Chapter 7
E lizabeth jumped slightly as the door opened, and she was met by the sound of rushing footsteps. A stressed looking footman stood there, momentarily startled by her unexpected and early arrival. He held the door open for her, but before either of them could speak, a small, sobbing figure barreled past Elizabeth with a wail, his little legs moving as fast as they could carry him.
She barely had time to register the child—a boy of no more than two—before he darted down the steps and into the garden. His legs began to move more clumsily, his cries growing louder with each gasping breath. Without thinking, Elizabeth spun around and followed.
“Andrew!” came a voice from inside, but Elizabeth didn’t pause to see who had called out. Her instincts propelled her forward, her skirts gathering mud as she hurried after the child, who had already stumbled down the path and made his way onto the soft, wet ground of the lawn.
He didn’t get far. Elizabeth gave chase, but he was already slowing, his sobs turning into horrific ragged gasps that sent panic shooting through Elizabeth. His small body wobbled as he clutched at his chest, his breaths coming in short, desperate wheezes.
She reached him just as his knees buckled, and she dropped to the ground without hesitation, gathering him into her arms. Mud soaked into her skirts, but she paid it no mind as she gathered the boy into her arms.
“Shh, little one,” she murmured, cradling him against her chest. His face was streaked with tears, and his lips were tinged with blue, his small frame trembling violently. “It’s all right. I’ve got you now.”
The boy clung to her, his tiny fingers gripping her as if she were a lifeline. His breaths were erratic, interrupted by hiccupping sobs, but Elizabeth kept her voice calm and steady.
“You’re safe now. I promise, you’re safe. Just take deep breaths for me. Slow and steady, like this.” She demonstrated, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, her calm presence encouraging him to mimic her.
His cries slowed, and he looked up at her with wide, tear-filled eyes.
“Breathe with me,” she said again softly, rocking him gently. “In… and out. In… and out. That’s it, darling, nice and slow.”
It took a few moments, but her soothing voice and rhythmic movements began to work, the boy’s breathing gradually evening out. His cries subsided into whimpers as he buried his face in her shoulder. Elizabeth adjusted her grip, tucking his head under her chin as she continued to rock him gently, her hand smoothing his curls.
“That’s it. You’re so brave,” she whispered. “You’re doing so well.”
She began to rub his back gently, still rocking him. “There we go,” she said again, her voice tender. “You’re safe now. No one’s going to hurt you. Can you tell me what happened?”
The boy lifted his tear-streaked face, his brown eyes wide with fear. “Scary…” he mumbled, his small voice trembling. “Lady…”
Elizabeth’s brows knitted together as she tried to piece together his words. “A scary lady?” she asked gently. “Did someone frighten you?”
He nodded, his face buried against her shoulder. “Scary,” he repeated, his voice breaking, barely above a whisper.
Elizabeth’s heart ached at the fear in his tone. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said, her voice filled with quiet reassurance. “No one is going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone scare you again. I promise.”
The boy’s small body trembled as he clutched her tighter, his cries softening into a broken plea. “Papa,” he whimpered, the word raw and desperate. “Want Papa…”
Elizabeth hugged him closer, her hand continuing to stroke his back in comforting circles. “I’ll help you find your Papa,” she promised, her voice resolute. “You’re not alone. We’ll find him together.”
The boy’s breathing steadied further, his little body relaxing slightly in her arms as she rocked him on the damp ground. His tears slowed as he leaned into her, exhausted from his outburst. Elizabeth stayed where she was, sitting on the damp ground with the child in her arms, oblivious to the mud staining her cloak and gown. All that mattered was the trembling boy who had found refuge in her embrace.
“Do you feel a bit better now?” she asked after a few moments, tilting her head to look into his eyes. He nodded hesitantly, clutching her collar with one hand as though afraid to let go.
“Good,” she said softly, planting a reassuring kiss on his forehead. “We’ll get you inside, warm and safe. Then we’ll find your Papa, all right?”
Andrew gave another tiny nod, his sobs fading into sniffles as he leaned against her shoulder, his little arms wrapping around her neck.
The sound of hurried footsteps approached from the direction of the house, and Elizabeth looked up, her arms still wrapped protectively around the child. She didn’t know who would arrive first—his Papa, or someone to explain what had happened—but one thing was certain: she wasn’t letting go until the boy was safe.
