Chapter 15
T he morning of the Netherfield tea dawned with a wintry chill that clung to the air despite the pale sunlight filtering through the clouds. Elizabeth woke to the sound of raindrops pattering faintly against the windowpane and sighed as she gazed at the sky, which threatened to unleash a heavier storm later in the day.
The Bingley carriage arrived promptly at Longbourn that afternoon, gleaming in defiance of the muddy roads from the morning’s rain and the cloudy threats of more. Jane and Elizabeth stood in the hall as Hill helped them into their cloaks, their mother bustling about with last-minute instructions and reminders.
“Now, Jane,” Mrs. Bennet said, adjusting her eldest daughter’s bonnet, “do not let that odious Miss Bingley overshadow you. Remember to sit where Mr. Bingley can see you clearly. And Lizzy,” she added, turning to her second daughter, “try not to antagonize anyone. Not everyone appreciates your sharp tongue.”
Elizabeth gave her mother a tight smile, holding back the retort that rose to her lips. She was used to these admonishments, but today, her thoughts were elsewhere. As Hill opened the door and the chill of the afternoon breeze swept inside, Elizabeth glanced at Jane, who was already stepping forward with her usual serene grace.
They climbed into the carriage, and as soon as the door was shut and the wheels began to turn, Elizabeth allowed herself to sink into the seat with a sigh. The countryside rolled by, its muted colors softened by the gray skies above. She tried to focus on the familiar sights, but her mind kept drifting back to Netherfield.
Caroline Bingley. Elizabeth couldn’t decide which was worse—the idea of enduring Caroline’s sly remarks and thinly veiled insults, or the possibility that Caroline would simply ignore her altogether. Either way, she knew the evening would be fraught with tension. The presence of Mrs. Hurst, who so often mirrored her sister’s disdain, would do little to improve matters.
And yet... a flicker of excitement sparked within her, unbidden. Darcy. The name alone sent a ripple through her chest, a curious mixture of anticipation and uncertainty. Elizabeth had been replaying their conversations over the past weeks in her mind, each one revealing more of the man beneath the aloof exterior. She found herself eager to see him again, though she quickly reminded herself not to dwell on it too much. It was merely the prospect of engaging in stimulating conversation, she told herself, nothing more.
“You seem lost in thought, Lizzy,” Jane said, her voice gentle and teasing. “What occupies your mind so thoroughly?”
Elizabeth turned to her sister with a wry smile. “I was merely considering how best to endure an evening with Miss Bingley. Her charm, after all, is matched only by her graciousness.”
Jane laughed softly. “Perhaps you might be surprised. Miss Bingley may not be the easiest of companions, but she does make an effort to host us.”
Elizabeth arched an eyebrow but refrained from commenting further. Jane’s determination to see the best in everyone was both her greatest strength and her greatest flaw. Elizabeth had long since learned to let it go, knowing her sister’s outlook brought her peace.
By the time the carriage arrived at Netherfield, the sun had briefly emerged, casting a golden light over the estate. Elizabeth stepped out onto the gravel drive and was greeted by the smiling figure of Mr. Bingley, who had come to the door himself to receive them.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth! Welcome, welcome!” He approached with a wide grin, his gaze immediately finding Jane’s. “It is always such a pleasure to have you here.”
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow as he stepped forward to help Jane descend. “You are opening your own door, Mr. Bingley? What of the footmen?”
Bingley chuckled, glancing back toward the house. “Caroline insisted on giving the staff the afternoon off. She thought a more intimate gathering might be... charming. They’ll be back in an hour or so, I believe.”
Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Jane. Giving the entire staff even a few hours off was highly irregular. “Quite charming indeed,” she murmured under her breath as she stepped inside, the grandeur of Netherfield’s foyer uncharacteristically still without the usual bustle of servants.
“I quite like the idea of giving the staff a surprise,” Bingley said, grinning at Jane.
Jane returned his smile with one of her own, the flush in her cheeks unmistakable. Elizabeth couldn’t help but giggle slightly at her sister’s obvious happiness, though her expression turned wary when Caroline Bingley appeared behind her brother, her lips stretched into a tight, overly bright smile.
“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, how delightful to see you,” Caroline said, her tone laced with false sweetness. “We have prepared a most splendid tea for the occasion. I daresay it will be quite unlike anything you have encountered in Meryton.”
