Shadows Upon Netherfield E-Book

Nora Kipling

• Herausgeber: Heart Candies Publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

A full-length, sweet romance centering around our dear couple, Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth by Nora Kipling.Mr. Darcy has insulted her vanity, but when she needs him most, he will be her salvation.Set shortly after Jane falls ill upon going to Netherfield Park, Elizabeth follows and injures herself on the way, only to be rescued by one Mr. Darcy. She stays with her sister at Netherfield where they both convalesce together. While she is there, Elizabeth attracts unwanted attention to one of Netherfield Park’s other residents. Will scandal and gossip ruin her forever? And what part will Mr. Darcy play in saving her again?This is a sweet, clean romance suitable for all lovers of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

Leseprobe

Shadows Upon Netherfield

A Pride & Prejudice Variation

Nora Kipling

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Nora Kipling

Copyright © 2016 by Nora Kipling

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

For information contact;

[email protected]

www.heartcandies.com

www.audreynoire.com

Cover design by Elias Fox

Book design by Heart Candies Publishing

First Edition: January 2017

ISBN: 978-1-988728-00-1

For Nix, you darling girl.

Chapter 1

Fresh air rushed across Elizabeth Bennet’s cheeks as she made her way down the road towards Netherfield.

“It’s not all that far, after all,” she said to herself aloud, repeating the words she had spoken to her family just a short time ago when she had been warm and entirely dry in the safety of Longbourn. Now, though, having sunk several times up to her ankles in the mud and dirt she was not all that thrilled at the decision she’d made. Going to Netherfield Park, what had she been thinking?

Only of Jane, her beloved sister Jane. That had been her one thought: to see to Jane’s needs and make sure that her sister was being cared for in the manner she needed to be. Goodness, but only one sister could help another convalesce especially among such esteemed company as Jane had found herself in at Netherfield Park.

If only Netherfield wasn’t quite so far away, and if only the road wasn’t quite so wet as it had been. She pulled her bonnet further down on her head and wished the plaited straw would do more to protect her delicate ears and the back of her neck. It was chilly out, and the wet was creeping up her skirts so much that the under layers were sticking to her legs. She held her arms around herself, her wool shawl not cutting the wind but at least keeping the heat tightly pressed inside of her.

Netherfield couldn’t be too much further, could it? She ached to sit beside a warm fire, with a good book and the top layer of her skirts pulled up in an unladylike manner so she could warm her legs. She was beginning to think she might never regain feeling her legs ever again.

The sound of a horse’s hooves around the next bend in the road made her step to the side, clearing a path for the rider that might be coming. So anxious was she to not get in the way of a horse that she didn’t notice the patch of mud just to her right. Her booted foot caught in it, and the sucking mess grabbed at her. With the weight of her water-logged dress, and with a set of limbs that were stiff from the cold she flailed and went down with a cry, tumbling into the mess of mud and matted grasses.

Cold! Immediate cold soaked right through the cotton of her gown and she gasped, struggling to get to her feet. Her boot was nearly wrenched from her, so strong was the hold of the mud.

“Whoa!” a deep male voice said, and she looked up, her eyes widening in dismay at the sight in front of her. Mr. Darcy, astride a tall black horse, his collar turned up against the wind, his hat rising sharp and tall over his wind-tossed hair. Her cheeks immediately burned with shame, to be found wallowing like a pig in muck by the one man she had hoped never to catch sight of again.

Not handsome enough to tempt him! Well certainly not now, that she was all over mud, and soaked right down to her pantalettes. She lifted a dirty hand to push the hair out of her eyes, bumping her bonnet as she did so.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy said with the most peculiar look on his face. He was frozen, for just a moment, and then he dismounted from his horse in a sharp movement. He was striding to her, and she gulped down a noise of dismay. Of all the people to see her in such a manner, it would be Mr. Darcy. She felt in that moment as she would never live the memory down, and that the shame of her situation would be worn on her scarlet cheeks for the world to see for the rest of her life.

She thought he might only offer her his hand, but he reached for her, both his arms outstretched. She felt him tuck his hands around her ribcage, and he lifted her out of the mud and mess, leaving her no choice but to press up against him and get his fine riding costume filthy with dirt.

