Elizabeth murmured her greetings, still trying to regain her footing.
She was here.
She was Elizabeth Bennet now.
And she had absolutely no idea how she was going to keep that up.
Mrs. Bennet clapped her hands together. “Well! You must be exhausted, dear. Jane, why don’t you take our guest upstairs to refresh herself before supper?”
Jane stepped forward immediately. “I would be delighted,” she said warmly.
Elizabeth hesitated, still not entirely steady, but followed her inside. The rest of the family dispersed, leaving Jane to lead Elizabeth up the stairs.
The stairs. Which were swaying slightly.
She misjudged a step, her foot catching awkwardly, her weight tilting—but a gentle hand caught her elbow.
Elizabeth exhaled, forcing a sheepish smile. “I must have mis-stepped.”
Jane said nothing—just tightened her grip on Elizabeth’s elbow, guiding her up the rest of the way. That was… really rather sweet. Elizabeth was touched.
Her pride ached, but her heart did not.
Once inside the room, Jane gestured to the modest but tidy space. “Your trunk is already here, and Mrs. Hill will be up soon with a basin for you to refresh yourself. Is there anything else you would like for now?”
Elizabeth sighed. “I should like a nice lie-down before it is time to dress for dinner,” she admitted. “A long one.”
Jane paused, looking slightly uncomfortable. “We do not usually dress for formal dinners,” she said apologetically. “We take supper earlier than is done in Town—usually around six o’clock.”
Elizabeth blinked.Six?That was positively barbaric.
Still, she supposed she had no choice. She nodded tiredly. “Then a short rest will do,” she said.
Jane smiled. “I will tell Mrs. Hill,” she said, stepping back toward the door.
Elizabeth sank onto the bed. She barely heard the door click shut as she closed her eyes.
So far, she was alive.
So far, she was Elizabeth Bennet.
Thecarriagerockedsharplyas it turned into the familiar drive of Netherfield Park. Darcy, bracing one hand against the window frame, exhaled slowly.
Too soon.
He had barely had a single night at this place before being summoned back to London, spent three days away before being thrown into a mess far more complicated than his superiors at the Home Office could have imagined. Now, against all odds, he was back.
But this was not a social visit, not this time. This was a cover.
And he was not alone.
Not that Bingley would know that.
The carriage rattled to a stop before the great house, and within seconds, the door swung open. The footman hardly had a chance to step forward before an exclamation of delight met his ears.
“Darcy!”
And then Bingley was there, striding toward him with all the unfettered enthusiasm of a golden retriever, clasping Darcy’s hand and shaking it firmly.
