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Left alone with Hurst, who had joined them solely for coffee and showed no inclination to conversation, Darcy kept his eyes on the paper, though his attention remained fixed on the corridor beyond.

Finally, footsteps approached. Mr Jones entered with Bingley and Morris, his expression encouraging.

“Miss Elizabeth’s fever has broken,” Mr Jones announced. “Though I have advised against any movement for at least another day. The ankle, while not broken, requires complete rest.”

Darcy turned another page with deliberate precision, maintaining an air of indifference while noting every word.

Elizabeth would remain in his rooms for the foreseeable future-an arrangement Miss Bingley would no doubt find intolerable.

But she was out of danger, and for now, that was all that mattered.

“Capital weather for shooting tomorrow,” Hurst observed, completely missing the significance of the moment. “What do you say, Darcy?”

The notion had merit. Fresh air and exercise would be welcome once the household returned to its normal routine. Once he was assured of Elizabeth’s recovery, of course.

“Excellent suggestion, Hurst,” Darcy said, turning another page with careful composure.

From the corridor, voices carried clearly.

“…the fever has broken,” Mr Jones was saying in that calm, professional tone. “Miss Elizabeth is sleeping naturally now. I expect she will wake properly sometime today, though she will likely be quite weak at first.”

“Move her? To Longbourn?” Mrs Bennet’s voice rose in maternal alarm. “Oh! Mr Jones, surely you cannot mean to move my poor Lizzy in such a state! Her ankle! Her fever! My nerves cannot bear the thought!”

“Indeed not, madam,” Mr Jones replied. “Complete rest is essential for the next day or two until the fever is fully resolved. After that, she must still keep off the ankle for several days-though she may sit up in a chair once her strength returns.”

“Come,” Bingley’s voice interrupted whatever Caroline Bingley had been about to say. “Let us see about those refreshments in the morning room. Mrs Bennet must be in need of sustenance after such an anxious morning.”

Their voices faded as the party moved away, though Lydia’s excited chatter about balls and promises could still be heard until they reached the morning room.

“I say, Darcy,” Hurst ventured again, “about those shot sizes…”

Darcy allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion of fowling pieces and birdshot, though his thoughts lingered upstairs. Elizabeth was out of danger, her fever had broken, and for now, at least, she would remain under their roof.

In his room.

He glanced down at the newspaper, unread. A corner was slightly damp from where he had set his coffee cup. The day had only just begun.

* * *

Netherfield, Elizabeth’s Sickroom - Elizabeth

Elizabeth drifted slowly toward consciousness, aware first of unfamiliar softness beneath her and warmth surrounding her.

Something about the quality of light against her closed eyelids suggested this was not her room at Longbourn.

Memory came in fragments - rain drumming against wood, the terrifying tilt as the world spun around her, the sickening crunch as the chaise settled on its side.

Pain shot through her ankle as she was thrown against the wall, the taste of blood sharp in her mouth where she had bitten her lip.

Water dripping steadily through the seams, each drop marking endless minutes while she waited, trapped in that small dark space…

her breathing came faster - she was trapped in the overturned carriage, the walls pressing closer with each breath, her ankle throbbing in time with her racing heart.

Her eyes flew open as panic seised her. The wooden panels were closing in, water dripping through the seams- She could still taste blood in her mouth, her ankle screaming with every attempted movement.

No, this was not the chaise. She was in a bed, a large unfamiliar bed, but her mind kept returning to that confined space, the steady drip of rain, the terrible knowledge that she could not reach the door.

Her hands clutched at soft blankets, trying to convince herself that the silken counterpane beneath her fingers was real, not the leather cushions of that terrible prison…

“Lizzy!” Jane’s voice cut through her rising terror. Cool fingers touched her cheek, anchoring her to the present. “You’re safe now. You’re at Netherfield. The chaise is far away.”

Elizabeth clutched at her sister’s hand, her own fingers trembling.

“Jane? I couldn’t- the door was above me and I could not reach-” Her voice caught on a sob as she tried to sit up, fresh pain lancing through her ankle.

The gasp that escaped her tasted of copper; her lip was bleeding again where she’d bitten it in panic.

“Careful,” Jane cautioned, gently pressing her back against the pillows. Betty, who had taken over from Martha’s night watch an hour ago, hurried forward with a clean handkerchief, helping Jane dab at Elizabeth’s bleeding lip. The white linen came away stained crimson.

“You’re safe now, but you must not try to move yet,” Jane continued softly. “Mr Jones says your ankle is badly sprained, and you have only just gotten over the fever.”

“Perhaps Miss Elizabeth would like a fresh shift now she’s awake,” Betty suggested quietly. “Martha said the one Miss Bingley sent one last night was a bit long, you might be more comfortable in one of your own.”

Elizabeth glanced down at herself, suddenly aware she was wearing unfamiliar fine silk rather than her own serviceable cotton shift. The thought of being undressed while unconscious, of wearing Miss Bingley’s clothes in… wherever this was… only added to her confusion.