“Oh,” she said as a lance of pain shot up her ankle when he pulled her from the mud. A wince crossed her face as he settled her upright, his arms still around her and holding her close.

“Miss Elizabeth, you are hurt,” he stated with a frown, his brow furrowed. He pulled away from her, his hand lingering on her forearm to steady her in case she decided to topple over she supposed. He must think her weak, not at all the stout country maiden she should have been. Not only was she not handsome enough, she was a fainting blossom. More shame burnt her cheeks, for she had never been proud to be a dainty, delicate creature and had always trusted in the frame that she had been blessed with: strong and able. She felt weak now though, from her long trek from Longbourn and now the humiliation and pain of having been found frolicking in a mud wallow.

“I thank you for your assistance, Mr. Darcy,” she said, trying to sound appreciative when all she felt was short and irritable. “But I am quite fine. I was just walking to Netherfield Park to see my sister when-“ she trailed off and looked at the mud patch. He followed her gaze and then cleared his throat.

“I myself was riding to visit your father at Longbourn,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I am afraid I have grave news. Your sister has taken a turn for the worse, and has become more ill with the poor weather. The damp creeps even into Netherfield’s warmest rooms.”

Fear struck at her, crackling through her chest like a thousand static shocks at his words.

“She fares even worse than before?” Elizabeth whispered and then looked down the road with determination. She started walking, favoring strongly her sore ankle as sharp bites of pain licked at her right from the bone. Her skirts stuck to her legs as she moved, and every single step was absolute agony. Shame, fear, nagging worry that bordered on panic, all warred within her and weighed her down as surely as her soaked dresses did.

“Miss Elizabeth!” Mr. Darcy didn’t let her get more than five feet before grabbing her wrist. “You are hurt; you will barely make the manor before tomorrow’s night fall, and injured as you are you will be of no use to your sister.” She turned to look at him, her breathing labored already from the effort it took to walk with her injured leg.

“I must go to my sister, immediately,” she said, lifting her head proudly. Perhaps he thought her too weak to make the journey, but she would, with or without his judgment.

“Please, ride my horse. It will save you further pain and I will make the journey back to Netherfield on foot.” He went to grab his horse’s reins, the beast having stood there patiently while Mr. Darcy had rescued her from the mud.

“I couldn’t,” she protested, noting that the saddle was not meant for a lady, for riding with both legs to one side. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of riding astride as men did, overwhelming her worries for her sister’s wellbeing for just one moment.

“You must,” Mr. Darcy insisted. “I will help you into the saddle. Come.” He tugged his horse forward and lead her around one side. He saw her eyeing the saddle uncomfortably, and a brief hint of a smile flickered across his normally solemn face. “You may sit to one side, if you wish, just perhaps adjust your grip on the saddle. This is one of my favorite mounts, very steady and so well mannered an elderly lady could ride him without being troubled.” He offered her his hand. “Please, Miss Elizabeth. You are injured, and will become sick as well if you do not find yourself by a warming fire soon.”

Her ankle did ache with a ferocity she did not appreciate, and she knew that if she stayed out much longer in her soaked garments she would become ill as her sister had, and be of no use to anybody. She had no choice, she realized, she would have to take Mr. Darcy’s mount and ride to Netherfield, leaving the man to walk behind her.

“As you wish,” she said, willing some warmth into her tone to thank him for his kindness. She was not pleased to be in the position to have to thank him for anything, given his unkind words regarding his opinion of her at the assembly. But some small, disgruntled part of her did appreciate that he was willing to walk like a peasant so that she might get safely to Netherfield as fast as possible.

