside into the embers. “You’ve brought this upon yourself. I could have kept the fever at bay.”

“I didn’t want to disrupt your evening,” she murmured softly, her face glistening.

“You wouldn’t have been disrupting anything that oughtn’t be interrupted,” he huffed, pouring more water from the pitcher into the kettle. As steam began to wind its way out of the spout, Jane noticed the books on the bed.

“Will you read for me?”

He made a sound in his chest as he opened the glass jar and let the contents splash into the kettle. Jane’s nose wrinkled as he pulled the kettle from the fire and poured a cup for her. “You’re to drink this all before you sleep again.”

“The pot?” she gaped, her pallor giving her a horrified visage.

“The pot,” he confirmed, holding out the cup. “Best get started.”

He draped another cool cloth over her forehead and removed his boots, socks, and trousers before climbing back in beside her. She began to move near him, inducing him to retort, “Don’t come over here when the pot is on your side!”

“Then nestle it within the covers,” she responded. Her voice was growing weaker with every sentence she spoke. James did just as she said, the kettle nestled beside his hip while Jane moved to recline against his chest. “What are we reading?”

He showed her each of the covers. “I have a pair of volumes on botanicals…”

“Oh, Jamie,” she huffed with mirth. “Four daughters, and you were the one papa would find with flowers in his hair. He would have to carry you back because you had fallen asleep in the Lucerne fields, do you remember?”

Jamie sighed and set aside the books while holding up the rest like playing cards for her inspection. “This one seems to be a record of discussions in a French salon, a few penny dreadfuls, and a novel of some sort. Do you know Dickens?”

Her hair was soft against his chin as she shook her head. “Mary might know. Read it.”

The tight leather binding creaked when he opened it as if it had never been read. He read the title page and its dedication, the way Jane liked before he began. “Drink your tonic,” he chided while refilling the two sips she had taken.

“Yes yes,” she hummed pleasantly. “Go on.”

So he did, reading the first part and nearly the second but a knock sounded on the glass doors. The siblings looked up and Jane waved for Charles...and Mr. Darcy to enter behind him. “Sorry to disturb,” the former greeted. “Caroline and Louisa have retired to bed but they insisted I check—I mean, of course I would have anyway, but—well—are you well, Jane?”

“I’m afraid my fever has made an energetic return,” she said apologetically.

Charles appeared crestfallen as he looked between she and James. “I shouldn’t have insisted you come to dinner. I am so sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known,” James disregarded, “but if you were preparing a separate room for me, I must stay here.”

“Of course!” Charles exclaimed. “Far be it for I to take away the closest thing to an apothecary we have. Am I furthering the malady by imposing upon you?”

“No, you could never, Mr. Bingley,” Jane said, a smile in her voice.

He was visibly warmed by her words. “How often have I asked that you call me Charles? Which of the books did you settle on, Jamie?”

“A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens,” he answered, holding up the cover. “We’ve nearly finished the first stave.”

Darcy’s lips frowned. “It’s quite out of season.”

“Nonsense!” Charles sang. “I tormented my governess by having her bake me mince pies all year round. A dose of festive cheer may be just the thing we all need. May we join you?”

The way James’ innards plunged, he wondered if Jane had accidentally elbowed his abdomen. “I am by no means a good reader.”

Jane perked up, “I don’t think so.”

“I mumble.”

“Articulately,” she countered, and waved a gentle hand. “By all means, Mr. Bingley, my lord,” she added for Darcy.

Charles all but dashed out of the room to personally carry two chairs for himself and Darcy. When they were seating themselves, James wondered, “You seem knowledgeable of the story, Charles?”

“Oh yes!” he sang. “It was my favorite as a child.”

“But this volume has never been opened,” he elaborated, fingering the tight leather over the spine.

