“Offend!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Jane, you must think of your future.”
“I shall hardly be presentable when I arrive, Mama.”
Their mother pointed with her fan. “So much the better! They will see to your comforts and you will be the gracious recipient of their efforts.”
Elizabeth groaned. “If Jane’s future depends on the state of her hemline, we are all doomed.”
Mrs. Philips chuckled, folding her embroidery. “I’ll wager she will arrive perfectly presentable and composed either way. Jane is too sensible to let a little weather get the better of her.”
“I’ll wager two shillings she arrives with her bonnet entirely ruined,” Lydia pronounced. “And if it is, I’ll buy her a new one—with pink ribbons.”
Jane gave Elizabeth a small, helpless smile, but Elizabeth’s jaw tightened. “This is absurd.”
“Then wager against us, Lizzy,” Lydia teased. “Or are you too afraid of losing again?”
Elizabeth opened her mouth to retort but stopped herself with a sharp exhale. There was no point. The tide had already turned in Mrs. Bennet’s favor, and Jane would not push back. With a resigned sigh, Elizabeth turned toward the window, watching as the rain began to fall in earnest.
Elizabeth strode briskly throughMeryton’s market square, her bonnet tied tight against the wind and her skirts held just high enough to avoid the muddy streets. The rain had relented to a light drizzle, but the damage was done—word had already spread that Jane Bennet, invited to dine at Netherfield the previous evening, had arrived soaked to the bone and was now bedridden. And the town had wasted no time turning her misfortune into entertainment.
“She’ll be better in three days, mark my words,” declared Mr. Goulding, standing outside the greengrocer with a knot of villagers. “Mrs. Bennet will see to that.”
Mrs. Long clucked her tongue. “Three days? I say it will be five, at least. Her mother may want her well, but not before she has secured acertaingentleman’s affections.”
“Four,” Mrs. Philips interjected, her coin purse jingling in her hand. “Fanny Bennet is too clever to let her daughter look like a real invalid. What point in ensnaring a gentleman’s affections if she appears too ill to marry him?”
Elizabeth stopped short, her stomach twisting as the conversation reached her ears. “You cannot be serious.”
The group turned, startled to see her standing there, her expression a mixture of disbelief and indignation. Mrs. Goulding chuckled nervously. “Ah, Miss Elizabeth! Just a bit of fun, you know. Nothing harmful.”
“Fun? Wagering over my sister’s health is your idea of fun?”
Mrs. Philips pursed her lips, glancing at the others. “It’s only harmless speculation, Lizzy. We all know Jane will recover soon enough.”
Elizabeth stepped closer, her gaze icy. “Do you? Do you know how unwell she is? Or how she fared riding through that storm? Or how she is being cared for at Netherfield?”
No one answered. Elizabeth’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. “Of course not. Because instead of offering concern, you are placing bets as though she is a horse in a race.”
Mrs. Long bristled, muttering something about “taking things too seriously,” but Elizabeth had already turned on her heel, marching toward the road to Netherfield.
By the time Elizabethreached Netherfield, her boots were caked in mud, and her shawl was damp from a persistent drizzle that had arrived halfway through her walk. The grandeur of the house loomed ahead, its perfectly symmetrical windows glowing softly with the light of fires within. She squared her shoulders and knocked firmly on the door.
The butler’s eyes widened slightly as he opened it, taking in her bedraggled state. “Miss Bennet?”
“I am here to see my sister. Please inform Mr. Bingley or Miss Bingley that I will wait out of the way until I have spoken with her.”
The butler hesitated, but Elizabeth’s firm tone left little room for argument. He stepped aside, and she was ushered into the drawing room to wait.
She had scarcely removed her shawl when the door opened, and Mr. Darcy entered, his dark eyes narrowing slightly at the sight of her. By the look on his face, she could only surmise that he had happened upon her accidentally—perhaps, indeed, he had fled to this particular drawing room to escape his eager hostess for half an hour.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, his voice betraying his surprise. “To what do we owe this... unexpected visit?”
Elizabeth straightened, clasping her hands before her. “I am here to see my sister.”
“I believe is resting,” Darcy replied. “Miss Bingley and the housekeeper have ensured she is receiving the best care.”
“I am certain they have. But I would like to speak with her myself.”
Darcy studied her for a long moment, his brow furrowing. “Surely you did not walk here in this weather.”