“It is as I wish,” he said, and there was another trace of amusement in his eyes before it was gone again, stone-cold Mr. Darcy that she knew so very little of reappearing in front of her. “Grasp my hand, there’s a girl,” he said encouragingly as she wrapped her fingers around his forearm. It felt so strange to be close to a man she was not related to in any way, and she was grateful that no passersby had come along the road to see them in such a close embrace. “Foot in the stirrup,” he said. She lifted her good leg, biting back a whimper of pain as her ankle shrilled at her with agony. Her leg trembled to hold her weight and he had to help her slip her foot into the stirrup. “And up!” He pushed, and she pushed back, using all her force to heave herself up into the saddle. When she was secured in place, she took a breath and relaxed minutely. She adjusted her seat until she was more comfortable, feeling less like she was going to teeter off the saddle. She longed for a side-saddle, however, and did feel quite out of sorts to be so positioned in improper tack. Mr. Darcy took a moment, arranging her skirts for her modesty, and she felt her cheeks color even brighter at his proprietary nature. Who was he to touch her as such?

Before she could make a noise of outrage though, he passed her the reins.

“I will see you at Netherfield, journey safely, Miss Elizabeth,” he said, stepping back from her so she could encourage the horse into a walk.

She wasn’t sure what to say to him as she clucked at the horse and it began to move at a sedate walk. Her ankle throbbed dully, and she was so grateful to no longer have to bear weight on it for the time being. She looked back at Mr. Darcy. He stood in the middle of the road, his hat tall and elegant, his clothing streaked with mud from assisting her, one of his hands fisted just below his sleeve as he watched her with those dark eyes of his.

“Thank you Mr. Darcy,” she said, not wanting to lift her hand from the reins lest she unbalance herself and go tumbling from the horse’s back. It would not do to fall all over again. He gave her a brief nod, and then disappeared as she rounded the bend. She was alone, with nothing but her thoughts and her shame at the situation she’d found herself in.

Chapter 2

Her arrival at Netherfield was heralded with much ado, and she was sure that she painted quite the sight, nearly up to her waist in mud, trotting precariously on a saddle not meant to be ridden to the side as a lady must. She’d been immediately helped down and whisked into the interior of Netherfield where it was warm and dry. Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley had taken one short look at her, Miss Bingley’s upper lip barely registering a curl and Mr. Bingley looking altogether beside himself at the state of her person. Mr. Bingley’s expression at least, came from a place of heartfelt kindness and sorrow at the accident she had incurred to her person.

He immediately called for her to be given a set of apartments next to Jane’s own rooms, and demanded a hot bath be drawn so she might wash before dinner.

He’d asked if she wished for him to send for a physician to look at her ankle, but she declined his offer. She had already overstayed her welcome and she had been there but half an hour.

After a restorative bath, and an attentive maid to help her dress in a borrowed gown, one by the cut that it had to have belonged to Miss Bingley herself, Elizabeth felt much better. Her ankle still smarted, but she was able to see to her sister and make sure that Jane was alright.

Jane had indeed grown worse since her last letter, her voice reduced to a croak and a sweat upon her brow. Elizabeth soothed her sister with cool clothes and read to her for a time until Jane finally slept.

Mr. Bingley met her outside Jane’s door, a handkerchief wrung between his fingers as he paced.

“Is she well?” he asked when Elizabeth emerged. Lizzy shut the door behind her to give Jane some peace so she might rest. She turned to Mr. Bingley, and was not at all surprised to see him so anxious as to Jane’s wellbeing. The kind man wore his emotions on his coat sleeve, and she could see in him a very great longing to check on her sister and assure himself that she was well indeed.

“She has been better, Mr. Bingley, but I do say you have taken such a great care of her that she would be much worse had she been at home amongst the bustle of my sisters,” Elizabeth reassured him. Jane was quite ill, but nothing that time and some good fortifying soup and warm bricks wouldn’t cure. There were a few more bricks heating in the fire, and the maids were taking good care of Jane so if she grew chilled Elizabeth knew they’d be there immediately to warm her.

“You are too kind. I am just sorrowed to see she has grown so ill on her journey here, and you yourself were injured and the road treated you so unjustly. Is it cursed, the way between Longbourn and Netherfield?” he asked, his fingers wringing the handkerchief he held even tighter. Elizabeth couldn’t help the startled laugh from her lips, and she covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

“No, I do not think so, only that we are cursed to not make a good impression on new company, perhaps,” she said with a smile. Mr. Bingley smiled back at her and then shook his head.

