A week later, Darcy and Bingley returned home from a pleasant evening with the militia officers to find Jane Bennet unwell and staying at Netherfield. She had joined Bingley’s sisters for dinner and taken ill, the result of becoming soaked in a rainstorm. Bingley loved the idea, although his sisters felt put upon.

Darcy found Mrs. Bennet’s maneuverings mildly amusing. She, obviously, had set it up for her eldest daughter to be overcome and be at Bingley’s mercy.They were, of course, chaperoned by his sisters. What a perfect way to snare a husband, he thought. Perhaps the woman should write a manual for young unmarried ladies.

When there was nothing for him to do, Darcy left the Bingleys to tend to their patient and headed to bed. As he undressed, an errant thought occurred to him. If Jane Bennet were to remain at Netherfield for several days, Elizabeth Bennet would join her. He audibly moaned; he and Elizabeth would be in the same house. On the one hand, the thought excited him.And on the other, it threatened his sanity. Darcy had not recovered from their most recent encounter. He had wanted so much to dance with her—to hold her in his arms; and he wanted to stop her singing by kissing her sweet lips—her ears—her neck. Every time he thought of it, he imagined Elizabeth at the pianoforte singing his song and then standing slowly and walking into his embrace.They would cling to each other—tongues dueling—silencing his words and even his thoughts. It was one of his favorite dreams of late. Now they could create new dreams, he and Elizabeth. Despite his resolve not to marry, Darcy could not help himself when it came to Elizabeth Bennet.Whether he admitted it aloud or not, she possessed part of his soul.