Charles appeared crestfallen. “Yes…it is a new edition of the tale. My sisters insisted upon finer volumes for the family library instead of the ragged paperback we pored sleepless nights into. I…I am not even sure where it has gone, what with my parents’ deaths and our constant travels.”

“Then you’ll just have to read this one ragged,” Jane supplied. “Consider it a proper homecoming. For a lover of stories, nothing warms a home like well read tomes.”

James watched those blue eyes glitter in the firelight as a grin blossomed across his lips. “I believe you’re right…Jane.” He recovered himself and cleared his throat. “Please, Jamie, read for us? No, no—” he corrected when James began turning back the pages. “—right where you were. You needn’t start over.”

So he returned to his former place and started softly, his comfort growing as he read, “Scrooge closed the window and examined the door by which the Ghost had entered. It was double locked, as he had locked it with his own hands, and the bolts were undisturbed. He tried to say ‘Humbug!’ but he stopped at the—”

Jane splayed her fingers over the page. “Say it like you used to read; give him a voice here—do an impression of father when he’s cross.”

“Oh my,” Charles laughed. “Are we worthy of such a peek into domestic life?”

Jane giggled. “Jamie used to call it his 'dragon voice' when we were small.”

Charles was the epitome of curiosity and glee. “Well go on then! I never thought I’d be so lucky as to hear a dragon in Netherfield!”

“It strains my voice,” he uttered quietly.

“Then I ought to oversee you practice,” she said. “Perhaps Lydia will hear you better.” She reached back to poke his cheek, causing his lips to pout.

She lifted with the rise of his chest as he breathed, and then he growled, “Huummbug.” It rumbled in his chest and scratched his throat like swallowing embers, but Jane giggled profusely. Her mirth turned into full heaves of breath which then evolved into coughs. Jamie was ready with a handkerchief as well as her tonic.

Charles was half risen from his seat when she laid back once more on James’ chest. “Are you all right?”

“On the contrary,” she grimaced around vinegar as the red in her cheeks faded. “The phlegm has finally broken from my ribs—” Her features opened in horror. “I-I’m sorry. That’s—oh, it’s disgusting—I’m so sorry.”

It was Charles’ turn to guffaw. “Rest assured, I am not disillusioned enough to think women are not subjected to the same fluids as men. ‘Jolly boys make for jolly old men,’ so they say, because laughter is the best medicine.”

He looked to James, then, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad to see Jane smile and laugh despite her fever. I hope you will forgive me for being forthright, but I thought you were avoiding me.”

Truth and a ready lie clashed in Jamie’s throat, leaving his mouth open. Jane supplied, “He was.”

The betrayal was keen. “I wasn’t,” he countered, pinching the back of her arm. “Your leisure time has overlapped with my occupation, that’s all.”

The moonlight coming in sideways cast a unique glimmer over Bingley’s blue eyes, and shadows over Darcy’s brown ones. Charles said, “I am eager to hear more about this occupation. We’ll have more time tomorrow? I can see we’ve imposed ourselves enough.”

James glanced down at his sister, seeing her pale lashes resting on her cheeks more often than they were lifted. “Yes,” he acquiesced, “tomorrow. Thank you again for being hospitable to us—”

Charles stood while waving his hand. “It’s a pleasure, a pleasure. I only wish there was more time. Sleep well, Jamie, and you, Jane. I hope the morrow brings you better health.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Lord Darcy,” she smiled weakly.

Darcy leaned forward slightly in a bow and followed Charles out with their chairs. As the door shut behind them, James placed the volume atop the others on his bedside table while Jane shifted to lie on his shoulder. The nearly empty pot joined the books as she spoke.

“Two sightings of Mr. Darcy in one day.” He heard a smile in her breathy voice. “Aren’t I lucky. He must have come because you’re here.”

James breathed in the familiar scent of her hair and meant to close his eyes, but something in his peripheral vision made him turn his head back to the glass doors. Darcy and Bingley finished returning the chairs to the other room, and their shadows were leaving the veranda.