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Longbourn - Elizabeth

E lizabeth pressed her forehead against the cold windowpane, watching frost patterns spread across the glass like delicate lace.

Though February was drawing to a close, winter’s grip remained firm, as unyielding as the future that awaited her.

In the week since Mr Darcy and Mr Collins had left the neighbourhood, she had constructed a careful routine - a framework of normalcy to contain her grief.

When not attending her father, she wrapped herself in her warmest cloak and walked her favourite haunts, letting the bitter wind sting her cheeks and freeze the tears she refused to shed.

Her palm pressed flat against the glass, seeking its numbing cold.

Kent, she had heard, was beautiful even in winter.

She would still be able to return to Longbourn, to see her mother and sisters.

These thoughts she repeated like prayers, though each one rang more hollow than the last. No amount of rationalisation could make the prospect of life at Hunsford feel like anything but exile.

At least here, in her father’s room, she could pretend time stood still.

But time refused to stop. Behind her, her father stirred in his chair, a muffled cough breaking the morning silence.

Elizabeth’s hands clenched in her skirts at the sound.

Though he rarely spoke of his pain, she could see it in the tightness around his eyes, in the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking.

Each day seemed to drain more colour from his face, more strength from his voice.

Another cough made her press harder against the glass, as if she could somehow freeze this moment, halt time’s relentless march forward.

From below, her mother’s voice drifted up, warm with satisfaction as she discussed wedding plans with Mary. “Everything proceeding exactly as it should!” The words hung in the air like frost - brittle, sharp, and utterly cold.

* * *

Longbourn - Jane

Jane lingered in the doorway, one hand pressed against the smooth oak frame.

Through the gap, she could see Lizzy sitting beside their father’s bed, her back as straight as a soldier’s, her hands folded too precisely in her lap.

Since Mr Darcy’s abrupt departure, all the light seemed to have gone out of her sister - Lizzy’s quick wit and ready laugh replaced by the mechanical movements of Mr Collins’s dutiful future wife.

There must be something she could do to prevent this marriage, Jane thought, her fingers tightening on the door frame as her mind raced through possibilities .

Perhaps their aunt Gardiner might help? Jane’s heart quickened at the thought - Aunt Gardiner had always understood Lizzy best. But no - even if she could convince their aunt of Elizabeth’s true feelings, what then?

Breaking an engagement would create a scandal that would destroy them all.

If only Mr Bingley would make his offer soon, she might have more influence, more power to help.

Yet even that seemed a feeble hope - what right would she have to risk her family’s security, even as a future Mrs Bingley?

The rest of the family seemed blind to Elizabeth’s suffering, but Jane had witnessed every charged moment between her sister and Mr Darcy at Netherfield - the way his eyes followed Lizzy across a room, how her sister’s wit sparkled brightest in his presence.

His hasty departure spoke volumes about what must have passed between them.

If only she could find a way to bring him back - but no, Lizzy flinched at even the slightest mention of his name.

“He is merely an acquaintance,” she would say, though her trembling hands and too-bright eyes told a different story.

Their father’s declining health cast a shadow over everything.

Jane had spent sleepless nights considering desperate measures - writing to Mr Darcy directly, confiding in Mr Bingley, even appealing to Lady Catherine herself.

But each possibility seemed more dangerous than the last. One wrong step could destroy not just Elizabeth’s reputation, but the entire family’s security.

Every path she considered led to either scandal or ruin.

Yet the thought of standing idly by while Lizzy sacrificed herself was unbearable.

Jane’s fingers curled against the door frame until her knuckles whitened.

There must be some way, some solution she hadn’t yet considered.

Her sister had always been the clever one, finding paths where others saw only walls - but now it was Jane’s turn to find a way forward.

If only she had more time to think, to plan.

But with each rattling cough from their father’s room, with each cheerful mention of wedding preparations from their mother, the noose of circumstance drew tighter.

* * *

Darcy House - Georgiana

The fire in Darcy House’s dining room crackled and spat, casting flickering shadows across the dark panelled walls.