“You and your sister make a fine impression, as fine an impression as could be made, at least to me,” he replied with a short bow, kindness shining from his face. Jane could not have picked a more handsome, gentle man out of all the men in England, Elizabeth thought, and secretly hoped that her sister’s illness would bring the two closer together just as Mrs. Bennet had plotted.

“You are very kind to a poor country girl of no consequence,” Elizabeth said and Mr. Bingley scoffed.

“Such modesty is not necessary,” Mr. Bingley said, holding out his arm for her to take. She let her hand slip over it and he walked her towards the stairs. “It was easy to see, at the assembly, that both you and Miss Bennet are the jewels of Hertfordshire, and by far lengths are greater beauties than I have seen in the north, or even in London,” he flattered her kindly as they walked.

A clatter up the stairs stopped them short, and Mr. Darcy appeared, hatless, his hair in disarray and mud still smearing his clothes.

“Darcy,” Mr. Bingley cried out, wanting to move forward but not wanting to abandon Elizabeth as her escort. Mr. Darcy froze as he took in the picture the two of them made, and Elizabeth noted that his eyes fell to where her hand lay along Mr. Bingley’s arm. His jaw tensed for a moment and then his gaze flicked to her face. He was inscrutable as always, but she saw a slight hint of something in his eyes that made her hold her breath. It was a look of possession, of crushed longing, of an endured agony that burnt to the bone.

Then it was gone, as if it had never been there at all. She held her breath, waiting for him to say something, for that look of pain to return to his dark eyes. Instead Mr. Bingley spoke on,

“Has my sister called for a bath for you? I am grateful you were going to Longbourn to bring the message yourself that Miss Bennet was faring worse, because poor Miss Elizabeth had quite a fall, did she not?” Mr. Bingley turned his head to smile at Elizabeth, and then comfortingly patted her hand for a brief moment. It was a move she had seen a brother make to a younger sister, and it felt so soothing and welcome that she nearly sighed. Mr. Bingley was kind, and so proper in the execution of his manners that it did not feel like an overstep or impropriety, merely a kindness from one man to a woman he might hope to one day call sister.

At least, she hoped that was his motive.

Mr. Darcy’s jaw was tense again when she looked back to him.

“Yes, it is most fortunate for all that I was riding to Longbourn,” he said in a quiet voice, his eyes trained on Elizabeth now, not even looking at Mr. Bingley. She felt pinned under the weight his eyes held for her, stuck in the band of the light he turned on her. Why did he gaze at her in such a manner? As if she had offended him on all fronts, when merely hours before he was begging her to take his horse, and could not assist her enough.

Now he looked at her as if she had insulted his name, his family, his ancestors.

“I will escort Miss Elizabeth down to the drawing room, if you would join us before it is time for our repast. That should be enough time for you to wash the mud from between your teeth, Darcy, won’t there?” Mr. Bingley was jovial, not seeming to notice the cool air that had descended upon Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy for his part, just nodded and murmured a quiet good day to her as he passed, disappearing down the long hall to his own apartments.

Mr. Bingley helped Elizabeth walk down the stairs, guiding her gently and slowly so she would not further strain her ankle.

Chapter 3

The drawing room in Netherfield was beautiful, prettier than she ever thought possible. Two servants stood at the entrance to it, their powdered wigs perfect, every hair in place, and the blue velvet of their uniforms pristine. They bowed low to her and Mr. Bingley as he brought her to enter the room. There was a great fire crackling in the far wall, and a few comfortable sitting chairs arranged near it.

“I suppose after the day you’ve had, the fireside would be best, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked, with a gentle smile for her. He was such a sweet man, she thought as he walked her to the fireplace. He was a perfect match for Jane, in every possible way. She only hoped that a match between the two could be made, if that’s what Jane wanted.

