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Longbourn – Sitting Room – Elizabeth

T he rain had thickened since morning. It clung to the windows in slow, steady sheets and turned the lane to Meryton into a dull ribbon of churned mud and puddles. The house felt smaller in such weather-closer, quieter, and somehow more watchful.

Elizabeth sat with a book open in her lap, unread.

Mr Collins had retired to the dining room with his sermon book and writing set, and could be heard now and then reading aloud to himself in tones of unflagging satisfaction.

The fire crackled softly. Across the room, Lydia stabbed her needle through a length of embroidery with unnecessary force.

“We cannot be expected to remain indoors indefinitely if it does not let up soon,” she declared.

Kitty, lounging near the hearth, nodded. “And the officers will forget us entirely if we do.”

Elizabeth turned a page she had not read.

It had been more than a week since she had ventured beyond the garden path. Yesterday’s brief walk had left her ankle aching and her spirits no less restless. The walls of Longbourn felt increasingly close, even with the windows wide to the rain.

In the corner, Mary read aloud from Fordyce’s Sermons , her voice taking on its usual lofty cadence:

“Let young women be deeply persuaded that a reserve, bordering on severity, is absolutely necessary in the female character…”

“Perhaps you should have that painted on a sampler,” Lydia muttered.

Mary read on.

Elizabeth closed her book. Her gaze drifted to the rain-blurred windowpanes.

The garden beyond was shapeless and grey, the trees bowed and still.

It had rained like this before-worse, even.

That night. The storm had crept in like a closing hand.

She had not thought of it all day, and yet now it came rushing back.

The cold, the dark, the thunder.

The feel of Mr Darcy’s arm steadying her.

The way his voice had softened, unexpectedly, just before dawn.

She drew the shawl tighter round her shoulders.

Jane entered, a fresh ribbon at her wrist. “Mama is upstairs,” she said, “deciding whether to change the lace on her evening cap.”

Lydia groaned. “We are not even going out!”

“Which is why she feels she must compensate.”

Elizabeth managed a small smile. The warmth between her and Jane was the one constant in the room.

Nothing had changed. And yet the silence pressed closer than it had the day before.

As Jane took a seat near the window, Kitty looked up from her thread work.

“Oh! I forgot-Maria said the officers were to dine at Netherfield today.”

Lydia sat up straighter. “Did they? I wish we could have gone out-I would have asked Mr Denny myself.”

Elizabeth looked up, her expression unreadable.

“I daresay they will all be terribly grand after dining with Mr Bingley,” Lydia went on. “And Mr Darcy-if he even speaks to them.”

“Do you think Mr Wickham went?” Kitty asked.

Lydia shrugged. “Maria did not say. But if he didn’t, it was probably because he did not want to see Mr Darcy. I would not blame him.”

Jane glanced at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth kept her tone even. “No-nor would I.”

Kitty giggled. “Well, I think it’s exciting. Everyone says Mr Wickham has been very well received.”

“That may be,” Elizabeth said, “but I would thank you not to repeat everything you have heard-especially what he said about Mr Darcy.”

Lydia blinked. “Why not? He told me himself. It is not a secret.”

“Then it ought to be,” Elizabeth said. “If you cannot speak well of someone, it is often better not to speak of them at all.”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “How tiresome you are when you’re sensible.”

Elizabeth said nothing. But she did not return to her book.

* * *

Sunday 24th November 181 1

Netherfield – Drawing Room – Darcy

The rain drummed against the windows. Darcy stood by the hearth, one hand on the mantel, as Colonel Forster and the other officers shook off their wet cloaks.

“Delighted you could come,” Bingley said, guiding them inside. “I only hope you have not been washed halfway to town.”

They settled into conversation-roads, rifles, card games, the upcoming ball-while tea was poured. Captain Denny, stirring his cup, looked up.

“One of our newest fellows-Wickham-has already heard a great deal about Netherfield. I daresay he will be disappointed to have missed the visit.”

Darcy froze. The porcelain trembled beneath his fingers. Wickham. A smile flickered unbidden, then vanished under an old warning his father once spoke.

“Charming sort,” Denny went on. “Knows just how to win a room.”

Bingley nodded. “Is he recently arrived?”

“Only this past week, from town.”

They spoke around him, but Darcy heard nothing.

He stepped toward the window. The garden lay drowned beneath sheets of rain-just as it had the night Elizabeth’s chaise overturned. He remembered the thunder, the lantern light on her pale face, the fear that kept him on his knees beside her.