“Andrew,” a deep voice came from just behind them. She shifted slightly, preparing to rise as the steps grew closer, but for the moment, she stayed rooted to the ground, holding the boy close as he clung to her trustingly. Whatever had frightened him, she vowed, would not trouble him again—not while she was there to protect him.
∞∞∞
Darcy had just reached the door to his chambers, the faint smell of leather and polish from his riding boots still clinging to him after the brisk morning ride with Bingley. He glanced down the hall, prepared to enter and enjoy a brief moment of quiet before the household’s bustle inevitably intruded.
Before he could open the door, the sound of running footsteps caught his attention. He turned sharply to see Rebecca, Andrew’s nurse, rushing past the entrance of the hallway. Her face was pale, her expression frantic as she called out, “Andrew! Andrew, where are you?”
Darcy’s stomach twisted. “Rebecca,” he called out sharply, his long strides taking him down the hallway of the guest wing to the top of the stairs. “What has happened?”
Rebecca froze mid-step, her wide eyes meeting his as she tried to catch her breath. “Master Andrew, sir,” she stammered. “He… he was frightened in the nursery and ran off. I thought he might go to your room, sir, but then I saw him just now as he ran out front door.”
Darcy’s heart clenched. “The front door?” he repeated, his voice tight.
“Yes, sir,” Rebecca said, her voice on the edge of hysteria, the guilt and worry plain in her tone. “I was going to—”
But Darcy didn’t wait to hear more. The realization of what the cold air could do to Andrew’s already fragile lungs sent him sprinting down the hall and toward the stairs. His boots echoed loudly on the wooden floors as he descended, his mind racing with images of Andrew out in the chill, struggling to breathe. Panic surged through him, a rare but undeniable force that drove him faster than he thought possible.
The moment he burst through the front doors, his eyes darted across the grounds. For one terrifying second, he saw nothing— he saw nothing but the sprawling lawn and the distant line of trees spread out before him. But then a sight stopped him in his tracks.
Elizabeth Bennet.
She was sitting on the muddy ground a short distance from the house, her skirts dark with dirt and her hair slightly disheveled. In her arms was Andrew, his small body curled against her as she held him close. The boy’s face was hidden, but his tiny fists clutched her cloak, his sobs faintly audible.
But it wasn’t her unexpected presence that struck him most—it was the way she held his son. Andrew was enveloped in her embrace, his face buried against her chest as she rocked him gently, her voice soft and soothing. She was completely unaware of the mud staining her clothes, her entire focus on the small boy trembling in her cradled arms.
Darcy’s breath caught, his worry momentarily mingling with astonishment. Elizabeth Bennet—of all people—was the last person he had expected to see at Netherfield, let alone in such a scene. There was something almost otherworldly about her in that moment, her care and tenderness wrapping around his son like a shield.
Shaking himself from his daze, he rushed forward. “Andrew!” he called, his voice filled with both relief and urgency.
Elizabeth’s head snapped up at the sound of his voice, her expression startled but calm. Andrew stirred, his small frame still trembling as he turned slightly toward the familiar voice.
“Papa,” the boy whimpered, his voice raw and hoarse.
Darcy crossed the distance between them in seconds, dropping to his knees beside Elizabeth and reaching out for his son. “Andrew,” he murmured, less panicked than before. “It’s all right, my boy. I’m here.”
Elizabeth relaxed, allowing Darcy to take the boy into his arms, conscious of the way that Andrew clung to him, his small body still trembling, though his cries had become more hushed. Darcy held him close, his hand smoothing over the child’s dark curls. He glanced at Elizabeth, his gratitude evident in his expression.
“He was terrified,” Elizabeth said quietly. “He could barely breathe when I found him.”
Darcy glanced at her, his gratitude mingling with something deeper—something he couldn’t quite name. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. “You’ve done more than I could have asked.”
Elizabeth shook her head firmly. “There’s no need, Mr. Darcy. He needed someone, and I was here.”
Darcy looked down at his son and saw Elizabeth’s hands still hovering protectively. He noticed the way her eyes lingered on Andrew, her worry for the boy clear even now. As his gaze lingered on her, he took in her mud-streaked skirts and the faint flush on her cheeks from the cold.
