Page 11

Bingley had joined him earlier, attempting to maintain their usual easy companionship through three games.

But his friend’s worried glances and careful avoidance of mentioning Elizabeth had only increased Darcy’s agitation.

When Bingley had finally retired an hour ago, suggesting Darcy do the same, he had merely nodded and begun another solitary game.

The rain still fell steadily outside, though with nothing like its earlier violence. Each patter against the windows conjured the image of Elizabeth trapped in the dark, cold and soaking.

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Mr Jones had promised to return before midnight with more powders for Elizabeth’s fever.

Though the apothecary had offered guarded reassurance-she was young and strong, and the fever not yet dire-there had been enough concern in his voice to make the late-night return necessary.

Darcy lined up another shot, trying to focus solely on the angle and force required.

The ball rolled true this time, dropping neatly into the pocket.

He moved to line up his next shot, but found his attention drawn to the sound of rain against the windows.

Somewhere out there, Jones was making his way through the wet darkness.

Bingley had offered to send the carriage, but the apothecary had declined, saying his horse was surer in these conditions than any vehicle.

The distant sound of carriage wheels on wet gravel made him pause, cue stick suspended mid-stroke. Had Jones reconsidered the offer of transport after all? Though it did not sound like the Netherfield carriage returning…

A few minutes later the soft tread of footsteps in the corridor made Darcy glance up. The door opened, and Morris entered, his usually impassive face drawn tight with fatigue.

“Mr Darcy, sir,” he said quietly. “Mr Bennet has just arrived. ”

Darcy straightened at once, setting aside his cue. Of course-they had sent word to Longbourn, but he had not expected Mr Bennet himself, and not at this hour.

“He’s asking to see Miss Elizabeth, sir,” Morris added. “Mrs Nicholls is with her now, and Miss Bennet has just retired-”

“I will speak with him,” Darcy said, shrugging into his coat.

From the stable yard came the sound of hooves on wet stone, followed by brisk footsteps in the hall - likely Mr Jones, returning as promised.

A quick glance at the mirror showed Darcy pale, cravat-less, and drawn.

Hardly ideal for receiving Elizabeth’s father, but there was no help for it now.

He stepped into the hallway just as Mr Bennet was being shown in.

“Mr Bennet,” Darcy said, joining him with a slight bow. “I regret the circumstances of your journey, sir.”

“The note mentioned Mr Jones had been sent for,” Mr Bennet replied, his usual sardonic manner tempered by worry. “I would prefer to see Lizzy for myself.”

Behind them, the front door opened again. Darcy turned to see the apothecary stepping inside, his coat glistening with rain. “Ah-here is Mr Jones now.”

The three men ascended the stairs together. At the door to Elizabeth’s sickroom, Mrs Nicholls was waiting with her usual calm efficiency. The fire had been built up again, and fresh candles lit. Darcy paused at the threshold, allowing Mr Bennet and Mr Jones to enter first.

Elizabeth lay pale against the pillows, though her cheeks were flushed. Mr Bennet moved immediately to his daughter’s side, while Mr Jones set his bag down and began removing his wet coat.

“She’s been sleeping these past two hours, sir,” Mrs Nicholls reported softly. “Though still feverish. We have kept up with the cool cloths.”

Darcy hesitated in the doorway, feeling acutely that he was intruding on a private family moment in someone else’s house. He was about to withdraw when Mr Bennet looked up from his daughter’s bedside.

“Perhaps,” he said quietly, “one of you would be so good as to explain how my daughter ended up like this?”

Mrs Nicholls glanced at Darcy, who stepped forward from the doorway. “The chaise overturned on her journey home, sir. A tree had fallen across the road in the storm. When she did not return as expected, we organised a search party.”

Mr Jones had begun his examination, his experienced hands gentle as he felt Elizabeth’s forehead. Mr Bennet watched his daughter’s face intently, though he addressed Darcy. “And you found her trapped in the vehicle?”

“Yes, sir. The chaise had rolled onto its side. The door was jammed - she could not reach it from inside.” Darcy found himself struggling to maintain his usual composure as he recalled the scene. “We managed to get her out through the window. She was already cold through by then.”

