Chapter 6
One week later…
T he morning’s calm at Longbourn was shattered when the maid brought in a note addressed to Jane, its elegant seal unmistakably from Netherfield. Mrs. Bennet’s eyes lit up as soon as she saw it.
“A note from Netherfield! How delightful,” she exclaimed, ripping it from Jane’s hand before she had a chance to open it.
“I believe, my dear, that letter is not addressed to you,” Mr. Bennet said, raising his eyebrow at his wife’s behavior. “Unless, of course, you’ve been lying to me about your name these last twenty years.”
Mrs. Bennet huffed and passed the envelope back to her daughter.
Jane opened the note carefully, her cheeks coloring slightly. “It’s an invitation to dine at Netherfield this evening,” she said, her soft voice pleased. “Miss Bingley has asked that I join their party, as the gentlemen will be dining with the officers.”
Mrs. Bennet’s hands flew together in excitement. “Oh, Jane, this is perfect! Such an opportunity— if only the men were there! Of course, you must go—and you must look your very best.”
Jane smiled gently, though Elizabeth noted the flicker of unease on her face. “Mama, may I take the carriage? It would be the easiest way to arrive without—”
“Nonsense!” Mrs. Bennet interrupted. “The fresh air will do you good. You shall go on horseback—it will give you such a fine, healthy glow when you arrive.”
Elizabeth frowned. “Mama, the clouds—”
“Precisely!” Mrs. Bennet interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. “The carriage? Such a waste when the distance is so short. You shall go on horseback, my dear. The exercise will bring color to your cheeks.”
Elizabeth set her embroidery aside. “Mama, surely the carriage would be more sensible, especially as the weather looks uncertain.”
Mrs. Bennet waved her hand dismissively, ignoring her. “Oh, there will be no rain until much later, I’m sure of it. And if we are so fortunate as to have a downpour, she will need to stay the night.”
Elizabeth sighed, biting back her protest. She watched as Jane prepared herself for the visit, her serene demeanor masking the apprehension Elizabeth suspected she felt.
Heavy, grey clouds were gathering in the distance before Jane even set out. The wind picked up as she rode away, her figure silhouetted against the darkening sky. Elizabeth stood by the window, unease creeping into her heart.
Please, Lord, don’t let her get caught in the storm.
∞∞∞
The Bennet household had not been wrong in expecting Jane’s reception at Netherfield to be warm. Upon her arrival, Caroline Bingley greeted her with the customary airs of politeness, though with an undercurrent of superficial charm.
“Miss Bennet, you look quite chilled!” Caroline Bingley exclaimed, ushering the soaked girl toward the hearth. “Whatever possessed you to ride in such weather?”
Jane allowed herself to be guided and attempted a small smile. “It was just beginning to rain when I left, and I thought it would pass.”
Georgiana Darcy offered her chair near the fire to Jane with a shy but kind gesture. “Please, you must warm yourself.”
Realizing that introductions had not yet occurred, Miss Bingley quickly performed the service as Jane took the seat. Moving across the room, Georgiana observed Jane with wide eyes. Though not yet formally out in society, she had been included in the evening at her brother’s suggestion.
Dinner began with an unusual undercurrent. By the time the first course was served, Jane’s complexion had paled, and she pressed a hand lightly to her temple. She excused herself from engaging fully in the conversation, her usually soft voice now tinged with fatigue.
“Are you quite well, Miss Bennet?” Caroline asked, her tone light but with a trace of skepticism.
Jane smiled faintly. “I may have caught a chill on my ride over, but I assure you, it is nothing of concern.”
Georgiana’s brow furrowed, but she remained silent, unsure if it was her place to speak. Caroline, meanwhile, exchanged a quick glance with Mrs. Hurst, her expression unreadable.
By the time dessert was served, Jane’s condition had visibly worsened. She attempted to rally, her politeness compelling her to endure the meal, but it was clear to everyone present that she was feeling ill. Georgiana, always observant, noticed Jane’s quiet pallor and leaned over to speak softly. “Perhaps you should rest, Miss Bennet. You look unwell.”
“Perhaps we ought to call for your carriage— oh, that is right, you rode over,” Caroline said with a titter. “Well, perhaps we should send you home in one of ours.”
“But it is pouring rain!” Georgiana cried, looking out the window.
Frowning, Caroline looked outside as well, and she was dismayed to discover that she once again could not argue with the younger girl’s observation.
