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Netherfield Park - Drawing Room - Caroline

C aroline sat by the window, the rain lashing against the glass as the storm gathered strength. Her tea cooled untouched. “Charles is reckless to ride out in this weather,” she said, her tone clipped. “All for Miss Eliza Bennet.”

Louisa looked up from her embroidery. “I am certain Mrs Bennet encouraged it. First Jane, now Eliza. Quite the arrangement.”

“Indeed.” Caroline’s lips tightened. “Who walks three miles alone? Entirely improper. And now Mr Darcy out in this storm, searching for her like some foolish novel hero.”

The wind rattled the windows, making both sisters flinch. Louisa frowned. “The weather worsens.”

Their conversation broke off at the sound of hurried footsteps from the hall. Caroline rose sharply, eyes narrowing. “What now?”

* * *

Road to Netherfield Park - Darcy

As they approached Netherfield, Darcy felt relief tempered by concern.

The journey had been arduous, and Miss Elizabeth’s condition troubled him deeply.

His muscles ached from the long trudge through rain and mud, his clothes clung unpleasantly to his skin, but his own discomfort mattered little.

Elizabeth looked barely conscious, her gown drenched and plastered to her form.

“Miss Elizabeth,” he said softly, glancing up at her pale face, “I must apologise. I should have offered you my coat earlier. I was inexcusably thoughtless.”

She managed a faint smile. “Think nothing of it, Mr Darcy. You have done so much already.”

Her graciousness deepened his remorse. He shrugged off his greatcoat and wrapped it gently around her. “It may not help much, but it may bring some warmth.”

“I am going to help you down now. It may hurt.”

Elizabeth nodded faintly. With great care, Darcy lifted her from the saddle. As her feet touched the ground, she cried out softly and collapsed against him. He caught her, shielding her from the rain as best he could, then swept her into his arms.

The warmth of the entrance hall struck him sharply as he carried her inside. Her violent shivering alarmed him.

“Good heavens,” Mrs Hurst exclaimed, eyes wide.

“Louisa, ring for blankets, hot water, and bandages,” Miss Bingley said. “And send for Mrs Nicholls and the apothecary.”

“And something warm to drink,” Darcy added, his voice tight with worry. “Broth, tea, anything quickly prepared. ”

Mrs Hurst nodded. “Of course, Mr Darcy.”

He turned toward Miss Bingley. “A message must be sent to Longbourn informing the Bennets. And ensure the men depart at once for the accident site.”

“At once, Mr Darcy,” she replied, her expression revealing a flicker of surprise at his urgency.

He was aware of her watchful gaze but dismissed it. Elizabeth’s well-being eclipsed all other concerns.

Darcy barely noticed the flurry of activity as a maid led him up the stairs. “This way, sir. We will prepare the blue guest room.”

He followed, focused solely on the shivering woman in his arms.

“Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth whispered weakly, “I fear I am dripping all over Mr Bingley’s floors.”

He almost smiled. “Never mind the floors. Your health is our only concern.”

The maid led them into a dim room, hastily prepared but still chilled. Darcy frowned.

“No,” he said firmly. “This room is too cold. My rooms are better heated.”

Without waiting for a response, he carried Elizabeth into his own chambers, where the fire burned steadily. He laid her gently on the bed.

“You are safe now,” he said softly. “We will have you warm and dry soon.”

Her eyes fluttered open briefly. “Thank you, Mr Darcy,” she whispered.

The maid hovered, uncertain. “Shall I fetch more blankets, sir?”

“Yes. And dry clothing immediately.”

Just then, Fletcher appeared from the dressing room, halting at the sight of Elizabeth.

“Sir, we should get you into dry clothes,” he began carefully.

“Miss Elizabeth will remain here,” Darcy said quietly. “I will take another room.”

“Understood, sir,” Fletcher replied, regaining composure. “Let me assist you.”

* * *

Netherfield Park - Entrance Hall - Caroline

Caroline watched them ascend the stairs, as Betty - one of the newer maids - hurried ahead with blankets.