“Do you know what frightened him?” Darcy asked, his attention momentarily shifting back to his son.
Elizabeth shook her head. “He only said something about a ‘scary lady,’ but I couldn’t understand much more than that. He was too upset to explain.”
Darcy’s jaw tightened. Miss Bingley. It had to be. He had wondered at her sudden exit from breakfast. Rebecca’s frustrated glance up the stairs as she raced down the stairs after Andrew, followed by Caroline’s cool descent, seemed to confirm his suspicions. He suppressed the sudden surge of rage in his chest. He would address that matter soon enough. For now, his only concern was Andrew’s well-being.
“We must get him inside. He lungs cannot handle the cold air for long,” Darcy said, standing. Andrew still clung tightly to him. He glanced back at Elizabeth, his tone softening. “And you must come in as well. You look chilled.”
Elizabeth hesitated but finally nodded. “Thank you. I originally came to inquire after my sister, but I’d like to be certain that Andrew is well.”
Darcy led the way back toward the house, Andrew nestled securely in his arms. His mind swirled with emotions—relief, gratitude, and a growing curiosity about the woman who had so selflessly come to his son’s aid. Elizabeth Bennet, it seemed, was far more than she appeared, and he could not shake the image of her on the ground, her arms wrapped protectively around his son.
It was a sight that would stay with him for much longer than he cared to admit.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth followed the maid through the grand halls of Netherfield, her mind filled with worry over Jane. The corridors were quiet, except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. She clutched her cloak tightly, her boots still damp from her walk. The maid led her to a room at the far end of the corridor, pausing just long enough to knock lightly before opening the door. Elizabeth squared her shoulders, preparing herself for whatever condition she might find her sister in.
The maid motioned for her to enter, and Elizabeth stepped inside. Her breath caught as her gaze fell on Jane, who lay asleep in a large bed, her face pale and her breathing faint. Seated in a chair near the bedside was a young woman with strikingly delicate features. She sat up straight in her chair, her small embroidery hoop clenched in tense fingers. Her blue eyes, the exact shade of Mr. Darcy’s, were eyes wide and startled. Her features unmistakably familial, though soft and feminine where his were strong and masculine.
There was no one else in the room, and Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before stepping forward with a warm smile. “Forgive my intrusion. I am Elizabeth Bennet, Jane’s sister. Unless I am very much mistaken, you must be Miss Darcy.”
The young woman’s eyes widened even more, her shyness palpable. She hesitated, as if uncertain whether to respond. “I—yes, I am,” she replied with a voice barely above a whisper. “Georgiana Darcy.”
Elizabeth’s smile widened. “Then it seems I have guessed correctly. How fortunate that we have been spared the awkwardness of guessing each other’s names for too long. I suppose that means we can skip the formalities altogether, don’t you think?”
A flicker of a smile appeared on Georgiana’s lips, though her shyness was still evident. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Elizabeth,” she said, her gaze dropping briefly to her hands.
“The pleasure is mine,” Elizabeth replied. “And I must thank you for sitting with my sister. It is a great comfort to know she has been in good company.”
Georgiana shook her head quickly. “No, not at all,” she said, glancing nervously at Jane. “I was only sitting with Miss Bennet while she rested. She seemed so unwell, and I thought she should not be left alone.”
Elizabeth’s heart warmed. “That was very kind of you,” she said fervently. “Jane is fortunate to have such considerate company.”
Georgiana glanced down, her shyness making it difficult to meet Elizabeth’s gaze. “I… I only wished to help,” she murmured.
Elizabeth decided to change the subject, sensing that the girl might feel more comfortable discussing something less personal. “Do you often sit with unwell guests… or is this a special case?” she asked lightly, her tone teasing.
A small smile flickered across Georgiana’s lips. “I think this may be my first time,” she admitted, her voice less hesitant.
“Well, I must say, you are doing an excellent job,” Elizabeth replied. “Jane looks quite peaceful, and I am sure your presence has been a great comfort to her.”
Georgiana’s blush deepened, and she glanced toward the door. She stood, smoothing her gown nervously. “I should leave you now. I am sure you would prefer to be alone.”
“You are welcome to stay,” Elizabeth offered sincerely. “I would not mind your company in the least.”