“Yes, thank you, I am very sorry again for the imposition to yourself and Mr. Darcy,” she said as she sat down, enjoying the warmth that the fire sent sprawling over her, sinking through the layers of her dress and deep into her bones. If she would have been at home she might have taken off the delicate leather shoes on her feet and pulled her skirts up to her knees like her sisters did, to better feel the heat. As it was, she was quite aware that she was out of her own element in every way, and so she held herself as properly as she could, her spine arched so it did not touch the back of the chair. No matter that the drawing room was clearly appointed for relaxing engagements of conversation, or for reading a particularly good book, it was a finely decorated chamber and it felt like its contents could have easily purchased Longbourn with their combined value. The divan near the fire had gold leaf flickering along the wooden legs that supported it, and the fabric underneath her was a plush silk velvet. She ran her fingers along it, the material soft and rich underneath her skin, roughened from her trek through the countryside and her soaking bath.

Mr. Bingley took an opposing chair, smiling at her and then glancing at the fire. He looked a bit unsure, as if he wasn’t in possession of the right words to say to her at the moment and so they sat in the quiet crackle of the fireplace for long minutes.

“It is quite beautiful, isn’t it?” she said as she looked around the room, breaking the silence.

“Yes, we are very content here,” Mr. Bingley said, also looking around the room. “It is nice to take a break from other parts of the country to see this particular set.” He traced his fingers along the bottom hem of his jacket, and a wistful smile trailed across his face, as if he were thinking of something that was particularly delightful. She had an idea that the delightful ‘thing’ might be her sister convalescing upstairs.

“You’ve been so good to my Jane,” Elizabeth said, hoping to spur feelings of pride in him. He seemed the sort who fancied himself a rescuer of fair maidens, and when he beamed at her, she knew she was correct in her assessment of his character. It was no bad thing, for a gentleman to be on the lookout for fair women to assist, and she rather thought it was a charming and sweet personality trait. Jane could not have caught the eye of a better man at the assembly, or any assembly that they had been to now that she put her mind to remembering past events.

“She is easy to be good to,” Mr. Bingley said, the corner of his mouth tucking up. “She is a happy patient, and although I am sorry she is so ill, it is not entirely unpleasant to have her here with us.”

Elizabeth nodded and ran her fingers along the carved arms of the sitting chair she was in, eyeing the flecked and glowing sheen of the wood. There was a cough at the door, and Mr. Darcy entered, Miss Bingley trailing him by a few paces.

“Charles,” Miss Bingley said to her brother with a smile as she took a seat on the divan, before nodding her head to Elizabeth. “Miss Eliza.”

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy murmured, his voice a low rumble that was just barely audible as he came to stand next to the fire. She looked up at him and found him glancing back at her even though he was turned away, his hand resting on the mantle. His body was tilted towards the fire, but his gaze held hers firmly.

“I say it was most fortunate that Mr. Darcy was out riding today, given your circumstance on the road,” Miss Bingley said, and although her words were carefully chosen, Elizabeth felt there was a hidden meaning tucked in them that she could not quite decipher yet. “Do you often walk alone, Miss Eliza? It is not done in London, of course, I would not walk on my own as bravely as you do here in Hertfordshire. It is such a refreshing change from the rough and tumble of the capitol, is it not?”

“I would not know,” Elizabeth said back with a simple smile, although she was beginning to see the shape of Miss Bingley’s intentions and insinuations. “I have not been to London.”

“Oh but you must,” Miss Bingley said, “if not for the Season at least to see it once before you marry and settle with your husband! I had heard your uncle and aunt were in trade, and had business in London? Have you not thought to journey with them?”

Mr. Darcy was staring at her, she was certain of it. Even as she looked at Miss Bingley, she felt his gaze boring into her neck, like two hot coals glowing in the fire-grate.

“I’m sure, in my own time I will see London. I have had other things to think upon than a visit with my aunt and uncle. They are quite busy, and I do not wish to trouble them with the care and keeping of a young girl to add to those difficulties of travel and trade,” Elizabeth said, letting her eyes close so she might glance to the side and see why Mr. Darcy was staring at her so. Miss Bingley saw her glance away, and followed the path of her look until she as well gazed at Mr. Darcy. When Elizabeth looked back at Miss Bingley, she noticed there were two spots of color in the other woman’s cheeks, a faint blush that looked more like it was anger than from maidenly shyness.

