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Darcy turned his attention deliberately to his plate, though he could feel Miss Bingley’s sharp gaze studying his reaction. The dinner seemed interminable.

“I do hope Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth enjoyed their dinner,” Miss Bingley remarked. “Though it is rather irregular, having them dine in your rooms, Mr Darcy. One can hardly maintain proper standards with invalids scattered throughout the house.”

“Scattered?” Mr Hurst looked up from his plate. “They’re both in the same place, are not they? Though speaking of proper arrangements - Darcy, about tomorrow’s shooting. Weather’s cleared nicely, and after all this disruption, some sport would do us good.”

“Capital idea,” Bingley agreed quickly, perhaps grateful for the change in subject. “What do you say, Darcy? The birds will be out after the storm.”

Darcy gave a short nod, relieved to have the conversation turned to safer topics. Though the thought of leaving the house, even for a morning’s sport…

“Mr Darcy seems rather distracted,” Miss Bingley observed with delicate emphasis. “Perhaps his thoughts are still upstairs with those… fine eyes.”

“Though I trust Miss Bennet is not overtaxing herself?” Bingley asked, trying and failing to sound casual. “She looked rather pale when I saw her this morning.”

“Jane insists on sitting with her sister,” Miss Bingley replied, her tone suggesting this was hardly proper behaviour. “Though really, Charles, she should be resting herself.”

“Miss Bennet’s dedication to her sister’s care is most admirable,” Bingley said warmly, earning a sharp look from Caroline.

“Indeed,” Mrs Hurst agreed with barely concealed irony. “Such devoted nursing seems to run in the family. One sister walks miles through mud to tend the other, who then exhausts herself caring for the first. Such… touching sisterly affection.”

Darcy found himself gripping his wine glass rather too tightly, remembering Elizabeth’s muddy petticoats and bright eyes that morning she had arrived at Netherfield. Was that only yesterday? How quick they all had been to judge her determination to reach her sister, himself included. And now…

* * *

Netherfield - Elizabeth’s Sickroom - Elizabeth

Elizabeth woke to find the room dimly lit by a single candle, Jane dozing in the chair beside her.

The fire had been built up again, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Her fever seemed to have truly broken - her thoughts were clearer now, though her body still ached and her ankle throbbed steadily beneath the blankets.

She studied her sleeping sister’s face in the flickering light, noting the shadows under Jane’s eyes. “Jane,” she whispered. “You should be in your own bed.”

Jane stirred, blinking awake. “Lizzy! How are you feeling?”

“Well enough to feel guilty about keeping you from your rest,” Elizabeth replied, managing a small smile despite her split lip. “What time is it?”

“They have just finished dinner downstairs,” Jane said, straightening in her chair. “Meg brought up some broth for you, if you feel strong enough to try it. ”

Elizabeth’s stomach turned slightly at the thought of food, but she knew she should try to eat something.

As Jane helped her sit up against the pillows, Elizabeth caught again the scent that lingered in the room-something clean and faintly herbal.

It was subtle and familiar, yet oddly distinct, but she could not place it.

Her gaze shifted to the writing desk, to the neatly stacked correspondence penned in a hand she did not know, yet found strangely precise.

Miss Bingley’s behaviour earlier returned to her mind, and with it, a quiet unease about the nature of this room.

“Jane,” she started carefully, “whose room-”

A knock at the door interrupted her question as Meg entered with a fresh pitcher of water. “Begging your pardon, miss. Mrs Nicholls sent me up to tend the fire and bring fresh water.”

Elizabeth watched the young maid add logs to the already blazing fire with particular care, remembering how Miss Bingley had commented on the room’s warmth earlier. There was something about the way the servants treated this room - a kind of extra attention that seemed beyond normal guest quarters.

While Meg tended the fire, Elizabeth tried to keep her thoughts from straying to the accident.

Her memories came in fragments - the terrifying tilt of the chaise, water dripping steadily through the seams, the sound of voices calling her name.

Mr Darcy’s face at the window, his hands helping pull her through the narrow opening despite her terror of heights.

After that, everything blurred into confusion - rain, and pain, and being lifted onto what must have been a horse…

She shuddered slightly at the memory of being trapped, then forced her thoughts away from it.

She was safe now, though in surroundings that raised their own questions.

Seeking distraction, her gaze wandered to the bookshelf beside her bed.

In the flickering candlelight, she caught sight of Gibbons’ latest volume - a book she had desperately wanted to read but had not been able to find even in her father’s extensive library.

Her fingers itched to reach for it, but exhaustion and her aching body made even that small movement seem too much effort.

“Meg,” Jane said, noticing her sister’s interest, “you may go. I will ring if we need anything else.”

Once the maid had left, Jane reached for the book Elizabeth had been eyeing. “Shall I read to you? Though you really should try to eat something first.”

Elizabeth managed a few spoonfuls of broth while Jane began reading. The rich, scholarly language washed over her, and she found herself drawn into the author’s arguments despite her fatigue. But as the candle burned lower, Jane’s voice grew softer, her words beginning to slur slightly.

Elizabeth looked up from her contemplation of the dancing flames to find her sister’s head nodding, the book threatening to slip from her loosening grasp. With careful movements that made her own body protest, Elizabeth reached out and gently extracted the volume from Jane’s fingers.

“Jane,” she whispered. “Come lie down properly. This bed is certainly large enough for both of us.”

Jane stirred, blinking owlishly in the dim light. “I shouldn’t…”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth insisted. “We always share at home. And I shall feel much better having you near.” She shifted carefully to make room, wincing slightly as the movement jarred her ankle.

It took little more persuasion for Jane to slip under the covers beside her. Elizabeth watched her sister’s breathing even out almost immediately, then sank back against her own pillows, the borrowed book a comforting weight in her lap.

The fire crackled softly, and somewhere in the house a clock struck midnight.

Elizabeth tried to focus on the book’s pages, but found her own exhaustion creeping back.

The elegant room felt different in these quiet hours - less strange somehow, with Jane’s familiar presence beside her.

Still, there was something about this room that nagged at her thoughts.

The careful arrangement of everything, the quality of the furnishings, the excellent selection of books…

Something about the room felt unusually personal-the books, the quiet elegance, the scent that clung faintly to the air.

Not enough to draw a conclusion, but enough to unsettle her.

Miss Bingley’s behaviour, the furnishings, even the writing desk-they all hinted at something she could not quite name.

Setting the book carefully on the bedside table, she settled down beside her sister, pulling the fine covers around them both.

Her last conscious thought was that she should feel more uncomfortable, being an invalid in such a private space. And yet, despite Miss Bingley’s hints about impropriety… she felt safe.