Chapter 1
ONE
Darcy stared at the housemaid who had opened Netherfield’s door. “You are refusing me entry?”
“Sorry, sir. The household is rife with the stomach-ache. Mr Bingley and his sisters are abed, but it is Mr Hurst who ails the worst. The doctor called it a ‘bilious colic’. No one is allowed in nor to leave.”
“It is a serious contagion?”
“Not supposing so. Mr Jones says they should all be well in a day or two.”
A day or two?
“Where are the butler, the housekeeper? Have they too been struck ill?”
The girl nodded. “Mr Davies is unwell, but it started in the night, and Mrs Nicholls was gone to her daughter’s birthing’s, so’s I don’t know of her condition. The rest of us is good, including your Mr Burke. He is helping with Mr Bingley.”
Darcy thanked the girl, cursing under his breath as he walked down the stairs.
Why had he hurried back to Hertfordshire for no reason but that he had promised Bingley his business in town would take no more than a day?
Because you hoped to continue encountering Miss Elizabeth Bennet, you besotted fool. Courting danger...
A glance at the darkening sky impelled Darcy into his carriage. “To the inn at Meryton,” he called to his driver.
His bad luck continued there. Before he could even approach the inn’s doors, the town’s most loquacious knight emerged with the pinch-faced fellow he recognised as Mr Philips.
Feeling more urgency than politeness, Darcy managed a brief greeting before explaining he needed to secure rooms due to illness at Netherfield.
Sir William summoned all his sagacity into a vigorous nod. “Ah yes, not the dyspepsia so common among many of us...”
Of course, Darcy thought, a man as inquisitive and ever-present as Sir William was already apprised of the news, and after enduring his soliloquy on the illnesses that strike even the best and brightest of England, it emerged that four of the inn’s six rooms were already occupied and the remaining two were in disrepair from a fire.
“Lucas Lodge has room aplenty,” offered Sir William. “Although our guest chambers are currently occupied with my wife’s sisters, you are welcome to share with John or he could move in with his brothers.”
Horrified and hardly able to refrain from sneering, Darcy was tempted to rent a team and return to town despite the violent rumbling overhead.
Perhaps I could beg for a guest room at Haye-Park or Longbourn, he thought morosely.
Mr Philips, perhaps noting his hesitation, spoke up.
“There is room for your horses and men in the stables here, and my house boasts two empty guest chambers. It is just over there,” he said, gesturing at a tall stone house with bright red shutters.
A white sign advertising ‘Albert Philips, Esq’ hung over the front window.
In spite of deep trepidation—Darcy recalled that Mrs Philips was sister to Mrs Bennet and equally vulgar—he accepted quickly, reasoning the house was close and uninhabited by young ladies and matchmaking mamas.
It is one night. A matter of hours in their company.
After retrieving his small valise of books and papers and directing his driver to the inn, he joined Mr Philips for the short walk to his house.
No words were exchanged as they strode, a relief that did nothing to alleviate his unease for the hours ahead. When Mr Jones approached in his curricle, Darcy quickly hailed him and asked whether he had been to Netherfield.
“Earlier, yes, but I have just come from Longbourn, which is beset with the same illness as its neighbour.
‘Tis an unpleasant business, but no one will die,” he said, glancing askance at the rain starting to fall.
“I saw a similar ailment a week ago at Haye-Park. It seems some mushrooms in the fields fermented badly and yesterday reached the kitchens and dining tables at Netherfield and Longbourn.”
Darcy’s concern rose, and he was grateful Mr Philips voiced the question he wished to ask. “All are stricken at Longbourn?”
Mr Jones chuckled. “Of the family, all but Miss Bennet and Miss Mary, who are tending their sisters and parents. I am uncertain about Miss Elizabeth, though her sister claims she showed no symptoms before walking off to Netherfield to retrieve a forgotten pair of gloves. Her mother sent word to keep her at Netherfield, so I suppose she will lend a hand there.”
She is there! Where I could have been—should have been!
Had he never gone to London, he could have been confined with Elizabeth at Netherfield rather than here, with her questionably mannered relations.
Devil it, but was she well? Had she arrived at the house before him and been taken inside, or was she now ill, somewhere in the three miles of fields and forest separating the two estates?
No, she is clever and will be in one comfortable house or the other. Her welfare is not your business, he reminded himself. You went to town to ensure it would not be.
“Mr Darcy, will you come in before the skies open?”
Fighting the urge to turn around and ride off to ensure her safety, Darcy followed Mr Philips into the house, where a shrill voice too similar to another’s quickly made itself heard.
“Albert! Mr Philips! Come quickly! All of Longbourn lays dying, but Lizzy is here!”