Chapter 1 #2
Elizabeth Bennet strode along, wet grasses tugging at her boots and skirt as the wind whipped her face and hat.
The low stone wall that separated the Longbourn fields from those of Netherfield loomed before her.
A wooden stile was built across it, and she clambered up and over it and hopped down the other side.
She landed with an ominous squelch. Thick brown mud had splattered up on her petticoats and coated her jean boots. Elizabeth grimaced, then shrugged; if they stained, they stained. She had more important issues on her mind.
She strode quickly over the wet field toward the house where her beloved sister Jane languished at Netherfield, ill and confined to a room.
Anyone could have predicted such an outcome after she was caught in the rain the previous day.
The very memory was enough to tighten Elizabeth's mouth and make her shake her head in disapproval.
It could have been avoided if not for Mrs. Bennet's connivances, as she was the one who had insisted that Jane should ride over to Netherfield on horseback when the clouds on the horizon threatened a heavy rain.
The previous morning, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst of Netherfield Hall had sent a message inviting Jane over for the day.
The gentlemen were dining with the officers, and the ladies did not wish to be bored with only one another for company.
Mrs. Bennet, with five daughters on her hands to marry off, and Mr. Bingley noticeably interested in the eldest Miss Bennet, had forced Jane to accept.
The carriage was not available as the horses were working on the Home Farm.
To anyone of sense, this circumstance would require a polite refusal of the invitation, but Mrs. Bennet was more interested in a possible husband than her children’s health.
In perfect fairness to Mrs. Bennet, Elizabeth did not think that their mother had intended for Jane to be caught in a genuine downpour on her way over to Netherfield.
It was quite mortifying enough that she had planned for the Bingleys to be forced to invite Jane to spend the night when the clouds burst to dump their rain.
Well, that aim had succeeded. Jane remained at Netherfield, beneath the same roof as the handsome, charming Mr. Bingley.
Much good it was doing her, or them! Mr. Bingley, however concerned he might be for his afflicted guest, was far too much the gentleman to even consider entering Jane's bedchamber to inquire after her.
Instead, she was merely an imposition to the Netherfield household.
Elizabeth had not been convinced by Mrs. Bennet's complacent assurances that Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst would nurse Jane, because she placed no dependence on the ladies’ goodwill.
Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst openly despised Jane's family, and while they enjoyed her company, Elizabeth did not think it likely that they would sacrifice their time and comfort to sit by a sickbed for hours on end.
Mr. Bingley, at least, seemed a genuinely kind man and would doubtless instruct the servants to take good care of her.
Most of the servants at Netherfield were local to Meryton, and Elizabeth could depend on them to look after her sister.
It was nonetheless a burden for them, and Elizabeth could lift that burden in part by nursing Jane herself.
Mrs. Bennet had been horrified when Elizabeth had announced her intentions over breakfast, but Mr. Bennet had supported her.
He could not order the carriage for her, for Daisy and Petunia were once again working on the Home Farm, but Elizabeth had assured him that it was no obstacle.
She habitually walked much further than the three miles between Longbourn and Netherfield, simply for the enjoyment of the exercise.
It would not, she knew, be a particularly pleasurable visit, as she would have to spend time not only with Mr. Bingley’s arrogant sisters but also with Bingley’s friend, Mr. Darcy of Pemberley.
Mr. Darcy was undeniably handsome, along with being very rich, but such attributes paled in comparison to his truly loathsome disposition.
The man had insulted Elizabeth the day they had first laid eyes on one another, and every time they had encountered one another since then, he had stared at her with disapproval.
Not that she cared a great deal, but it was annoying.
What right did Mr. Darcy have to march into her hometown and look down his patrician nose at her?
For Jane’s sake, she would endure, but she hoped very much that Jane would recover quickly so that they could return home soon.
“Calm down, Maxwell,” a male voice said suddenly. “It is quite all right. Calm down, boy.”
She stopped short and turned a bewildered gaze toward the stream that lay next to this part of the path.
A dog barked a moment later, and Elizabeth took a few hurried steps forward to a gap in the brush, which allowed her to look down into the stream.
If she had been bewildered before, she was now thunderstruck.
Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, the proud and arrogant master of Pemberley, stood thigh-deep in the rushing waters of the turgid stream, with a bedraggled, shivering golden spaniel in his arms. His wet shirt hung down, glistening and clinging to his muscular form.
His coat hung nearby, obviously taken off before he embarked on whatever it was he was doing.
The sound of the stream was sufficiently loud as to drown out Elizabeth’s footsteps, and Mr. Darcy’s eyes were grimly fixed on the bank in front of him.
Elizabeth could see, within a few seconds, the problem at hand.
The spaniel was too young to swim to shore, and this section of creek boasted quite a high bank.
Given the rapidity of the current, it was probably difficult for Mr. Darcy to take a step without being in danger of falling with his precious load.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, she called out, “Mr. Darcy!” even as she began unwinding the scarf from her own neck.