“We should wait until the gentlemen arrive to tell us the state of the roads,” Mrs. Hurst said, eyeing her sister uneasily. “In the meantime, Miss Bennet, allow us to have a room made up for you.”
“I would not wish to be a burden,” Jane whispered.
Caroline feigned concern but seemed more interested in maintaining appearances. “Of course, you must rest, Miss Bennet. The journey was no doubt taxing.”
Georgiana, however, rose immediately. “Shall I fetch a servant to help her upstairs?” she asked, her voice earnest.
Caroline waved her hand. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll ensure she is seen to.”
Jane was escorted to a guest room, her fever rising as the evening wore on. Mrs. Hurst suggested calling for the apothecary, but Caroline dismissed the idea, insisting that rest would suffice and that Jane would soon be on her way home.
When Darcy, Bingley, and Mr. Hurst returned from dining with the officers, however, they were greeted by a strained atmosphere. Darcy immediately noticed the tension in the air, his gaze narrowing as he took in Caroline’s unusually guarded expression.
“What has happened?” Bingley asked, his tone sharp with concern.
Caroline hesitated, then adopted a tone of mild reassurance. “Miss Bennet fell ill during dinner, Charles.”
“She seemed fine at first,” Mrs. Hurst added, “but she grew pale during dinner and asked to lie down. She was caught in the rain on her way here.”
Bingley’s expression darkened. “Caught in the rain? Why was she riding in such weather?”
Darcy echoed his friend’s frustration. “She rode here in the rain? Surely, she did not choose to do so willingly.”
Caroline gave an exaggerated shrug. “Who can say? She should have known better than to come on horseback with such clouds overhead.”
“She said it hadn’t begun to rain when she left,” Mrs. Hurst explained, “but by the time she arrived, it was pouring.”
Bingley’s rubbed his forehead with a worried hand. “Why would her family send her on horseback in such weather?”
Darcy’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he glanced at Mrs. Hurst, who said, “She is resting upstairs now.”
Bingley’s face darkened with worry. “Why was I not informed sooner?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Caroline replied smoothly. “There was nothing to be done; she simply needs rest.”
Darcy’s expression grew stern. “Has the apothecary been called?”
“There was no need,” Caroline said, waving off the suggestion. “I’ve ensured she is comfortable. Besides, she should be on her way home before the man could even arrive.”
“Not in this weather,” Darcy replied grimly. “The creek is over its bank; we scarcely made it home ourselves.”
Bingley was already halfway to the stairs. “I must see her.”
Caroline called after him. “Charles! You cannot simply barge into a lady’s room.”
Bingley was undeterred, his concern overriding his sister’s reassurances. Darcy followed, his mind racing. Though he had spent the evening in good company, the thought of Jane’s delicate state unsettled him. He knew well the dangers of an untreated illness, and his sense of duty to Bingley—and, perhaps, to Miss Bennet—urged him to ensure all was being done for her.
As they reached the guest room, they found Georgiana sitting quietly by the bedside, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked up as they stood in the opened doorway, her expression a mix of worry and resolve.
“She is feverish,” Georgiana said softly. “But she is resting now.”
Bingley’s face tightened. “It never occurred to me that she would not take a carriage, or even that Caroline would decline to send one,” he murmured. “It was foolish of me. I ought to have ensured her safety.”
Darcy placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder, his voice calm but firm. “What matters now is ensuring she recovers.”
Bingley nodded, glancing back at Jane, who stirred faintly in her sleep. Georgiana rose, moving to stand beside her brother. Darcy smiled his approval. “The servants will take care of her,” he said, his tone resolute. “She is in safe hands, and we can summon the apothecary in the morning.”
Bingley nodded, though his worry was evident. Darcy admired his friend’s devotion and suspected that this situation would only deepen Bingley’s feelings for Miss Bennet. As the household settled into an uneasy quiet, Darcy found his thoughts lingering on Jane’s quiet strength and Bingley’s evident attachment, reflecting on how these moments often revealed the truest nature of one’s character.
∞∞∞
Elizabeth quietly spread jam on her toast at the breakfast table in Longbourn. Jane hadn’t come home the night before, and there had been no word from Netherfield. Just then, the maid entered with a folded note. The sight of it immediately caught her attention, and her unease from the previous day increased.
“This arrived from Netherfield, miss,” the maid said, placing it into Elizabeth’s hands.
