Page 6

“Not yet, sir.” Fletcher moved into the room, carefully laying out the linens. “Though I am sure Mrs Nicholls will send word the moment there’s any change. Perhaps if you were to sit…”

Darcy ignored the suggestion, continuing his restless pacing.

The fire had been built up, but he barely noticed its warmth.

His mind kept returning to Elizabeth’s pale face, the way she had trembled with fever.

He should never have let her ride home in that weather.

Should have insisted she stay at Netherfield with her sister. Should have-

“Sir,” Fletcher’s voice broke through his thoughts, “you will wear through the carpet at this rate. And you really must allow me to finish dressing you properly. What if the apothecary arrives?”

The mention of Jones made Darcy pause mid-stride. “Has anyone been sent to check-”

“Two riders were dispatched nearly an hour ago, sir. Though in this weather…” Fletcher gestured toward the window where rain still lashed against the glass.

“If I might suggest, sir - you would be in a much better position to inquire after Miss Elizabeth’s condition if you were properly dressed.

Mrs Nicholls could hardly object to a properly attired gentleman making polite inquiries… ”

Darcy turned sharply to look at his valet, caught between irritation at the manipulation and grudging acknowledgment of its logic. After a moment, he gave a short nod and moved to stand before the mirror.

“Very well, Fletcher. Though I expect you to be quick about it.”

“Of course, sir.” Fletcher’s tone betrayed no triumph as he reached for the cravat. “I believe the blue coat would be most suitable - it has a particularly dignified cut.”

Darcy submitted to being properly dressed, though his fingers drummed restlessly against his thigh as Fletcher worked. Every distant sound from the hallway made him tense, straining to hear any news of Elizabeth’s condition.

“Sir,” Fletcher said quietly as he adjusted the coat’s lay across Darcy’s shoulders, “perhaps you might consider writing to Miss Darcy while you wait. She will be expecting your letter, and it might help pass the-”

A commotion in the hallway made them both turn toward the door. Darcy was moving before Fletcher could protest, though at least now he was properly dressed. The sound of running feet and urgent voices led him toward the main staircase.

“Mr Darcy!” It was one of the footmen, slightly out of breath. “Mr Jones has been sighted on the Meryton road.”

“How far?” Darcy demanded, already heading for the stairs.

“Just passing the stone bridge, sir. He should be here within-” But Darcy was already striding down the hallway, the footman’s words lost behind him.

“Sir!” Fletcher called after him, hurrying to keep pace. “Your boots-”

Darcy glanced down at his stockinged feet, cursing under his breath. He’d been so intent on news of Elizabeth that he’d forgotten… He turned back to his valet with ill-concealed impatience. “Quickly then.”

Fletcher had anticipated his master’s haste and already held the boots ready. As Darcy sat to pull them on, more commotion could be heard from below - the sound of the front door opening, voices raised against the storm.

“Sir,” Fletcher said, helping Darcy with the second boot, “perhaps I might suggest you wait in Mr Bingley’s study? It would hardly do to appear too… eager for the apothecary’s arrival.”

Darcy paused in the act of standing, caught between his urgent need to hear news of Elizabeth and the wisdom of maintaining some appearance of propriety. After a moment’s internal struggle, he gave a sharp nod. “Very well. But I expect to be informed the moment-”

“The very moment there is any news.”

Darcy strode toward Bingley’s study, his boots echoing on the wooden floors.

The sound of Mr Jones’s arrival grew clearer - the stamping of feet in the entrance hall, Morris’s voice directing servants to take the apothecary’s wet things.

He forced himself to keep walking toward the study rather than turning back to meet Mr Jones immediately.

The study was empty, the fire burning low. Darcy moved to stand before it, hands clasped behind his back, straining to hear the movements in the house. The sound of footsteps on the stairs - Mr Jones being led up to Elizabeth, no doubt. More voices, muffled by distance and walls.

He had never felt more useless in his life.

The fire needed tending, but he could not bring himself to ring for a servant - not when they might be needed elsewhere. Instead, he picked up the poker himself and stirred the coals, adding another log from the basket. The familiar task did nothing to settle his thoughts.

What was taking so long? Surely Mr Jones must have reached Elizabeth’s side by now. Unless there had been some delay, some complication… He turned sharply at a creak in the hallway, but it was only the house settling in the storm.

The rain still lashed against the windows, though with less fury than before. Somewhere out there, two riders were still making their way to Longbourn with news of Elizabeth’s accident. He should have gone himself, propriety be damned. Should have…

* * *

Netherfield Park - Mr Darcy’s Rooms - Caroline

Caroline had no choice but to support Jane as they entered Mr Darcy’s rooms. The room was stiflingly warm, the fire built up to an unseasonable blaze.

