E lizabeth glowered down at the mud caked on her hem - it had to be at least six inches deep up her petticoat. With every step along the path to Netherfield, she could feel the damp fabric clinging to her legs, heavy and cold against her skin. Each squelching footfall only deepened her frustration. If Jane had not been injured, she might have been able to laugh at the absurdity of her predicament, but as it was, her concern for her sister dulled any amusement she might have found.
Well, it is a good thing I do not particularly care about what those harpies think of me.
She could already imagine Miss Bingley’s disdainful gaze sweeping over her muddy skirts, her lips pursed in that superior way she had perfected. No doubt she would make some cutting remark about country manners or unfashionable resilience.
Let her try, Elizabeth thought with a smirk. If a bit of mud is enough to scandalize her, I shall have to resist the urge to kick off my boots and make it even worse.
As she neared Netherfield, a movement in the side garden caught her eye. A tall figure, clad in a dark cloak, was walking along the gravel path, hands clasped behind his back.
Darcy.
He was dressed more casually than she had seen him before, his coat unbuttoned as though he had just returned from a walk. His hair was slightly tousled, and for the first time, she thought he looked less severe, less like the imperious figure from the assembly and more like the man she had met in London—exhausted, yes, but capable, controlled. As she approached, his dark gaze flickered to her hem, then to her face, his expression unreadable.
“Miss Elizabeth.” He inclined his head in greeting.
Elizabeth ignored the warmth curling through her at the sound of her name on his lips. “Mr. Darcy. I have come to inquire after my sister. How is she?”
“I confess to being in complete ignorance. I have yet to break my fast, as I wished to take advantage of the fresh air.”
“Yes, the morning after a rainfall always makes it easier for Kitty to breathe as well. I believe it is the damp in the air.”
He hesitated. “The herbs you have provided seem to have helped as well.”
Elizabeth smiled. “I am truly glad to hear it.”
“I have already written a letter to inquire about procuring more. I would not wish to continue taking from your household’s supply.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, that is entirely unnecessary. We have more than enough stored, and Mrs. Hill has been tending to the plants for some time now. It is no trouble in the least.”
Darcy’s lips pressed together, though not, she suspected, to suppress a cough this time. “I dislike relying on anyone.”
She arched a brow. “That can lead to a very lonely life, Mr. Darcy.”
He said nothing for a long moment. His eyes searched hers with such intensity that she almost stepped back—almost. But she stood her ground, heart pattering unexpectedly as his gaze dropped, just briefly, to her mouth. When he looked back up, something unreadable flickered in his expression—a hesitation, a longing, swiftly masked.
Then he gave the barest nod. “So I have come to understand.”
Elizabeth swallowed and glanced away, the strange tension between them tightening like a drawn bowstring. She refused to consider what that look meant, or why the room suddenly felt smaller than it had a moment before.
“I must see Jane,” she said at last, adjusting her shawl with a briskness that belied the tremor in her fingers.
Elizabeth did not linger on his reaction, nor did she allow herself to dwell on the strange shift in the air between them. “I must see Jane,” she said, adjusting her shawl.
“Please, allow me to escort you inside.”
Elizabeth nodded her thanks and took his arm, the contact causing her stomach to fill with butterflies. The warmth of the house was welcome after her muddy journey, though the moment she stepped foot inside the dining, she felt the weight of judgment settle upon her.
Miss Bingley was seated with her sister at the table, and she took in Elizabeth’s mud-streaked gown with barely concealed horror. “Miss Elizabeth, my goodness! We were… not expecting you. Did you… walk here?”
“Yes, I wished to check on Jane as soon as I could. Tell me, has Mr. Jones arrived yet?”
Miss Bingley’s smile was thin. “Not yet, but I did not wish to disturb him if your sister were to have recovered over the night.”
Elizabeth frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
Mrs. Hurst gave a delicate shrug. “Well, my dear, you know how some ladies can be.” She exchanged a glance with her sister before turning her gaze back to Elizabeth, feigning sympathy. “Do you recall Miss Penrose, Caroline? She fell down the steps last spring and made such a fuss about her ankle, only for the doctor to arrive and declare there was nothing amiss at all?”