“It is the country way, to put industry above one’s own personal social advancement,” Miss Bingley said, with a small laugh that bordered on unkindness. Mr. Bingley glanced between his sister and Elizabeth, and she could see the discomfort on his face. He knew that his sister was bordering on rudeness, but it was not so overt as to be something he could speak to her about, especially given how close they were in age.

So Elizabeth looked to the fire, and not so incidentally, Mr. Darcy’s form. He was gazing into it now, watching the flames lick at the logs and the glowing coals that glittered and wavered with heat beneath. She noticed his thumb was stroking along the long edge of the mantle slowly, in a purposeful circle as if he were appraising it. He looked at everything with such measuring gaze! She could still hear his words at the assembly, not handsome enough to tempt me, and she wondered if the mantle was suffering from the same in-dignifying scrutiny, if perhaps the fire itself was being judged and found wanting by the proud Mr. Darcy.

A well of discomfort, of shame that she so rarely felt, rose up inside her and she took a slow breath to calm her tempers lest she say something and have some Lydia-like outburst of passion and temper. Of the three of them, only Mr. Bingley were tolerable and indeed enjoyable. Mr. Darcy had done her a kindness today, for certain, but he was a mannered gentleman to a fault when confronted by those he did not know well. It was only when he thought he was in the private company of his own statused kind that he thought himself safe enough to utter his insults against her face and character.

When he had seen her, struggling so at the side of the road he knew only one thing that would soothe his manful guilt and that was to help her and render her any assistance that he might have done. And so, the horse, he had offered her a mount, that she might ride and find herself at Netherfield without facing further indignity to her person and further injury to her ankle.

“Still, I do find it peculiar that living so close to London you have not taken the chance and opportunity to visit and see it, Miss Eliza,” Miss Bingley said with a coy smile, withdrawing a silk fan from her purse and opening it with a flick of her wrist. She fanned herself despite the cool nature of the weather outdoors, and Elizabeth wondered at her countenance. When Mr. Darcy’s gaze naturally drew to the movement of Miss Bingley’s fan, a delicate creation of white silk edged in pearls, Elizabeth wondered no more. It was clear that Miss Bingley had designs upon securing herself a husband in Mr. Darcy, and it was no large leap in thinking when one considered that Mr. Darcy’s best friend and closest companion was Miss Bingley’s brother.

The venom in Miss Bingley’s words were more understandable, and the change from her presentation and behavior at the assembly almost forgivable in her efforts to catch herself a husband of greater means than her sister’s own Mr. Hurst. Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy watch Miss Bingley, and when Miss Bingley took notice of the circular way their gazes went ‘round the room, a small, self-satisfied smile sprawled across her perfect lips. She tapped the fan to her cheek, a gentle brush that was almost a kiss, and then snapped it shut.

“I should think that dinner is almost ready to be served to us,” she said with a graceful rise from her seat. “Shall I check upon your sister, poor dear Miss Bennet, before we dine?” Miss Bingley smiled at Elizabeth, and her eyes were two cold chips of ice as she did so, the expression not rising to crinkle the corners of her lashes.

Miss Bingley was beautiful, and well refined with a proud stature that any woman would sigh with envy for. But Elizabeth felt that deep within Miss Bingley pulsed an unpleasantness that would seep out at every opportunity, and despite all of Miss Bingley’s opportunities in life, Elizabeth would not trade their places for all the balls, sumptuous dinners, and lavish gowns in the world.

Certainly she would not trade places, if it meant the trapping and keeping of a man such as Mr. Darcy, who thought so little of those around him that he would speak ill while still within their earshot.

“That would be kind, but please allow me. I shall see to my sister and rejoin you for dinner,” Elizabeth said, getting to her feet. She forgot, in that moment of her contemplation of Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley both, that her ankle was still quite injured. She wavered, a wince crumpling her face, and then at her side was silent and forbidding Mr. Darcy.

He caught her arm in his hand gently, his fingers wrapping around the skin of her wrist, his other hand coming to the small of her back. The heat of his palm branded her through the borrowed dress she wore and she had to take a moment, inhaling deeply before looking up at him in surprise.

There was something in his eyes that had no been there before that moment, and she stared at him, wordless and trying to decipher the meaning of the emotion she saw tucked away there.