Mrs Nicholls and Martha stood near the bed where Eliza lay unconscious, her dark curls spread across Mr Darcy’s pillows in shocking disarray.

Her face was flushed with fever, yet somehow still pale beneath, and a livid bruise marked her temple.

Even in sleep, she seemed to be shivering despite the mountain of blankets piled over her.

“Lizzy!” Jane broke free from Caroline’s support and hurried to the bed, sinking into the chair beside it. She caught up her sister’s limp hand, her own trembling. “What happened? She’s burning with fever!”

“Easy now, Miss Bennet,” Mrs Nicholls said softly, though she made no move to separate the sisters. “We have sent for Mr Jones.”

Caroline hung back near the door, watching as Jane stroked Elizabeth’s tangled hair back from her face with gentle fingers.

The entire scene was like something from a gothic novel - the sickroom, the anxious sister, the invalid swooning in a gentleman’s bed…

Though in those stories, it was usually the master of the house who had rescued the heroine, not…

She pressed her lips together, unwilling to admit how deeply the sight of Eliza in Mr Darcy’s bed unsettled her. .

“Martha,” Mrs Nicholls said quietly, “give Miss Bennet your chair and fetch another blanket. She’s still shivering.”

As Martha moved away from the bedside, Caroline seised her opportunity. “Mrs Nicholls, surely now that Miss Eliza is somewhat settled, we should consider moving her to more… appropriate quarters? The blue guest room could be made ready-”

“I would not advise moving her just now, Miss Bingley,” Mrs Nicholls replied firmly. “Not with that fever, and Mr Jones expected any moment. She needs warmth and rest, not to be carried through cold corridors.”

Caroline opened her mouth to protest further, but Jane’s soft voice interrupted. “Lizzy? Can you hear me?” Eliza stirred slightly, though her eyes remained closed. Jane looked up anxiously. “She’s so very hot… Please, what happened to her? Why was she even out in this weather?”

Mrs Nicholls hesitated, glancing at Caroline. It occurred to Caroline that she was perhaps the only one in the room who knew the full sequence of events, having sent Eliza home in the chaise herself.

“There was an accident with the chaise,” Caroline said carefully. “A tree came down in the storm…” She trailed off, not wanting to admit her own role in the matter.

“The chaise?” Jane’s face paled further. “But why would she-” She broke off as Eliza stirred again, muttering something incomprehensible. “Shh, Lizzy, I am here. Mrs Nicholls, might we have a cool cloth for her head? She’s burning up.”

“Mr Darcy found her,” Mrs Nicholls added, already moving to pour water from the ewer. “Brought her straight in out of the rain. Most fortunate he did, with that fever taking hold.”

Caroline pressed her lips together. Trust Mrs Nicholls to paint Mr Darcy as the hero of the piece, when really the whole situation could have been avoided if Eliza had not been so stubborn about walking everywhere in the first place.

Martha returned with another blanket, which Mrs Nicholls tucked around Eliza while Jane bathed her sister’s forehead with the cool cloth.

The domesticity of the scene made Caroline’s teeth clench.

This was Mr Darcy’s private room, not some common sickroom, yet here they all were, fussing over Eliza Bennet as if she belonged there.

“Jane, dear,” Caroline tried again, “you really should be resting yourself. Perhaps if I were to sit with Eliza while you-”

“No,” Jane said quietly, but with surprising firmness. Her eyes never left her sister’s face as she refreshed the cloth. “I will stay with her. But please, tell me more about this accident. You said something about the chaise?”

Caroline shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well… given the weather, I thought it best to offer her the chaise for her journey home. One could hardly expect her to walk in such conditions.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “Unfortunately, it seems a tree came down in the storm…”

“The chaise overturned?” Jane’s hand tightened on her sister’s. “But why was she travelling at all in such weather? Surely she could have waited…”

“The weather was perfectly fine when she left,” Caroline said defensively.

“After all, she had walked here this morning in much worse conditions. Really, if she had not insisted on tramping about the countryside in the first place…” She trailed off as Jane’s expression hardened slightly.

“In any case, who could have predicted such a storm would arise?”

Mrs Nicholls made a small sound that might have been disapproval as she adjusted Eliza’s blankets. Caroline felt her cheeks warm, but before she could defend herself further, Eliza stirred restlessly, muttering something that made Jane lean closer.

“Shh, Lizzy, you’re safe now,” Jane murmured, pressing the cool cloth to her sister’s forehead. Her normally serene expression showed signs of strain. “Was she… was she alone when the accident happened?”

Caroline shifted uncomfortably. She had not actually thought to ask about the servant’s condition. “Thomas was driving the chaise. I assume he-”

“Thomas is being well cared for downstairs,” Mrs Nicholls interjected smoothly, though Caroline noticed she did not elaborate on his condition.