Despite the warmth of the flames and the rich aroma of roasted pheasant rising from their plates, an unseasonable chill seemed to hover in the air.

Georgiana watched her brother absently push a piece of meat around his plate, his thoughts clearly far from their elegant London dining room.

What could have happened in Hertfordshire to bring him back so changed?

He had left London full of purpose just days ago, carrying her letter to Elizabeth.

Now he was back, silent and brooding, his usual reserve hardened into something more forbidding.

Her earlier attempts to ask about his sudden return had been met with such curt responses that even Mrs Reynolds had noticed, shooting concerned glances at both siblings throughout the day.

As the servants cleared away the last course, Georgiana gathered her courage. If anyone could reach her brother in this mood, surely it must be her.

“Brother,” she ventured softly, “did Miss Elizabeth receive my letter? Was there any reply?”

Fitzwilliam coloured slightly at the mention of Elizabeth’s name. “Yes, I delivered it,” he said stiffly. “But no, I am afraid there was no reply.”

Georgiana watched her brother’s tense shoulders, his rigid posture as he stared into the fire. Something had gone terribly wrong in Hertfordshire. Taking a deep breath, she pressed on with a boldness she rarely showed.

“The Clementi sonatina I sent her - did she have a chance to try it?” She saw her brother’s hand tighten on the mantelpiece, and immediately regretted bringing up anything related to Elizabeth.

Fitzwilliam’s back was to her, but she could hear the strain in his voice. “I did not have the pleasure.” The formal tone, so unlike his usual manner with her, made her heart ache.

Georgiana twisted her handkerchief in her lap, uncertain how to proceed. “I would very much like to hear her play it. Perhaps…” she hesitated, then continued softly, “perhaps I might visit Hertfordshire myself?”

Her brother turned suddenly from the fire. “Yes,” he said, with unexpected intensity. “Yes, that might be best. Miss Bingley could accompany you to Netherfield.”

Georgiana stared at her brother in astonishment. Only days ago, he had been adamantly opposed to her visiting Hertfordshire, citing every possible reason why she should remain in London. His sudden reversal made no sense - unless…

“To Netherfield?” she asked carefully, studying his expression. There was something in his face she couldn’t quite read, a mixture of determination and what might have been desperation.

“Yes,” he said shortly. Then, with an attempt at lightness that didn’t quite succeed, “Unless you would prefer the inn?”

“But what about-” Georgiana’s voice faltered. Even now, months later, she couldn’t bring herself to speak his name. Someday, perhaps, it would feel like a distant memory, something that had happened to someone else. But not yet. The wound was still too raw.

Her brother’s expression softened slightly as he turned to face her fully. “I thought you wished to see the Miss Bennets again?” His voice was gentle but carried an odd note of urgency that made her look up sharply.

“Yes, I do,” Georgiana admitted softly. “But-” She hesitated, searching her brother’s face. There was something almost desperate in his manner, so unlike his usual careful deliberation.

“Then it’s settled.” He spoke with sudden decisiveness, as if afraid she might change her mind. “You will call on Miss Bingley tomorrow. I’ll have the carriage ready at ten.” He turned back to the fire for a moment, then added quietly, “I shall write to Bingley tonight.”

Before she could press further, he was already moving, his long strides carrying him swiftly to the door, each step echoing down the corridor.

The sharp click of his study door reverberated through the house - a sound Georgiana knew well from childhood, signalling when her brother needed solitude.

Left alone in the dining room, she tried to make sense of it all.

Her brother’s sudden return from Hertfordshire, Elizabeth still engaged to Mr Collins, and now this unexpected insistence on sending her to Netherfield…

The pieces slowly began falling into place.

Whatever had happened between her brother and Elizabeth must have been serious enough to drive him from Hertfordshire.

Yet he was willing to risk her encountering Wickham just to send her there - her brother, who since Ramsgate had arranged her entire life to shield her from any possibility of scandal or harm, who wouldn’t let her walk in the park without an escort, was now deliberately sending her into danger.