“I will see to the servants, Caroline,” Louisa said quietly beside her. “You should follow them up.”

“Yes, of course,” Caroline replied, though her eyes were fixed on the scene above. She thought again of those wretched novels. The proud hero, his shirt clinging wetly, cradling the swooning heroine…

Except this was no romantic tale-and Eliza Bennet was the last woman fit to play the heroine.

What if word of this reached London? She could already hear the whispers in Almack’s: “Did you hear about Mr Darcy of Pemberley? Carrying some country miss through the rain like a character from Mrs Radcliffe…”

She watched as they disappeared into the blue room, then turned toward her own room to fetch a shift.

One of her fine silk ones would do. A visible gesture of generosity, properly noticed.

She selected one with delicate lace trim, almost wincing at the thought of such quality being wasted on someone who would not appreciate it.

Caroline Bingley moved briskly through the upper hall, a fine silk shift draped over her arm. She had intended a carefully timed gesture of generosity, but the abandoned blue guest room told her otherwise. Where was Miss Eliza ?

One of the maids, breathless, appeared. “I heard Mr Darcy’s voice, miss. From his rooms.”

Caroline’s pulse quickened. She reached the open door just in time to see Elizabeth, pale and dishevelled, wrapped in blankets on Mr Darcy’s own bed. Darcy stood close, speaking softly. His valet and two maids worked quietly around them.

For a moment, Caroline could only stare. The shift in her arms, with its delicate lace, mocked her silent ambitions. This was not the modest sickroom she had imagined. Elizabeth Bennet was installed in Mr Darcy’s bed.

What if word of this reached London? She could already hear the whispers at Almack’s: “Did you hear about Mr Darcy of Pemberley? Carrying some country miss through the rain like a character from Mrs Radcliffe…”

Her carefully constructed hopes unravelled in an instant.

* * *

Netherfield Park - Darcy’s Room - Darcy

Miss Bingley’s entrance barely registered with Darcy. “I have brought tea for Miss Eliza,” she announced, though her voice lacked its usual composure.

“Thank you. The tea is much needed,” Darcy replied calmly. “Miss Elizabeth requires every means of warmth.”

Meg and Betty moved quickly, helping Elizabeth sit upright. Her hands trembled as she struggled to hold the cup, and Meg steadied it for her.

“Sir,” Fletcher spoke quietly, “we must see you properly settled.”

Darcy hesitated, his gaze fixed on Elizabeth. “Yes. Very well. Betty will remain here.”

“Mrs Nicholls will supervise everything, sir,” Fletcher assured him.

Mrs Nicholls entered at that moment. “The blue room is ready, sir. Hot water has been sent up.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “See that Miss Elizabeth has everything she requires.”

As Fletcher guided him away, Darcy paused in the doorway for one last glance. Elizabeth’s eyes were closed now, but her breathing seemed calmer, her colour less ashen. At least she was warm.

“Sir,” Fletcher said gently as they moved toward the guest rooms, “Mrs Nicholls will send word of any change. Miss Elizabeth is in good hands.”

Fletcher practically herded Darcy down the hallway to the blue guest room. “Sir, you really must get out of those wet things immediately.”

Darcy glanced back toward his rooms, where the sounds of servants attending Elizabeth’s bath carried faintly. The memory of her fever-lit eyes haunted him.

“The sooner you’re warm and dry, sir,” Fletcher continued, “the sooner you will be presentable enough to check on Miss Elizabeth again.”

Darcy allowed himself to be stripped of his sodden clothes. Fletcher wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. “I will fetch your robe and dry things, sir. Try not to pace too much.”

Left alone, Darcy paced restlessly. Voices drifted faintly from the hall. Every distant sound made him turn sharply toward the door, straining for news.

The fire began to ease the chill from the room, though Darcy barely noticed. His thoughts returned to Elizabeth’s trembling frame, the way she had clung to him.

* * *

Netherfield Park - Hallway - Fletcher

Fletcher paused near the servants carrying linens. “Martha,” he called quietly.

