Influence & Grace | Mr. Darcy [PPZ]

IX

nine | 09.

DISTASTEFUL GOODBYES.

The morning after the next, Mary awoke with a languid yawn, peeling herself from the chair she had unintentionally fallen asleep in beside Jane's bed.

The hard lines of the wooden armrests had left faint imprints on her skin, and she stretched to relieve the stiffness that had set into her limbs.

Jane, to Mary's relief, appeared much improved, her feverish flush having abated since their arrival. The physician's tonics seemed to have finally taken effect, and Jane's breathing was steady, her sleep deep and restful for the first time in days.

Mary's gaze wandered about the room, searching for Elizabeth, but her elder sister was nowhere to be found.

Just as Mary was about to rise and investigate, the murmur of raised voices drifted up from below, their volume unmistakable.

She froze, her heart leaping in her chest. Such noise was uncharacteristic of Netherfield, where even Mr. Bingley's most animated conversations maintained a level of civility.

The only cause for such a disturbance could be one thing—her mother had arrived.

Her pulse quickened as she hastily ran her fingers through her unruly dark curls, trying in vain to tame the errant strands that stuck out at odd angles.

In her haste, she stumbled toward Jane, gently shaking her sister awake.

"Come, Janey." She urged tenderly. "Mamma has come to fetch us."

Jane stirred, muttering something incoherent, but Mary was too preoccupied with the rising panic in her chest to pay much mind. She hoisted her sister to her feet.

How humiliating it would be to subject Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy to the spectacle of their mother's unabashed fussing—she could only imagine the embarrassment awaiting her downstairs.

They had already overstayed their welcome, surely.

Supporting Jane with one arm, Mary steered them toward the door, her other hand fumbling at her hair, which remained disheveled and loose.

It wasn't until she reached the landing that she realized she'd left her glasses on the bedside table in her rush. No time to go back, she thought, blinking through the slight blur as they descended the stairs.

She could make out enough of the scene unfolding below.

"Are you here to take Jane home?" Mr. Darcy's deep, gravelly voice traveled through the air, sounding more hopeful than Mary expected.

Standing before him was Mrs. Bennet, whose wide eyes and awkwardly pursed lips suggested confusion at the directness of his question.

Elizabeth, too, was there, her brows furrowed in mild irritation as she stood slightly apart from their mother, arms crossed in silent disapproval.