“Easy,” he murmured, and then once she was righted he let her go, a look of regret and apology on his face for having handled her so.

Well, she supposed, she was so far beneath him that the only one closest to her station he regularly was acquainted with in such a manner was his valet.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly, and then turned. Miss Bingley was leveling her with look of such venom, that she nearly stumbled again, but then lifted her chin proudly.

“I will help you to her room,” Mr. Bingley said with good cheer, apparently unaware of the trifecta of discomfort between Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth that had been stewing during their reception in the drawing room. In the next moment, Mr. Bingley was getting to his feet and offering Elizabeth his arm. “It would not do for your sister to be neglected on account of your injury.”

Chapter 4

Dinner was a sumptuous affair, with many courses ordered. Elizabeth felt very satisfied, and was pleased to learn afterwards that her sister had eaten well despite her bed-ridden state. It was good to hear that Jane was being nourished so diligently back to the prime of health. After the meal Elizabeth found herself at odd ends, not all that sure of herself or what she might do to pass the hours before she took to her bed. She was no great player at the pianoforte, and when Miss Bingley had questioned her about it dinner, she had demurred to better players such as her younger sister Mary.

“Yes, I had heard that your sister, Miss Mary, was perhaps the greatest of all those who take to the pianoforte in Hertfordshire,” Miss Bingley had said, quick to smile and praise a girl who was surely of no competition to her for Mr. Darcy’s affections.

It was one of the moments Elizabeth first had an inkling that despite Caroline Bingley’s deliberate and constant advance on Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy had in actual fact no intention on returning her affections either discreetly or openly. He took no opportunity to praise her during their dinner, no opening he left to engage her in further discussion on topics that interested her (the fashions, the Season, who had become engaged of their circle of bons amis), and he made no special comments to her advantage. Elizabeth was mildly and privately amused to watch Caroline’s advance and Mr. Darcy’s retreat. If Elizabeth was apparently not handsome enough to tempt Mr. Darcy, well than neither was Miss Caroline Bingley in all her silken finery, her milk-pale skin, and the height of a fashionable figure she cut in her gown.

Mr. Bingley with all his sweetness and lack of calculated personality, did not seem to notice that his sister was planning a coup with regards to his best friend. Mr. Darcy, however, while he may have remained aloof and unaffected from Miss Bingley, was not unaware that the woman had her intentions for him and he neatly skirted every potential question that might have lead him down the road of announcing his future marital plans.

It was a curious thing, and Elizabeth had felt the tension between them all at dinner like the tugging on a lead that was attached to a wild horse being tamed. She wondered when that horse might break free, and if the horse was Mr. Darcy, or if it was Miss Bingley.

Her thoughts carried her slowly (very slowly, for her ankle was in deep pain despite the care she had been taking with it) to Netherfield’s library. The comforting scent of wax, of paper and parchment, of leather bindings, all surrounded her in a olfactory symphony that could not be recognized as anything but the shelter for those who wished the peace and quiet of books and contemplation. She immediately settled herself by a fire that a kind maid stirred up and stoked for her, and picked the first volume within her reach to read. It’s pages were marked with a single white feather, slender and pliable. She stroked the softness of it over her cheek for a moment before laying it down on the table and began to read.

Before she could get even a few verses in however, there was a noise at the door. Mr. Darcy entered the library, and although she was in shadow and off on the side of the room, he saw her immediately. His expression was thoughtful rather than forbidding and closed, and she was so startled as he approached her that she almost dropped the book she held.

“Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth,” he said as he walked to the fire, a short bow for her. She moved to stand but he held a hand to stay her. “No, you have suffered much today, and it would not do for you to injure yourself further in the pursuit of manners. I think we can both come to some agreement that you should stay settled in your comfort. It is much better to see you arranged here in such a state than the manner in which I was unfortunate to find you while on the road to Netherfield earlier.”

Her words dried in her throat as she stared at him, surprised by his thoughtfulness, and also mildly embarrassed at the kindness he had done her. She had been not enough to tempt him, and now here he was, proud countenance making allowances for her and her inability to stand without wobbling!