“Mr Fletcher? I am just taking these up for Miss Elizabeth’s bath.”

“I will take that,” he said, relieving her of the bundle. Better that than any careless handling of Mr Darcy’s things.

He noted the housemaids’ quiet glances. The servants’ hall would be buzzing by evening. Fletcher would ensure the tale was told properly: an honourable rescue, nothing more. Miss Elizabeth’s reputation must be protected.

“Some hot tea for Mr Darcy, with brandy,” he added.

* * *

Netherfield Park — Blue Guest Room — Darcy

Darcy looked up as Fletcher returned with tea and his robe.

“Mrs Nicholls will send word if there is any change, sir,” Fletcher said. “And I believe Miss Elizabeth would prefer you presentable when next she sees you.”

Darcy ran a hand through his damp hair. “What must she think, seeing me like this?”

Fletcher helped him into the robe and handed him the steaming tea. “Drink this, sir.”

Darcy sipped, letting the brandy’s warmth spread through him, though his thoughts remained down the hall.

“Has there been any word of Bingley?” he asked.

“Not yet, sir. With these roads, it may be some time.”

Darcy frowned. “The injured servant—”

“Sir,” Fletcher interrupted gently, “you cannot help anyone else until you are warm yourself. Mr Bingley has capable men with him.”

A gust of wind rattled the windows. Darcy paced again. “Once she is settled, I wish to see her.”

“Perhaps once you are fully dressed, and Mrs Nicholls deems her ready for visitors,” Fletcher replied smoothly.

Darcy flushed, suddenly aware he stood in only a robe.

“Your bath will be prepared once Miss Elizabeth is settled, sir,” Fletcher continued. “And I will ensure everything is handled with discretion. Miss Elizabeth’s reputation must be protected.”

“Of course,” Darcy said quickly. “No hint of impropriety must attach to her.”

“Precisely, sir.” Fletcher’s neutral tone carried faint emphasis. “Servants may romanticise such tales if not managed.”

Darcy frowned but said nothing. Fletcher busied himself arranging clothes. “The blue coat, I think, sir. It is particularly flattering.”

“My appearance hardly matters.”

“First impressions always matter, sir.” Fletcher adjusted the fire screen with quiet efficiency. “Especially when one has been seen in less than ideal circumstances.”

Darcy sank into the chair, the robe pulled tighter. The warmth slowly seeped into his limbs, but his thoughts remained unsettled.

* * *

Netherfield Park - Elizabeth’s Sickroom - Elizabeth

Elizabeth drifted between sleep and waking, aware of warmth and soft voices. The bath was blissfully warm against her chilled skin. She caught fragments of conversation: Mrs Nicholls giving instructions, the clink of china, the rustle of linens.

At one point, she thought she heard Miss Bingley’s voice, sharp and tense, but it faded into the haze of exhaustion. Only the memory of Mr Darcy’s voice, gentle and full of concern, remained oddly vivid. Surely that too was a fevered imagining

* * *

Netherfield Park - Caroline’s Room - Caroline

Caroline stood before her mirror while Wilson helped her change, her thoughts churning. Her silk shift—generously offered—had been entirely forgotten. Eliza Bennet, meanwhile, was installed in Mr Darcy’s rooms, with the entire household attending her.

“Wilson,” she said sharply. “What are the servants saying?”

“Most are concerned for those still out in the storm, miss. Mrs Nicholls has everything in hand.”

“And Fletcher?”

“Attending Mr Darcy, miss. Waiting to fetch his clothes.”

Caroline’s lips tightened. Even his valet could not reach his dressing room—with Eliza Bennet still there. The impropriety of it all!

“And the other servants? What do they say of Mr Darcy’s behaviour?”

“They speak only of concern for Miss Elizabeth’s recovery, miss. Though… his manner of speaking about her was noted. ”

Caroline’s pulse quickened. “His manner?”

“Unmistakably concerned, miss.”

The words struck like a blow. Even the servants had noticed. This was growing worse by the minute.