“Oh yes,” Miss Bingley said with a laugh. “She stayed abed for nearly a week, moaning about her suffering, only to be perfectly fine the moment an invitation to Lady Latham’s ball arrived.”
Elizabeth stiffened. The insinuation was clear. “I assure you, Jane is not feigning an injury,” she said coolly. “If you doubt it, I invite you to come upstairs and see for yourself.”
Miss Bingley hesitated, clearly weighing the prospect of entering a sickroom—however minor the ailment—against the opportunity to prove herself correct. At last, she tilted her chin and smoothed the front of her gown. “Very well. Let us see the patient.”
Elizabeth led the way up the stairs, her steps brisk with determination. When they reached Jane’s room, she pushed the door open to reveal her sister lying in bed, her face pale and her ankle propped on pillows. The moment Miss Bingley stepped inside, her eyes landed on the swollen, bruised skin peeking out from beneath Jane’s dressing gown.
The color drained from Miss Bingley’s face. “Oh,” she breathed, reaching out to grip the bedpost as she wobbled slightly.
“Might we call for Mr. Jones now, Miss Bingley?” Elizabeth crossed her arms.
“I… yes… allow me to send someone for him.”
Stupid woman , Elizabeth thought with disgust. As if Jane would ever behave in such an unladylike manner.
∞∞∞
Mr. Jones arrived in due course and declared Jane’s ankle to be badly sprained, though not broken. To Jane’s mortification and Miss Bingley’s horror, the apothecary insisted she not attempt to return to Longbourn for a week complete. “The jostling of the carriage could cause permanent damage,” he explained. “If the pain is not too much, she might be carried downstairs for meals or to enjoy the outdoors, but no more than that.”
“Absolutely,” Mr. Bingley agreed at once upon hearing the news, attempting to hide his pleasure at these words. “I will personally ensure that she is moved only with the greatest of care.”
It was with great reluctance that Miss Bingley also offered for Elizabeth to remain at Netherfield in order to help tend to her sister. Elizabeth gratefully accepted the invitation. Poor Miss Bingley looks torn between wishing my departure so as not to spar with her, or wishing my presence so her brother’s attentions will be lessened.
Elizabeth spent the remainder of the day at her sister’s side, ensuring that her ankle remained elevated getting them both settled into their rooms once their belongings arrived from Longbourn. She was annoyed to discover that their mother had sent dresses more fitting for an assembly rather than day gowns or dinner gowns.
By the time the dinner bell rang, Jane was in a significant amount of discomfort and did not feel equal to the task of dining downstairs. A tray was ordered, and Jane encouraged Elizabeth to join the others. “I already feel like I am being discourteous, Lizzy. I do not wish them to think that I am ungrateful for their kindness. It would be worse if you took a tray as well.”
“Very well,” Elizabeth sighed dramatically, “but only because I love you, Jane.”
As Elizabeth made her way downstairs to the dining room, she mentally braced herself for an evening of forced civility. She suspected Miss Bingley would find new ways to needle her, and Mrs. Hurst would follow along with idle amusement. Mr. Bingley, of course, would be as gracious as ever, and Darcy…
She hesitated on the final step. And what of Mr. Darcy ?
Though their interactions had been few, they had been intense. She was still unsettled by the way he had looked at her after she had offered him the herbs. It was not admiration, nor was it disdain. If anything, he had seemed… bewildered.
She shook herself. There was no use in dwelling on it now. If he had any further thoughts about her, he would certainly never voice them.
She entered the dining room to find the gentlemen already present. Mr. Bingley greeted her warmly and insisted that he had just been about to send a footman to fetch her. Darcy stood at the opposite end of the room, near the fire, his usual stoic mask in place. But something flickered in his gaze when he looked at her, and she flushed slightly.
Miss Bingley, seated beside her brother, gave Elizabeth a tight smile. “I trust your sister is comfortable?”
“She is, though she is in some pain,” Elizabeth replied as she took her seat. “She sends her apologies for not joining you all tonight.”