But Georgiana shook her head, her shyness clearly getting the better of her. “Thank you, but I believe she would prefer her sister’s company. If you need anything, please let one of the maids know.”
Elizabeth didn’t press her, recognizing the young woman’s shyness and respecting her need for space. “Then I shall see you again soon, Miss Darcy,” she said with a small curtsy.
Georgiana hesitated, her lips parting slightly as if to respond, then she simply nodded and slipped quietly from the room.
∞∞∞
Once alone, Elizabeth turned her full attention to Jane. She sat at her sister’s bedside and reached out to brush her sister’s damp curls away from her face. Jane stirred slightly but did not wake. Elizabeth pressed her palm to Jane’s forehead— the heat radiating from her skin made Elizabeth’s stomach twist with worry.
She’s burning up .
“Jane,” she murmured softly, but her sister did not stir.
Elizabeth quickly rose and went to the door, calling for the maid. The young woman who had shown her in appeared promptly, curtsying.
“Please ask Mr. Bingley if Mr. Jones might be summoned,” Elizabeth said firmly, though her tone remained polite. “My sister’s fever seems quite high, and I would feel better if the apothecary could attend her.”
The maid curtsied. “Of course, miss. I shall inform Mr. Bingley immediately.”
The door closed again, and Elizabeth returned to Jane’s side, taking her sister’s hand gently in her own. She spoke softly, hoping her voice might reach Jane even in her restless sleep.
“Rest, dearest Jane,” she whispered. “Help is on the way.”
Elizabeth remained by her sister’s side; her worry tempered only slightly by the knowledge that Mr. Jones would soon arrive. For now, she could do little but keep vigil, her hand resting lightly over Jane’s as she waited.
After what seemed like an eternity, Mr. Jones arrived, his leather bag in hand. His expression calm, yet focused, as he stepped into the room.
“Miss Elizabeth,” he said, nodding politely. “I came as quickly as I could. Mr. Bingley informed me of your sister’s condition.”
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Jones,” said Elizabeth, unable to keep the worry from her voice. “Jane has been feverish since last night when she arrived on horseback in the rain, and she seems no better today, according to the maid. Her breathing is shallow, and she hasn’t woken since I arrived.”
Mr. Jones set his bag on the bedside table and opened it with practiced efficiency. “Let us see what can be done,” he said, moving to Jane’s side. He placed a hand lightly on her forehead, his expression tightening.
“Her fever is indeed quite high,” he said after a moment. “It’s fortunate she’s been resting, but she’ll need close care for the next few days. I’ll prepare something to help lower the fever and ease her discomfort.”
He retrieved a small vial and a packet of dried herbs from his bag, carefully measuring a dose into a glass of water that a maid had brought at Elizabeth’s request. “Has she been drinking anything?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “The maid tells me she has been too weak to take more than a few sips of water.”
“It’s imperative she takes regular fluids,” he explained. “She’ll need to remain here until she can move about under her own strength—traveling now would only worsen her condition.”
Elizabeth’s stomach sank at the news, though she nodded in agreement. They roused Jane enough to coax the medicine past her lips. Her eyes fluttered briefly before closing again, but she swallowed the liquid. Elizabeth felt a small measure of relief.
Mr. Jones turned to pack his bag. “I’ll return tomorrow to check on her progress,” he said. “Keep her warm but not overheated and try to encourage her to take some bone broth when she stirs. With care, I expect the fever to break within a couple of days.”
Elizabeth’s hands tightened on her sister’s, but she nodded. “Thank you,” she said softly.
Once the apothecary had departed, Elizabeth returned to her seat by Jane’s bedside. The news that they would need to stay at Netherfield for several more days left Elizabeth with mixed feelings. She was deeply grateful for Bingleys’ hospitality and Mr. Jones’s attentiveness, but the idea of remaining under the same roof as Mr. Darcy gave her pause, for a reason she could not name.
She gazed down at Jane and resolved to set aside her discomfort. Her sister’s well-being was paramount, and Elizabeth would endure anything to ensure Jane’s recovery. Taking Jane’s hand in her own, she whispered, “Rest well, dear Jane. We will weather this together.”
And with that, Elizabeth settled into her chair, preparing herself for the days ahead.