Elizabeth inclined her head politely, though her instincts told her that something was amiss. Caroline’s smile was entirely too… genuine. Her suspicions only deepened when Caroline led them into the drawing room, where the Netherfield party was already assembled. Mr. Hurst lounged carelessly on a small sofa, and Mrs. Hurst greeted them with her usual languid indifference.
Darcy stood by the window, his tall frame silhouetted against the pale light as he gazed out with his usual quiet intensity. He turned towards the door when the Bennet sisters entered, bowing in greeting. Georgiana sat primly on a chair near the fireplace, her delicate features lit with a mixture of shyness and curiosity as she greeted the newcomers with a tentative smile.
“Miss Darcy,” Elizabeth said warmly, stepping forward to address the young woman as Bingley guided Jane to a sofa near the fire. “How wonderful to see you again. I trust you have been well?”
Georgiana nodded, her cheeks pink. “Yes, thank you, Miss Elizabeth. It is a pleasure to see you too.”
Elizabeth returned her smile, then allowed Caroline to guide her to a settee near the center of the room. Jane and Bingley had already taken their places side by side, their quiet conversation punctuated by the occasional laugh.
“I must tell you all,” Caroline announced with a dramatic flourish, “that I have procured the finest tea blend from London. It is a rare and exotic variety, said to be the pinnacle of refinement. I simply could not resist sharing it with such esteemed company.”
Bingley raised an eyebrow. “I was under the impression you were rather attached to your usual tea, Caroline. Something about its unassailable refinement?”
Caroline flushed slightly but recovered with a tinkling laugh. “Oh, Charles, you do love to tease. Surely even I can appreciate novelty when it is of sufficient quality.”
Elizabeth’s lips twitched in amusement at the forced enthusiasm in Caroline’s voice, and she caught Darcy’s faint smirk as he continued to stare out the window. His apparent disinterest in the proceedings only heightened Elizabeth’s foreboding about the evening, though she quickly brushed the thought aside.
With a flourish, Caroline rang the bell, and moments later, a maid entered with a silver tea tray. The arrangement was impeccable—delicate china cups, a porcelain teapot, and a plate of small, intricately decorated biscuits. Elizabeth’s brow furrowed at the fact that not all members of the staff were enjoying a respite.
With great ceremony, Caroline began pouring the tea herself. She gave the first cup to Darcy, completely ignoring protocol to serve her guests first. When the last cup was placed in her hands, Elizabeth took a tentative sip, only to wince at the bitter taste that lingered on her tongue despite the generous amount of sugar and honey.
At first, Elizabeth thought it was a cruel prank Miss Bingley had played on her to show her superiority. A quick glance around the room confirmed that she was not alone in her reaction; the others were doing their best to mask their expressions of distaste. Caroline, however, sipped her tea with exaggerated delight, her smile strained as she urged her guests to drink more.
“Come now, drink up,” she trilled as a slight sheen of sweat began to appear on her brow. “This really is a most exquisite blend. I went to great lengths to procure it, so I shall be quite offended if you do not partake fully. It has been designed to invigorate the senses and soothe the soul, and is quite all the rage in London.”
“It’s… unique,” Elizabeth ventured, choosing her words carefully. She took another sip, hoping the taste might improve. It did not.
Miss Bingley, clearly unwilling to admit defeat, lifted her own cup with a strained smile. “Oh, I quite adore it. Such a complex flavor, wouldn’t you agree?” She took a delicate sip, her expression tightening ever so slightly as she swallowed.
Elizabeth exchanged a wry look with Jane, who had managed only a small sip of her tea. Darcy, too, seemed hesitant, taking a single sip before placing his cup on the table. Bingley, ever the polite host, managed two gulps before coughing softly into his hand. Mrs. Hurst looked dubious, though she drained her cup quickly, likely to avoid Caroline’s scrutiny, and encouraged her husband to do the same.
“Come now, do finish,” Caroline urged, her voice higher than usual. “I went to such trouble to acquire this treat for us all to enjoy.” She herself grimaced as she took a large swallow, then forced a pained smile as if to provide evidence of her enjoyment.
Despite their reservations, they all dutifully drained their cups, the awkward silence in the room broken only by the occasional clink of porcelain and the rustle of clothing as they shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
Elizabeth reached for her biscuit, eager to cleanse her palate, but as she chewed, she noticed an odd sensation creeping over her. It was faint—a lightheadedness, as though the room had grown just a touch warmer. She shook her head slightly, attributing the feeling to her earlier walk in the brisk air.