Elizabeth broke the seal quickly, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. The letter was from Mr. Bingley, written with all the civility and concern she would expect from him, though its contents filled her with worry.
Jane was unwell. A cold, likely brought on by her exposure to the rain, had left her feverish and confined to bed. Mr. Bingley assured her that Jane was being well cared for, but Elizabeth could hardly sit still long enough to finish reading.
“Jane is ill,” Elizabeth said aloud, her voice tight with worry. “She is confined to bed at Netherfield.”
Mrs. Bennet looked up sharply. “Ill? Oh, nonsense, Lizzy. She is likely a little chilled, that is all. Mr. Bingley and his sisters will care for her—this is no cause for alarm.”
Elizabeth’s eyes flashed. “Mama, she was caught in the rain yesterday because you insisted she ride. She should not have been exposed like that.”
“Now, now,” Mrs. Bennet replied, brushing aside her concerns with a wave of her hand. “It is a slight inconvenience at most. This could work to Jane’s advantage. Mr. Bingley will see how delicate she is and feel compelled to dote upon her.”
Elizabeth pushed her chair back from the table abruptly, her mind already made up. “Whether it is a slight inconvenience or not, I am going to her.”
Mrs. Bennet looked startled. “Go to her? But it’s so early, Lizzy! Surely they will send word again if she worsens.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I cannot wait for more news. Jane may need me, and I won’t be kept from her.”
Mrs. Bennet blinked in surprise. “To Netherfield? But how? The carriage is needed today.”
“Then I will walk,” Elizabeth said firmly.
“Walk?” Mrs. Bennet looked aghast. “You cannot mean to arrive on foot! It is nearly three miles, Lizzy, and the roads will be wet from yesterday’s rain.”
“Nevertheless, I will go,” Elizabeth replied, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Mrs. Bennet opened her mouth to object but was swiftly silenced by the firm resolve in Elizabeth’s eyes. Without another word, Elizabeth left the table to prepare for her journey, wrapping herself in a warm cloak and sturdy boots before setting out.
The walk to Netherfield was brisk, the ground still damp beneath her boots, but the sky above was a soft and cloudless blue. Elizabeth’s mind raced as she hurried along the winding country road, her thoughts a jumble of worry for Jane and frustration with her mother’s flippant attitude.
The countryside was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of leaves or the call of a bird overhead. Normally, Elizabeth would have found the solitude soothing, but today, her focus was fixed entirely on reaching her sister. She quickened her pace, her skirts brushing against the dewy grass as she cut across a meadow to shorten the journey.
The sun rose higher as she walked, warming her back and lifting some of her tension. As she neared Netherfield, the grand house came into view and her heart quickened. Jane needed her, and she hoped fervently that her sister’s condition had not worsened.
How ill is Jane, truly? Is the fever a passing inconvenience, or something more serious?
Her heart ached at the thought of her sister suffering alone in a strange house. Jane was the kindest and most selfless person Elizabeth knew, and the idea of her enduring discomfort without family by her side was unbearable. Elizabeth quickened her pace, her boots crunching on the gravel as she reached Netherfield’s long drive.
She hesitated only a moment at the steps of Netherfield to assess the state of her damp boots and muddy hemline, then knocked briskly at the front door. She could feel the flush of exertion on her cheeks, but there was no time to worry about her appearance. She knocked firmly on the grand door.
∞∞∞
Whilst Elizabeth was making her way to Netherfield, Caroline Bingley was scheming. Her attempts to entice Darcy by speaking to him about his son and spending time with Georgiana were having no effect on the man. Then an idea struck her at breakfast as she sipped her tea.
If I can show my maternal instincts, Mr. Darcy will see how perfectly suited I am for his family, she thought triumphantly. Surely it is easy to spend time with one. How much trouble can a two-year-old be?
Caroline rose gracefully from the table and made her way to the nursery, her skirts swishing with purpose. She had seen little of Andrew thus far, though she had been quick to assure Darcy of her fondness for children. Here, at last, was her chance to demonstrate it.
The nursery door was ajar when she arrived, revealing a small, well-kept room filled with sunlight streaming through tall windows. Andrew sat at a low table, a bowl of porridge in front of him, his dark curls catching the light. The nurse sat with him, helping the boy with his breakfast—a bowl of porridge that he was eating with enthusiasm, albeit messily.
“Miss Bingley,” the nurse said with a curtsy, surprised by her presence. “Good morning.”