A week ago, he thought she might die.

He did not know what Wickham had already said to her. He did not know what she believed. But he knew-by the sudden tightness in his chest-that she must hear the truth from him first.

* * *

Longbourn – Elizabeth & Jane’s Room - Elizabeth

The rain had not stopped.

It pattered steadily against the glass panes as Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, brushing out her hair in slow, even strokes. Across the room, Jane folded her shawl and placed it neatly atop the chair by the hearth, the last coals fading to red.

Neither of them had spoken in several minutes.

“Your ankle seemed better today,” Jane said softly. “Does it ache?”

“A little.” Elizabeth did not look up. “It always does when I sit too long.”

Jane nodded. “I am glad you had some time outside yesterday.”

Elizabeth set the brush aside and wrapped the ribbon around her hair. “It was a very short walk.”

There was a pause. The rain picked up slightly, tapping harder at the corners of the window.

“Tomorrow is Sunday,” Jane offered gently.

Elizabeth’s hands stilled. “So it is.”

“Do you think you will go?”

“I think I must,” Elizabeth said. “Or be thought an invalid forever.”

“Or simply wise enough to remain in bed,” Jane replied, her smile faint.

Elizabeth gave a soft huff of amusement. But her shoulders remained tense.

She rose and crossed to the window, drawing back the edge of the curtain. The garden below was a smudge of shadows and dripping leaves.

“I suppose Mr Collins is looking forward to it,” she said at last.

“I imagine so,” Jane said. “He has mentioned nothing else all afternoon.”

Elizabeth turned away from the window. “It is remarkable how thoroughly a man may enjoy his own voice.”

Jane’s expression warmed. “You say that now, but wait until you hear his opinions on the sermon.”

“I intend to prepare myself with great fortitude.”

The rain deepened, and the silence returned. Jane extinguished the last candle, and they settled into bed.

Elizabeth lay awake longer than she meant to. The rhythm of the rain was steady-like hoof beats, she thought, muffled in wet earth. The thought curled uncomfortably in her chest.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

Sunday, 24th November 1811

Netherfield – library - Mr Darcy

The rain had not stopped.

Darcy stood near the east-facing window of the library, the light behind him dim and grey. The fields beyond the lawn were lost in mist, and the gravel drive gleamed slick with run-off. Water collected at the edges of the hedgerows. It would be a miserable day to travel.

He had not asked whether the Bennets attended church in Meryton-but he assumed they did. The parish served most of the surrounding families, and it was likely that Mr Bennet’s pew had stood in the same place for generations.

He told himself it did not matter.

And yet, he found himself watching the road.

Elizabeth had said little on Thursday-at Longbourn, during that brief, maddening visit-but he had not missed the faint strain around her eyes, nor the way she shifted her weight from one foot to the other when standing.

She had still been walking with a stick then, though he noticed she had tried not to lean on it too obviously.

She would not want to seem weak.

Even now-even if the road were flooded-she would not want to stay home.

But she had been injured. And it had not been two weeks since the accident. And it was raining.

He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve, as if that might settle the thought.

Perhaps she would be sensible. Perhaps her family would insist she remain indoors. Or perhaps-

His hand stilled.

-perhaps she would arrive with the others, damp around the hem, composed as ever, and pretend she felt nothing at all.

Bingley’s voice came from the hall, cheerfully announcing something about boots. Darcy did not move from the window.

He had not meant to look for her.

But now that he was, he could almost see it-her stepping down from the carriage, pale and composed, refusing to lean too heavily on her sister’s arm. As if nothing had happened at all.

* * *

Longbourn – Morning Room – Elizabeth

The rain had not ceased.

It fell in a fine, steady mist that blurred the hedgerows and softened the outlines of the fields beyond Longbourn. The gravel was slick, the carriage wheels already sunk slightly from the morning’s turn through the yard .

Elizabeth stood by the window in the morning room, gloved hands folded lightly before her. Her ankle throbbed-not sharply, but with the persistent ache of something not yet mended.

She did not like carriages.

That thought, once unremarkable, now lived at the back of her mind like a dropped pin on a map-something quiet but impossible to ignore. She had not spoken of it to anyone. There was nothing to say.

Behind her, the rest of the household made their preparations.

“I do hope Mr Ford’s sermon is more engaging this week,” Mrs Bennet said as she descended the stairs. “Last Sunday I was quite sure Mr Phillips was snoring before the third point.”