It was then that Elizabeth noticed Darcy glancing in her direction, his gaze lingering for a moment before returning to the window. The intensity of his expression made her heart flutter, and she found herself wondering what thoughts occupied his mind. The memory of their recent conversations—the unexpected warmth and understanding that had passed between them—came rushing back, and she quickly looked away, focusing instead on the intricacies of the teacup in her hands.
As she looked around the room in an attempt to distract herself, Elizabeth absentmindedly tapped her fingers on the armrest of her chair, playing a simple melody she knew by heart.
“Fur Elise?” Georgiana’s question was soft and weak. Elizabeth frowned as she looked at the girl’s pale face.
“Miss Darcy?” Elizabeth leaned forward, her voice tinged with concern. “Are you feeling unwell?”
Before Georgiana could respond, she was interrupted by a small shout from across the room. “Miss Bennet!”
Elizabeth looked up to see Bingley’s horrified face staring down at Jane in surprise. To Elizabeth’s astonishment, her sister lay unmoving across Bingley’s lap. His arms were around the elder Bennet girl, whose head lolled to one side.
“Jane!” she cried, rushing to her sister’s side. She felt a strong, steady arm grasp her elbow, steadying her as she swayed. Turning, she saw Darcy looking down at her, his expression sharp with concern.
“Are you well, Miss Bennet?” he asked, his voice firm despite the slight slur creeping into his words.
Elizabeth blinked, her vision momentarily blurring. “I… I believe so,” she replied, though her heart raced with unease. “But Jane—something is wrong!”
As she turned her focus back to her sister, she realized Darcy’s grip on her arm had slackened. Glancing back, she was horrified to see him collapse onto the floor, his tall frame crumpling like a marionette with its strings cut.
“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth dropped to her knees beside him, her hand hovering over his shoulder. His breathing was slow but steady, his face unnaturally pale.
The room descended into chaos. Bingley had slumped forward, his head resting against Jane’s shoulder, while Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley lay sprawled in their chairs, their tea cups shattered on the floor. Hurst, who had been half-asleep when they arrived, was now fully unconscious, his snores rattling through the silence.
Elizabeth’s mind raced. Have we been poisoned? Are they all… dead?
The thought was terrifying, yet the symptoms seemed more like an unnatural sleep than anything lethal. Her own slight dizziness had all but faded, leaving her alert but shaken. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she scanned the room for help. The bell—she needed to summon a servant.
There are no servants .
At that horrifying thought, Elizabeth turned around again to try to revive someone—anyone.
Just then, a door creaked open behind her.
Elizabeth spun around, her heart leaping with hope. Instead of livery, however, the figure standing in the doorway was dressed in the red coat of an officer, the coloring striking against the subdued tones of the room.
She recognized him as the handsome officer she had met in the street the day they had taken Mr. Collins to Meryton. He had called once or twice at Longbourn as well, but she was not all that acquainted with him.
What was his name again? She fought against the light fog that seemed to cover her mind, and it finally came to her.
“Mr. Wickham!” Elizabeth exclaimed, her relief momentarily overpowering her confusion. “Thank heavens you’re here!”
∞∞∞
George Wickham smirked to himself as he stepped into the stillness of Netherfield's drawing room. His satisfaction with Caroline Bingley’s foolhardy scheme had grown with every step he’d taken toward the house, though he had to admit that working with such an overly dramatic accomplice could be tiresome. Yet, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, he paused. Something was amiss.
Elizabeth Bennet stood at the center of the chaos, her small figure framed by the elegance of the room, her expression frantic. Around her, bodies lay slumped in various positions—Darcy on the floor, Bingley draped awkwardly over his beloved Miss Bennet, and the Netherfield ladies sprawled in unbecoming heaps.
Her voice pulled him from his observations. “I have never been so relieved to see anyone in my life!” she cried, her voice trembling with desperation. “Something dreadful has happened.”
He cursed. Why the devil is she not asleep?
For all his planning, he hadn’t expected anyone to be standing upright, let alone coherent. He took in her pale face, relief etched into her features, and then back to the scattered bodies of the unconscious party. Miss Bingley had assured him this would be simple, an easy charade, but now…
“I should say something has,” he remarked, his gaze sweeping the room. “But tell me, Miss Elizabeth—” He turned his piercing eyes back to her, his tone hardening. “Did you not drink the tea?”