“I thought I might spend a little time with young Master Darcy,” Caroline replied with an air of authority. “I so adore children. You may take a short reprieve if you wish.”
The nurse hesitated, her expression uncertain. “He is still finishing his breakfast, ma’am. He can be rather… spirited.”
Caroline dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand. “Nonsense. Run along; I will manage.”
The nurse, Rebecca, reluctantly stepped aside, glancing at Andrew, who looked up from his bowl with wide, curious eyes. “I will be just here, ma’am,” the nurse said, moving to the doorway but not actually leaving the room.
Caroline frowned. But having someone who reports to Mr. Darcy be a witness to my maternal instincts…
“You may stay,” she declared in a condescending voice before approached Andrew, her smile tight but determined. “Hello there, Andrew,” she said in the exaggeratedly bright tone adults often adopt when speaking to children. “What a clever little boy you are, eating all by yourself.”
Andrew looked up at her, his large eyes blinking slowly, his spoon momentarily forgotten in his hand. Caroline crouched down, her wide smile revealing perfectly even teeth, though her expression veered into something a bit too sharp, almost predatory. The boy’s gaze darted to Rebecca for reassurance, but the nurse had stepped back, hesitant to intervene.
“Do you know who I am, little one?” Caroline asked, leaning closer, her tone sugary. “I’m Miss Bingley. Your papa’s dear friend.”
Andrew shifted uncomfortably, his small legs swinging beneath the chair. He mumbled something unintelligible, his voice barely above a whisper.
Caroline leaned in further, her face now too close to his. “What was that, darling? You’ll have to speak up for Miss Bingley.”
Her proximity made Andrew pull back instinctively, his spoon clinking against the side of his bowl. Caroline’s wide grin faltered for a moment, replaced by an almost irritated gleam in her eyes. “Now, now,” she said, reaching out to brush a nonexistent crumb from his sleeve. “No need to be shy with me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Andrew’s small body stiffened, his fingers tightening around the spoon. Caroline’s hand lingered on his arm, and her relentless cheerfulness began to feel overwhelming, suffocating even. His lip trembled slightly, though he tried to keep his gaze fixed on his bowl.
“You’re such a tidy little eater,” Caroline continued, though her tone had lost its earlier warmth. “Your father must be so proud of you.”
She reached out again, this time brushing his dark curls in what she imagined to be a comforting gesture. But the suddenness of her movements, coupled with her overly enthusiastic tone, seemed to unsettle Andrew further. He jerked back in his chair, his tiny hand jostling the spoon as he did so.
The spoon tipped precariously, and before Caroline could react, a large dollop of porridge splattered across the front of her gown.
Caroline froze, her expression hardening as she looked down at the pale blob staining her silk bodice. For a moment, the room was silent save for the faint rustling of the curtains in the breeze. She stared at the stain in disbelief, then, her lips tightened and her voice sharpened. “Andrew! How careless of you— Look what you’ve done!”
The boy’s small chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths shallow, the smile faltering on his face. His lip began to quiver as his earlier unease quickly turned into outright panic. Caroline, oblivious to his mounting fear, stood abruptly, brushing at her gown with a look of pure irritation. “S-sorry,” he mumbled, his small frame shrinking under her sudden tone.
Caroline’s irritation flared. “Sorry? This is not how a gentleman behaves!”
Andrew’s eyes filled with tears, but Caroline paid no heed. “This gown is silk!” she hissed, her tone no longer sweet. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to clean porridge out of silk?”
Her voice, though not loud, carried a cold edge that made Andrew’s eyes fill with tears. Before she could say more, Andrew pushed his chair back with a loud scrape. The boy scrambled down from his chair and bolted from the room, sobbing as he ran out into the hall.
“Andrew!” Rebecca called after him, rushing forward to follow. She paused only briefly to glare at Caroline, her normally composed expression now filled with disapproval. “You frightened him.”
“He made a mess, of course,” Caroline replied dismissively, brushing at her sleeve as though the smudge were an affront to her very existence. “You should be more attentive. The boy has no sense of discipline.”
The nurse frowned but said nothing, quickly leaving to find Andrew. Caroline stood frozen for a moment, then looked down at her dress again with a grimace. “Children,” she muttered under her breath. “Such little terrors.”
She turned on her heel, muttering under her breath as she exited the nursery, all thoughts of demonstrating her maternal instincts forgotten.