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“Mr Bennet’s arrival changes matters considerably,” Mr Morris observed, his voice low despite the background noise of the busy kitchen. “Miss Bingley has already expressed… concerns about the current arrangements.”

“Miss Bingley would do better to explain why she sent that chaise out in such weather,” Mrs Nicholls replied crisply, though she kept her voice down. “Though I suppose that’s not our place to question.”

Fletcher shifted slightly in his chair, acutely aware of his master’s dignity being discussed in these working quarters. “My primary concern is managing how this situation appears beyond the household. Mr Darcy’s reputation-”

“And Miss Elizabeth’s,” Mrs Nicholls added firmly, her hands folded primly in her lap.

“Indeed.” Mr Morris glanced toward the door as footsteps hurried past. “Though the way Mr Darcy carried her straight to his rooms… Well, the maids are already whispering.”

“And becoming more creative with each telling,” Mrs Nicholls added dryly. “I had to silence Jenny in the kitchen earlier - she was describing it as something out of a romantic novel, complete with thunder and lightning.”

“The reality was concerning enough without embellishment,” Mr Morris observed. “Such behaviour seems quite unlike Mr Darcy’s usual… reserve.”

Fletcher shifted again, uncomfortable with this discussion of his master’s behaviour. “Mr Darcy acted as any gentleman would in an emergency. The question is how we present the situation to ensure both his reputation and Miss Elizabeth’s are protected.”

“That would be easier if Miss Bingley were not so determined to emphasise the… irregularity of the arrangements,” Mrs Nicholls noted. “Though I suppose we can hardly prevent her from discussing the matter with her maid.”

“Wilson has already approached me about managing certain… speculations,” Mr Morris continued carefully. “It seems Miss Bingley ha s been quite vocal in her observations to her maid.”

“Her maid who conveniently shares those observations with the kitchen maids during tea,” Mrs Nicholls remarked. “Though I have moved Meg to the far wing for tonight’s duties. That girl has entirely too much imagination.”

“It is not our place to question the arrangements,” Mr Morris said firmly, his tone carrying the weight of his position. “Mr Darcy is a gentleman, and Miss Elizabeth is under this household’s protection. Our duty is to ensure the situation is handled with appropriate dignity.”

“Of course,” Mrs Nicholls replied, recognising the shift in tone. “Though managing the younger staff’s… enthusiasm for romance will require careful attention.”

“Indeed.” Mr Morris’s expression grew stern. “Perhaps a reminder about the standards expected in a gentleman’s household. Any servant caught spreading tales will find themselves seeking new positions.”

Fletcher nodded approvingly. This was more the proper approach - protecting both the family’s dignity and the household’s reputation through clear authority rather than gossip.

Fletcher cleared his throat. “Mr Darcy will want to be informed of Mr Jones’s opinions. Though perhaps…” He hesitated. “Given Miss Bingley’s observations about his… particular concern for Miss Elizabeth’s welfare, it might be better if Mr Morris received any future updates.”

“Quite right,” Mr Morris agreed. “And we will need to manage Mr Bennet’s presence overnight. The green guest room has been prepared?”

“Yes, though he seems determined to sit with his daughter.” Mrs Nicholls rose, smoothing her dark skirts.

“I should check on the fires - they will need constant attention through the night. Betty can manage the blanket warming, and Meg…” She paused.

“I wi ll speak with her in the morning about her… enthusiastic storytelling.”

“And about keeping her distance from Miss Bingley’s maid,” Fletcher added dryly.

The sound of footsteps on the main stairs made them all pause. Mr Morris rose quickly. “I should see who that is at this hour.”

Mrs Nicholls stood as well. “I will check on the fires.”

Fletcher straightened his coat. “And I should see to Mr Darcy. He needs to be persuaded to retire to the blue room for what remains of the night.”

* * *

Netherfield, Main Stairs - Darcy

Darcy remained in the hallway after Mr Bennet left to check on Miss Bennet, unable to return to Elizabeth’s sickroom yet equally unable to retire to the blue room.

He found himself staring at the rich carpet beneath his feet, still struggling to form coherent responses to Mr Bennet’s observations about his behaviour.

The sound of quiet footsteps made him look up. Mr Bennet was returning from Miss Bennet’s room, and his expression softened slightly at finding Darcy still standing there.

“I suppose I should thank you properly, Mr Darcy,” Mr Bennet said quietly, stepping closer.

“For going out in that storm. For bringing her to safety.” His hand came to rest briefly on Darcy’s shoulder, the gesture conveying what words could not.

After a moment, his natural wit returned, though gentled by understanding.

“Though I trust you will understand if I do not thank you quite so thoroughly for your choice of sleeping arrangements.”

Before Darcy could respond, Mr Bennet’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. “She could have died out there in that chaise.”

Darcy’s face paled at the thought. “I would never have allowed-” He stopped abruptly, realising how presumptuous that sounded.

“No,” Mr Bennet said thoughtfully, studying the younger man’s expression as he withdrew his hand.

“I rather believe you wouldn’t. Most… interesting, how some gentlemen choose to lead search parties themselves rather than sending servants.

And then insist on carrying young ladies to safety rather than waiting for help.

” With that observation hanging in the air, he turned toward the stairs, leaving Darcy to consider just how revealing his actions had been.

Darcy remained motionless at the top of the stairs, Mr Bennet’s words echoing in his mind.

His shoulder still felt warm where the older gentleman’s hand had rested.

Everything he had done tonight - from his restless pacing in the library as the storm worsened, to carrying her to his own rooms without a thought for propriety - suddenly made a terrible kind of sense.

He turned back toward her room, drawn by the sound of her fevered murmuring through the partially open door.

The memory of her weight in his arms, her trust as he walked beside the horse, the way his heart had nearly stopped when they found the overturned chaise …

Good God. When had Elizabeth Bennet become so essential to his peace of mind?

The sound of quiet, familiar footsteps approached from the service stairs.

“Sir,” Fletcher’s voice was carefully neutral.

“Perhaps it would be best if you were to retire to the blue room now, sir.” His valet’s tone remained carefully measured.

“Mr Bennet has left for Longbourn, and Mrs Nicholls has arranged for Martha to sit with Miss Elizabeth through the night.”

Darcy nodded absently, still staring at the partially open door. The thought of leaving her to the care of servants, however capable, made his chest tighten uncomfortably. Yet what possible justification could he have for remaining?

“Miss Elizabeth is well-attended, sir,” Fletcher added quietly, reading his master’s hesitation. “And you will want to be… properly composed when the household rises.”

Properly composed. When had he last felt properly composed where Elizabeth Bennet was concerned?

Certainly not when carrying her through the rain, heedless of who might see.

Not while walking beside his horse, his hand steady at her waist. Not even now, standing in this hallway like a lovesick boy, unable to leave despite every dictate of propriety.

“Yes, Fletcher,” he said finally, forcing himself to turn away from her door. “The blue room will do very well.”

His valet’s relief was almost palpable as he led the way toward the guest wing. Darcy followed, though each step seemed to require conscious effort. Behind him, he could still hear Elizabeth’s soft murmuring, the sound following him down the darkened hall like an accusation - or perhaps a promise .