Five
Elizabeth
Iwoke early, despitea night of restless tossing, thanks to a nagging worry in the pit of my stomach. Jane had not returned. The rain had come down hard the night before, and though we had received word that she was staying at Netherfield, I couldn’t help but imagine her shivering in a strange room, her cold getting worse by the hour.
Throwing back the covers, I quickly dressed and hurried downstairs, hoping for some news. The early morning light filtered weakly through the windows as I reached the breakfast room, only to find my mother already seated with Lydia and Kitty, conspiring about something.
“She’s certainly staying another day,” Mama declared as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, her hands flutteringover her tea cup. “You mark my words, Lizzy, this is all for the best. What could be more advantageous than Jane falling ill at Netherfield? Mr. Bingley won’t be able to help himself—he’ll be bound to offer every comfort and kindness!”
I stared at her, incredulous. “She’s ill, Mama. And no doubt uncomfortable in a strange house. How can you be so certain this is for the best?”
Mama tutted, waving her hand as if I were fretting over nothing. “Oh, nonsense, Lizzy. Jane is perfectly well—just a touch of a cold. And she’s with Mr. Bingley! Do you know how many girls would give anything to be in her position?”
“Yes,” I muttered, grabbing a piece of bread from the table. “But those girls aren’t shivering in some drafty guest room with a cold.”
Lydia, far less concerned than I was, giggled. “Perhaps Mr. Bingley is already by her bedside, offering to sponge her forehead.”
My patience thinned. “Enough, Lydia. This is no laughing matter.”
“Honestly, Lizzy,” Mama interjected, setting her cup down with a clatter, “you worry too much. A girl must make the most of every opportunity, and Jane is doing just that—whether by chance or design. Mr. Bingley is as good as smitten!”
I pressed my lips together, debating how much I should argue. There was no point in reasoning with my mother when she had already decided that Jane’s cold was somehow a victory for the Bennet family.
“Has anyone heard from her this morning?” I asked, hoping to divert the conversation back to something useful.
“Not yet,” Mama replied, sounding far too pleased with herself. “But I’m sure news will arrive soon. They’re likely all fussing over Jane as we speak!”
I sighed, pushing back from the table. “If there’s no word by mid-morning, I’ll walk to Netherfield myself to check on her.”
Mama’s eyes widened in alarm. “Walk? You’ll do no such thing! What will people think—especially Mr. Bingley—if you appear at Netherfield all flushed and untidy?”
I raised my eyebrows. “What will people think if Jane is left there sick and I do nothing? I’ll be perfectly well, Mama.”
“You most certainly will not,” she declared, her voice rising with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. “It’s far too improper. And in this weather? You’ll be soaked to the bone before you even arrive, and then I shall havetwosick daughters!”
“But Mama, are there nottwosingle gentlemen there?” Kitty pointed out.
“If the other even counts as a gentleman, and I shan’t give him that much credit. Mr. Darcy is not worth suffering a cold for. No, Lizzy, I absolutely forbid it. You will die and have nothing to show for it.”
“I’ve walked farther in worse weather,” I retorted, already moving toward the door. “Besides, Jane may need me.”
Mama made one last attempt to protest, but I was already reaching for my bonnet. I couldn’t sit idly by and leave Jane to the care of the Bingley sisters—who, while polite, had never struck me as the nurturing type. Jane would at least have the comfort of her family in her misery.
Darcy
Iwoke with apounding in my skull, my mouth as dry as sand, and the distinct sensation that something was terribly wrong.
For one, I was lying face-down at the foot of the bed, wearing breeches and a rumpled shirt for some reason, my head resting uncomfortably on top of the covers like some discarded piece of baggage. My limbs felt stiff, and my stomach churned with the unmistakable queasiness of too much brandy.
I groaned, dragging myself upright, and immediately rubbed my head. The ache in my temples flared painfully, and I pressed my hands harder against my scalp as though I could knead the headache out of existence. What on earth had happened last night?
Flashes of strange images crossed my mind—dark shadows, a wild-eyed man, and... what had he been saying? Something about lousy whisky? Nonsense. Complete and utter nonsense.
I let out a ragged sigh. It had to have been the brandy. Far too much of it. I had not thought I drank that much—just a nightcap with Bingley—but there was an empty bottle on the floor.
That must have been what happened. I’d imagined it all. Had too much to drink and imagined it all. No wonder I felt like I’d been trampled by a horse.
“This is absurd,” I muttered, my voice rough from sleep. “Just a wild dream.”