“Oh, no apologies are necessary,” Mr. Bingley assured her. “Her health is far more important.”
Miss Bingley pursed her lips. “Indeed, it is such a pity.”
Elizabeth merely smiled, and the dinner proceeded with general conversation. Mr. Bingley inquired after Longbourn, speaking particularly to Elizabeth about her younger sisters. She spoke of Kitty and Mary but neglected to mention Lydia, suspecting Miss Bingley would take pleasure in any foolishness her youngest sister had displayed.
As the courses progressed, the conversation turned toward London and the devastation of the fire. Mr. Hurst, who had barely engaged in the discussion thus far, suddenly perked up.
“I say, did you hear about the rumors?” he asked, reaching for his wine glass. “There are whispers that the fire was not an accident. Some say it was arson.”
Elizabeth, who had just taken a sip of her own wine, nearly choked.
Miss Bingley gasped dramatically. “Arson? Surely not!”
“Oh, surely so,” Mr. Hurst countered, waving his fork. “The docks, the warehouses—it was too widespread, too coordinated. A single spark could not have spread so rapidly.”
Elizabeth felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She flicked a glance at Darcy, who was watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.
“Who would commit such a crime?” Bingley asked, frowning.
“Rivals, perhaps? Foreign interests? Or perhaps some disgruntled employees,” Mr. Hurst speculated.
“Or simple mischief,” Darcy said at last, his voice calm but firm. “A tragedy does not always require a grand conspiracy.”
Elizabeth exhaled, grateful for his interjection.
Mr. Hurst shrugged and returned to his food, losing interest now that he had imparted his gossip. But Elizabeth could not shake the unease curling in her stomach.
She had not forgotten what Mrs. Gardiner had told her about the inspector’s suspicions. Could they truly believe that someone intended for the fire to happen? That it was planned?
And if so—who would they blame?
Pushing her thoughts aside, Elizabeth focused on her meal. There was nothing she could do about it now. And yet, as she felt Darcy’s eyes on her once more, she could not shake the feeling that the conversation that evening had been anything but idle.
∞∞∞
The separation of the sexes was brief, and Elizabeth spent the majority of that time being ignored by the two superior ladies. Superior only in their own heads, at least.
When the gentlemen came into the room, Elizabeth quickly made her excuses and went upstairs. Upon seeing that Jane was sleeping soundly, thanks to a draught provided by Mr. Jones, she retired to her bed and quickly fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted physically and emotionally.
Upon awaking the next morning, Elizabeth felt a sense of calm. The first night at Netherfield had been endured without major incident—aside from the troubling conversation about the fire—and Jane had slept well. She rose and dressed quickly, eager to check on her sister before breakfast.
After determining that Jane was still asleep, Elizabeth made her way down the stairs to breakfast. To her surprise, she discovered both Darcy and Bingley sitting at the table.
“Miss Elizabeth!” Bingley’s delighted smile prompted her own. “Please, come join us. How is your sister?”
His question was rushed, immediately on the heels of his invitation. She grinned broadly at him and began to make her selection from the sideboard. “She slept well and is still resting comfortably.”
“Excellent… excellent.”
“And how are you faring, Miss Elizabeth?” Darcy’s voice was deep and grave.
Elizabeth took her seat at the table and looked across into his dark, piercing eyes. A prickle of heat crept up her neck as he held her gaze a moment too long—just long enough for her pulse to quicken. “I am doing well, sir,” she said at last, taking a bite of toast to cover her sudden—and wholly unexpected—nerves.
He nodded solemnly, though something in the lift of his brow suggested amusement. Swallowing quickly, he asked, “And yourself, Miss Bennet? How are you feeling?”
“Tolerably well, thank you.”
“Darcy!” Bingley cried in mock horror as Elizabeth gaped at him.
And then she saw it—the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was not a full smile, but it warmed his face in a way that made her breath catch.
She laughed, bright and unrestrained. “You tease, sir! I would never have imagined it.”
Bingley chuckled, looking between them with open amusement. “Indeed, Darcy! You had us both quite fooled for a moment.”
Darcy inclined his head, his gaze not leaving hers. “I suppose I could not resist.”