“What happened?” Elizabeth’s mind struggled to piece together what had happened after… after… “There was rain,” she said slowly, “and someone calling my name through the window. Mr Darcy?” The memory seemed impossible - surely she had imagined his voice, his hands helping her from the wreckage…

Her eyes wandered the room again, taking in details she had missed in her initial panic - the elegant furnishings, yes, but also more personal touches.

The leather-bound books arranged with careful precision, a writing desk with papers neatly stacked, a riding crop hanging by the door…

Understanding began to dawn, bringing with it a fresh wave of mortification.

Before she could voice the question, she became acutely aware of other, more pressing needs after being unconscious for so long .

Elizabeth caught sight of the bloodied handkerchief, and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she shifted against the sweat-soaked sheets clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

Betty, noting her discomfort with the understanding of an experienced sickroom nurse, gathered the handkerchief and marked linens with practised efficiency.

“We should get you freshened up now the fever’s broken, Miss Elizabeth,” Betty suggested quietly, with practised understanding.

“Your mother brought your things this morning, and we have fresh sheets ready. I will ring for Meg and Annie to help you freshen up and to change these linens. Miss Bennet must not tire herself.”

Jane, looking rather pale herself, squeezed Elizabeth’s hand. “I will stay right here, Lizzy. Betty knows what she’s about.”

“No, Jane,” Elizabeth managed, finding her voice stronger than she expected. “You must rest yourself. I can see how tired you are.” She attempted a smile, though her split lip made it painful. “After all, one invalid in the family is quite enough.”

“Miss Bennet should return to her bed,” Betty agreed firmly. “Mrs Nicholls was most particular about you not overtaxing yourself, miss. And your mother will want to see you once we have gotten Miss Elizabeth settled.”

At the mention of their mother, Elizabeth’s eyes widened slightly. “Mama is here?”

“She arrived not an hour ago with your younger sisters,” Jane confirmed. “Though Mrs Nicholls convinced her to wait until you were properly awake before visiting.” She hesitated, then added gently, “Do you… remember much of what happened?”

Elizabeth’s hand tightened on Jane’s as fragments of memory surfaced - the terrifying tilt of the chaise, water dripping steadily through the seams, Mr Darcy’s voice calling through the window… She pushed the thoughts away, not ready to examine them too closely .

“Perhaps we might save such discussions for later,” Betty suggested, noting Elizabeth’s distress. “Once Miss Elizabeth is more comfortable.”

The sound of quiet footsteps in the corridor announced Meg and Annie’s arrival with fresh linens and warm water.

Elizabeth found herself grateful for the distraction, though a new mortification arose as she realised as she got up that the room must belong to a gentleman, as well as the bed she had been occupying in her fever-induced unconsciousness.

Elizabeth submitted to being bathed and changed, her cheeks burning at requiring such assistance. Once settled against fresh pillows, she felt marginally more herself, though exhaustion still pulled at her limbs.

“There now, miss,” Betty said, efficiently arranging the bedclothes. “Much more comfortable, I am sure. Would you like to try some broth? Mrs Winters sent up a tray.”

The thought of food made Elizabeth’s stomach turn slightly, but she knew she should try. “Perhaps a little,” she conceded, watching as Betty arranged the pillows to help her sit up more fully. Once she was comfortable in bed again she turned to her sister.

“Thank you for staying,” she murmured.

“I am quite well,” Jane assured her, though her face was pale. “And so relieved to see you more yourself.”

“How long have I been here?” Elizabeth asked, trying to piece together the confused memories of rain and darkness.

“Since yesterday afternoon,” Jane replied. “Mr Jones says your fever broke in the night. We were so worried, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth’s hand went to her ankle, which throbbed steadily beneath the blankets.

“The chaise - I remember the horses screaming, and then everything tilting…” She closed her eyes against the memory of that terrible moment, the sound of splintering wood and the horses’ pa nic.

“There were voices later, calling through the window, but I could not reach the door…”

The afternoon passed slowly. Elizabeth managed a little of the broth, dozed fitfully, and gradually began to take more notice of her surroundings.

It was clearly a gentleman’s room, though she had not yet been told whose.

The elegance of the furnishings suggested one of the principal guest rooms, and she wondered at being placed here rather than with Jane.

When she woke again, she found Jane asleep in the chair beside her.

Elizabeth watched her sister’s peaceful face, grateful for her presence yet concerned for her health.

The quiet gave her time to study the room more carefully.

The books particularly caught her attention - far more than one would expect in a simple guest room.

Jane stirred in her chair. “Lizzy? Are you in pain?”

“No, just thinking. Has Mama been here?”

“This morning. She was quite distressed seeing them move the damaged chaise as she arrived. Mr Jones assured her you were much improved, though sleeping, and convinced her to return home.”