Her response was immediate, though hesitant. She gasped softly, shrinking back from the sharp edge in his voice. “Th-th-the tea?” she stammered, her brows furrowing in confusion.
He took another step closer, his eyes narrowing. “Yes, the tea. Miss Bingley laced it heavily with laudanum. Did you drink it?”
Her expression twisted into shock, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly as if she couldn’t comprehend the question. Wickham’s patience, always thin, began to fray.
“Well?” he demanded, anger beginning to creep through his voice.
Elizabeth’s voice trembled as she finally answered. “I—well, yes, I did. But why would that—” Her words faltered, confusion and a growing sense of dread coloring her tone.
“Because,” Wickham interrupted sharply, his irritation bubbling to the surface, “your hostess intended to ensure everyone was unconscious for the little compromise she planned to arrange. How on earth are you still standing?”
Her hand went to her temple; the very act of thinking through the fog required great effort. “Laudanum has… never worked properly on me,” she said. “Even when I broke my arm as a child, the apothecary—”
He cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand. “Never worked? Never?” His mind whirred. What an inconvenient, irritating detail to have overlooked. Of all the ridiculous twists.
“No,” Elizabeth said, her voice growing firmer despite her confusion. “It takes an unusual amount to have any effect.”
Wickham stared at her, his disbelief quickly morphing into irritation. He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “Well, that certainly complicates matters,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.
Elizabeth’s brow furrowed further. “How do you mean?” she asked cautiously, her voice tinged with alarm.
Wickham turned his gaze back to her, and his usual charming mask slipped away, replaced by something colder, harder. With a great sigh, he spread his hands in a theatrical gesture. “Miss Elizabeth, let me be plain. Miss Bingley is desperate to marry my dear old friend Darcy. So desperate, in fact, that she’s enlisted my help to engineer a little scandal. The plan was simple enough—put everyone to sleep with the tea, then create the appearance that Darcy and Miss Bingley spent the afternoon together in a most… compromising position.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened as realization began to dawn. Wickham smirked, enjoying the flicker of horror in her expression. “Of course,” he continued, “Darcy’s nature is such that he would never recover from the disgrace. Miss Bingley would ensure the matter came to light just enough to force his hand. And once they’re married…” He gave a theatrical shrug. “She’s promised me half her pin money as compensation.”
Elizabeth’s shock turned to indignation. “You would ruin Mr. Darcy’s life for money? Why? You don’t even know him!”
Wickham barked a laugh, loud and scornful. “Oh, you poor, naive girl,” he sneered. “Of course I know him. Very well.”
Her eyes flashed with anger, but Wickham stepped closer, his grin fading as a darker expression took its place. “You want to know the truth?” he hissed, his voice low and venomous. “I despise Darcy. His father may have loved me like a son, but Darcy never saw me as anything more than a rival to be crushed. He’s taken everything I ever wanted— everything that should have been mine by right. Do you truly believe I would not seize an opportunity to destroy him in turn?”
Elizabeth flinched at the intensity of his words, but he wasn’t finished. “Nothing can stop me, Miss Bennet,” he declared, his voice brimming with malice. “Certainly not you. So now we find ourselves at an impasse. You, unfortunately, are still awake. Conscious. A witness. ”
Her breathing quickened, and for the first time, Wickham saw fear flicker in her eyes. “What do you mean?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. “I mean, my dear Miss Bennet, that we cannot have you ruining this little arrangement. You’re awake when you shouldn’t be, and that presents a problem. A problem I intend to solve.”
Elizabeth’s breathing quickened, her mind racing. “I—I won’t say anything,” she stammered. “I swear it.”
“Oh, I’m afraid that won’t do,” Wickham said softly, his grin widening. “You see, Miss Bennet, this plan is far too delicate to risk even the slightest whisper of interference. And you—you, my dear—are far too clever for your own good.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened in alarm, and she instinctively took a step back. Wickham advanced slowly, a predatory gleam in his eyes, his grin widening into something cruel and wolfish.
“Now,” he said, his tone almost playful, “let’s see what we can do about that troublesome little habit of yours—staying awake. I can’t have you ruining everything.”
Wickham savored the moment, each tremor of fear rippling through Elizabeth Bennet only heightening his sense of control. He stepped forward again, his shadow looming over her as he relished the way her eyes darted toward the door, calculating her chances of escape.
Poor little fool. She has no idea who she is dealing with.
He took another step closer to her, then another, his excitement rising with each frightened pant.