Elizabeth shook her head, still smiling. Her fingers absently smoothed the edge of her napkin as she said, “Well, I am pleased to see that your humor has improved along with your health.”
“Oh? Were you feeling unwell, Darcy?”
Her smile faltered, eyes widening slightly. She turned from Bingley’s expression of innocent concern to Darcy’s—his was unreadable, though she thought she saw the shadow of something more vulnerable flicker across it before he shuttered his features again.
He closed his eyes briefly and said, “Merely a cough, Bingley. The air at the assembly was… bothersome.”
Elizabeth’s heart ached at the word. That night flashed briefly in her memory—his breathless struggle, the heat of his skin beneath her hand.
Bingley’s expression softened. “The sea air of Ramsgate did not cure you, then?”
“I am afraid it proved to be less therapeutic than I had wished.”
As Darcy spoke, his eyes shifted once more to hers. There was nothing teasing now in his expression—only gratitude, and something quieter. Something that made her throat go dry.
She quickly looked down at her plate, but her pulse still danced in her wrist, and her fingers itched to brush his hand where it rested near the teacup.
The moment was interrupted when Miss Bingley entered the room, her sharp gaze immediately homing in on Elizabeth’s presence. “Why, Miss Eliza,” she drawled, taking her seat beside her brother. “How devoted you are to your sister, rising so early to care for her.”
Elizabeth merely smiled. “It is no trouble for me, as we are quite used to country hours here. In any case, Jane would do the same for me.”
“Indeed,” Miss Bingley murmured, her gaze flicking toward Darcy. “Such… devotion is most commendable.”
“Speaking of Miss Bennet, will she be joining us today, do you think?” Bingley’s eager face looked so much like that of a puppy, Elizabeth had to stifle a giggle.
“Oh, certainly not!” cried Miss Bingley before Elizabeth could answer. “I cannot even imagine a true lady of refinement would be able to rise from her bed the day after such a terrible injury!”
Elizabeth bristled. “Jane will most likely remain in bed today, as Mr. Jones has recommended. Once he allows her to be carried about, however, I am certain she will be happy to come down to enjoy the company of her new friends.”
“But once she is well enough to be carried down, will she not be returning home?” Miss Bingley’s eyes were wide with a faux innocence that Elizabeth found infuriating.
“I daresay being carried down the stairs is far less damaging than the jostling of a carriage for several miles!” Bingley protested. “In fact, in order to safeguard Miss Bennet’s ankle, I shall carry her about myself to ensure it is done properly.”
Miss Bingley’s fork clattered against her plate. “You, Charles?” she sputtered, her usually poised expression slipping.
Bingley, seemingly unaware of the scandalized look on his sister’s face, nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! A footman may not take the same care. I shall be most careful, and I dare say Miss Bennet will find the arrangement preferable to being stuck in her chambers for days on end.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together to suppress a smile. She had no doubt that Jane would be flustered beyond measure at such attentions, but she could not deny that Bingley’s enthusiasm was… endearing.
Miss Bingley, regaining some of her composure, sniffed and turned to Darcy. “Surely you agree, Mr. Darcy? A lady of true refinement would not wish to be seen in such a state. No doubt Miss Bennet would prefer to remain upstairs rather than endure such… humiliations.”
Darcy set down his cup and regarded her with a steady gaze. “I think Miss Bennet’s preference is for Miss Bennet to decide,” he said coolly.
Elizabeth nearly choked on her tea.
Miss Bingley’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but before she could respond, Bingley beamed at Darcy. “Exactly, my friend! And I am quite certain Miss Bennet will be grateful for the chance to join us in the drawing room when she is able.”
Miss Bingley, clearly realizing she had lost this particular battle, exhaled through her nose and picked up her fork once more. “Well,” she said, forcing a smile, “I am sure we will all do our utmost to ensure Miss Bennet’s recovery is swift and pleasant.”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Indeed, Miss Bingley. I am sure she will be most grateful for your concern.”
A slight twitch appeared at the corner of Darcy’s mouth, and Elizabeth found herself struggling to hold back a grin.