“Her fever concerns me more than her ankle,” Mr Jones interjected, opening his medical bag. “Though both will need careful attention. Mrs Nicholls, if you would assist me with these powders…”

“And how,” Mr Bennet asked carefully, his eyes still on Elizabeth’s face, “did my daughter, who has never willingly mounted a horse since she was ten years old, make it back to Netherfield with an injured ankle?”

“I brought her on my horse, sir. I walked beside to steady her.” Darcy paused, then added, “Mr Bingley and the others remained to help Thomas - the driver - and secure the chaise.”

Mr Bennet’s eyebrows rose slightly at this information, though his attention was drawn back to his daughter as Mr Jones began examining her ankle. Elizabeth stirred restlessly at the touch, mumbling something indistinct.

“Easy now, Miss Elizabeth,” Mr Jones murmured.

He turned to Mr Bennet. “The ankle will heal well enough with rest, but it’s the chill that concerns me most. Being trapped in that wet carriage…

” He shook his head, reaching for his medical bag.

“We must keep her warm at all costs. These powders will help with the fever, but warmth is essential. Mrs Nicholls has done well with the fire - it must be maintained through the night.”

Mrs Nicholls nodded, already moving to add another log. “We have kept it well built up, sir, and plenty of blankets. Though Miss Elizabeth still shivers at times.”

“Very good,” Mr Jones said, measuring out his powders with practised hands.

“These must be given every four hours. And hot tea with honey whenever she’s conscious enough to take them.

” He glanced at the window where rain still fell steadily.

“I will return in the morning, weather permitting. Though if the fever should worsen before then…”

“I will send someone immediately,” Mrs Nicholls assured him.

Elizabeth stirred again, muttering about water dripping. Mr Bennet’s hand tightened on his daughter’s, while Mr Jones moved to feel her forehead once more.

“How long was she trapped in the chaise?” Mr Bennet asked quietly, his usual satirical manner entirely absent.

Darcy, who had been about to withdraw, paused at the question. “The chaise left Netherfield shortly after three…” He broke off, remembering how he had sat reading in the library while Elizabeth had been trapped in the cold and rain.

“And when did you find her?”

“It was nearly dark,” Darcy replied. The guilt of those lost hours weighed heavily. “If I had thought to check sooner… ”

“You found her,” Mr Bennet said quietly, his eyes still on Elizabeth’s face. “That is what matters.” He paused, then added with a hint of his usual dry manner, “Though I confess I am curious how you managed to persuade my most stubborn daughter onto a horse in her condition.”

Before Darcy could respond, Elizabeth stirred again, more violently this time. “No… the water… cannot reach…” Her voice was thick with fever.

“Shh, Lizzy,” Mr Bennet soothed, while Mr Jones quickly measured out his powders into a glass of water.

“We must get her to drink this,” the apothecary said. “Mrs Nicholls, if you would help raise her head…”

Darcy found himself unable to look away as they tended to her.

In the flickering candlelight, Elizabeth’s face held a fragile beauty he had never allowed himself to study so openly before.

Her dark curls lay tumbled across the pillow, still damp, and her cheeks were flushed against the pallor of her skin.

Even in her restless sleep, her expression held something of her usual animation - a slight furrow between her brows as if puzzling over some difficulty, the corner of her mouth twitching as though about to deliver one of her arch observations.

He knew he should withdraw, that his continued presence was hardly proper, yet he found himself rooted to the spot.

After hours of frustrated waiting and wondering about her condition, he could not bring himself to leave now that he could finally see her, could assure himself that she was being properly cared for…

Mrs Nicholls and Mr Jones managed to get Elizabeth to swallow most of the medicine, though she never fully woke. As they settled her back against the pillows, she murmured something.

“The powders should help her rest more easily,” Mr Jones said, repacking his bag. “Though she will need watching through the night. Any increase in the fever, any difficulty breathing…” He glanced at th e window where rain still fell steadily. “Send for me immediately, whatever the hour.”

“Of course,” Mrs Nicholls replied, already moving to adjust Elizabeth’s blankets again.

Mr Bennet remained by his daughter’s side, one hand still clasping hers, though his eyes moved slowly around the room-taking in the fire, the books, the quiet order of a gentleman’s private space.

Darcy saw the moment the older man understood it: this was not a guest chamber hastily offered, but his own room-given over without hesitation.