Chapter 7

“It is Mr Darcy, sir. Would you care to admit him?”

From behind the valet, who stood guard at the threshold to his master’s bedchamber, Darcy could hear Bingley’s voice welcoming him in. “Of course! Stand down, Waters. Come in, man, I am absolutely wasting away from boredom.”

Waters offered Darcy a bow as he moved aside, revealing Bingley seated by the fireplace in his robe and slippers. His friend still looked a mite pale, but far more hale and hearty than Darcy had last seen him. The basket of lavender situated on the hearth must be doing its work.

“How are you feeling?” he enquired, taking the armchair across from Bingley’s.

His friend huffed. “Much better, though apparently not well enough to stand without falling over yet. How I long to leave this room! This is as far as I have managed to toddle from my bed.”

“Yes, Eliz—” Darcy cleared his throat, praying that Bingley had not noticed his slip. He ought not to bandy about his betrothed’s Christian name until he had at least spoken to her father first. “That is, Miss Elizabeth says that some weakness after prolonged exposure to rogue magic is to be expected. You will be fully recovered by tomorrow, according to her estimation.”

“Thank goodness for Miss Elizabeth and her Gift! I do not know how to thank her for all she has done, truly I do not. I had hoped that you might have an idea for what to do.”

“I am sure your gratitude is thanks enough.”

“Nonsense! But I shall put some thought into it…say, have you heard whether or not this miasma business has spread about the neighbourhood? If so, I daresay Miss Elizabeth and Mr Jones are sure to be quite busy in the near future. Perhaps I could make my carriage available to them while they pay their sick visits.”

Darcy grimaced now that the time had come upon him to reveal the truth to his friend. “No, the contagion was confined to Netherfield and there is no danger to the neighbourhood.”

“That is a relief.”

“However…I do not know quite how else to say this, so I will just come out with it. Miss Bingley was the cause.”

Bingley reared back, his bright blue eyes vivid within his pallid face. “I beg your pardon?”

Darcy proceeded to explain to Bingley the goings on since his collapse two days prior. Not only his sister’s starring role in the epidemic, but also the necessary measures taken by Elizabeth to ensure the safety of all under Netherfield’s roof. When he drew his tale to a close, Bingley was staring grimly at the fire, his hand pressed over his mouth.

“We owe Miss Elizabeth far more than we can ever repay,” was Bingley’s eventual conclusion. “For our sake, she threw away her good name and reputation. I suppose I must offer for her in reparation, although I do not know how I shall endure being merely brother to the woman I actually adore.”

Straightening his lapels, Darcy allowed himself a satisfied smile as he said, “On that score, you need not concern yourself. I have asked Miss Elizabeth to marry me and I am proud to say that she has accepted. Her reputation is now safely shielded by my own.”

Bingley turned to him, the shock on his face rather insulting. “You have agreed to marry her?”

Darcy sniffed at his friend. “No, she has agreed to marry me. I could not be more pleased with my success.”

“But I thought…” Bingley shook his head. “No, do not mind me; I am still addlepated from being ill, I suppose. If you are happy to be marrying Miss Elizabeth, then I am happy for you.”

“Thank you.”

Slumping into his chair, Bingley sighed dejectedly. “As glad as I am that Caroline has not caused any lasting harm to you or anyone else, I am at a loss for what to do with her.” Jolting up in his seat, he cried, “Good Lord, where is she? She cannot roam around unchecked if she has sickened an entire household!”

Darcy clasped Bingley’s shoulder and pressed him back into his seat. “Fear not, she has been confined to her rooms until more permanent arrangements can be made. The servants have all been outfitted with sprigs of Miss Elizabeth’s magical lavender and there are huge pots of the stuff outside her door to prevent any of her miasmas seeping out. It is well in hand.”

“Thank goodness! I daresay I shall have to make reparations to those she harmed, but even that will not be enough to guard her reputation after this. What can I do?”

Though he was loath to direct his friend on intimate family matters, Darcy had given Miss Bingley’s situation some thought. “There is nothing you can do save send her to some remote place until she can learn to better regulate her Gift. She herself admitted that she lost control of it, resulting in a calamity which nearly took the lives of dozens of people around her, to say nothing of the reputation of an innocent lady which was sacrificed in order to undo the damage. Hire a companion—one with healing abilities that will lend her immunity to toxic perfumes, of course—to oversee her rehabilitation and one day Miss Bingley might be able to re-enter society.”

Bingley snorted. “As if she would be welcomed back. No one will solicit the company of one who can sicken them—or worse—in a fit of temper. As for taking her to wife…”

Darcy grimaced. Miss Bingley had thoroughly blasted her own prospects, indeed.

“I suppose there is nothing for it. I cannot allow her to go about as if nothing happened and allow her to harm people, either by accident or malice. Will you assist me in hiring someone suitable?”

“Certainly, my aunt will likely have several candidates who fit the bill. I shall write to her this morning.”

Sensing that Bingley was wearying, Darcy bid him a good day soon after. He went in search of Elizabeth in hopes of sneaking another one of those invigorating kisses.