Oh yes, this was going to be an amusing stay indeed.
∞∞∞
A few hours later, after having returned to her sister and assured herself of Jane’s comfort, Elizabeth wandered into the Netherfield library, in search of something to read. She browsed the sparsely-populated shelves, lamenting the fact that she had not thought to ask for a few books when a servant went to fetch hers and Jane’s things.
“I am afraid you will not find very much.”
Startled, Elizabeth jumped slightly and whirled around to face Darcy standing only a few feet behind her.
“Good heavens!” she cried, raising one hand to her chest to cover her beating heart. “I had not known anyone else was in here.”
“I apologize for startling you,” he said. “It was not my intention.”
“I suppose I am just used to my noisy sisters,” she said a bit breathlessly.
He inclined his head. “I have always walked rather quietly—my sister often says I ought to tie a bell to my shoes so as not to startle people.”
Elizabeth let out a startled laugh, the tension of her surprise completely melting away. “That sounds like something Kitty might say. I suppose I must apologize, then, for not having sharper ears. You might have said something, though.”
“I do not speak often unless necessary.”
“Well, we make quite the contrast, then!” Elizabeth laughed again. “My mother is always telling me that I talk too much. It seems, Mr. Darcy, that we are destined to be either the best of friends or the worst of enemies.”
A hint of amusement flickered across Darcy’s face. “I hope, for the sake of everyone at Netherfield, that it is the former.”
Elizabeth arched a brow playfully. “A declaration of friendship, Mr. Darcy? Are you feeling quite well?”
“I do not believe my health has much bearing on the matter,” he returned dryly. “Though I assure you, my speaking little is no sign of rudeness. Prolonged conversation often aggravates my cough.”
Her amusement softened into understanding. “Then I shall endeavor to do the speaking for both of us.”
Darcy let out a quiet huff that might have been a laugh. “A most generous offer.”
Elizabeth grinned. “Though, in fairness, if we are to be the worst of enemies, I should think you would be required to speak more often, if only to engage in verbal battles with me.”
Darcy exhaled lightly, the closest thing to a chuckle she had yet heard from him. “Then I suppose I am fortunate that my silence makes such a battle impossible. You would win too easily.”
Elizabeth tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “A wise man knows when he cannot win, I suppose.”
“Or when to choose his battles wisely.”
They stood there for a moment, the air between them oddly charged, before Darcy abruptly turned toward the shelves. “If you are looking for something to read, I might be able to offer you better options than what Bingley keeps here. His collection is… lacking.”
Elizabeth turned back toward the shelves, brushing her fingers along the spines of the books. “You say there is not much of a selection?”
“Unfortunately, no. Bingley had Netherfield let in something of a rush and had little time to stock the library to his satisfaction.”
“A pity,” Elizabeth mused. “A house without books is a dreadful thing.”
“Indeed,” Darcy agreed. He hesitated for a brief moment before adding, “However, I do have a book in my own collection that might interest you.”
Elizabeth turned back to him, curiosity lighting her features. “Do you?”
He nodded and moved toward the corner of the room, where a small table held a few volumes. Selecting one, he returned and held it out to her.
She took it carefully, her fingers brushing his as she examined the title. “ The Minstrel by James Beattie.” She glanced up at him, surprised. “I have read some of this before.”
“If you do not mind annotations, I have made a few notes in the margins. It is a favorite of mine.”
Elizabeth took the book with curiosity, running her fingers along the cover. It was well-worn but well-loved, and the weight of the gesture was not lost on her. “I shall take great care with it,” she promised.
“I do not doubt it.”
Their eyes met again, and Elizabeth’s stomach gave an odd little flip. She quickly glanced down at the book and clasped it a little tighter. “Well,” she said lightly, “I shall leave you to your silence, then, and take myself off to read.”
He inclined his head. “Enjoy it, Miss Elizabeth.”
She smirked. “As I would any treasured friend.”
With that, she turned and left the library, making her way upstairs with the book tucked close. Yet as she went, she could not stop herself from dwelling on the encounter.
For the rest of the afternoon, her mind was full of Mr. Darcy.