Instantly concerned for Jane’s welfare, Elizabeth read the letter aloud to her father before announcing her intention to go to Jane’s side at once. Mr Bennet had no objections. Instead, he made a light-hearted quip about how much worse Jane would have been if she had ridden the previous day.
“It does not bear thinking of,” Elizabeth replied with a smile she did not quite feel. “Can you imagine the state of her health had she experienced a thorough drenching?”
“But, none of that occurred, and so speculation gets us nowhere.” Mr Bennet wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood, folding it carefullybefore placing it beside his plate. “If anyone has need of me, I shall be in my study. Tommy, be a good lad and bring your book when you are finished eating.”
Tommy nodded, his mouth full of eggs, his eyes bright with eagerness at the promise of morning lessons with their father.
Elizabeth’s breakfast consumed, she went to her room and donned her sturdy half-boots and a thicker pelisse. She readied herself for the walk to Netherfield, tying her bonnet securely beneath her chin. The Bennet carriage was still at Netherfield, and she and Jane would return home in it later, provided the roads were passable. For now, she would take the shorter path across the fields, knowing it would be muddy and slow going.
She stepped out into the morning air, dampness clinging to her skirts and bonnet almost immediately. The sky was a pale grey, and though the clouds had broken, a heavy mist still lingered low over the fields, giving the landscape an eerie hush. Her boots squelched as she made her way down the lane, the mud sucking at her steps with each forwards motion.
As she passed the edge of Longbourn’s grounds, she paused to survey the damage the storm had wrought. Three of Longbourn’s ancient oaks lay toppled, their roots gnarled and exposed to the morning air like the bones of a great beast, damp soil still clinging to them in clumps. One tree had narrowly missed the corner of the dovecote, its branches brushing against the stones, and the sight made Elizabeth shiver as she imagined the damage if it had fallen even a few feet to the left.
Further along, she passed a small brook swollen with rain, water rushing swiftly and carrying away twigs and leaves. The small footbridge she often used was slick, and she crossed it carefully, holding her skirts high to avoid the worst of the mud.
As she neared Netherfield, she noted smoke rising steadily from the chimneys, a reassuring sign of warmth within. However, as she approachedthe lane that led to the house, she noticed a gathering of tenants and estate workers near one of the cottages just beyond the main drive. Her breath caught when she saw that a great elm had fallen onto the roof, smashing through the thatch and exposing the rafters like broken ribs. A woman stood near the doorway, clutching a child to her chest, whilst a man spoke urgently with two labourers who were assessing the damage.
Her boots were thoroughly muddied, and her skirts were damp despite her precautions. She took a moment to compose herself, brushing a stray curl back into place before she knocked upon the great door, steeling herself for the cold reception she might receive from Miss Bingley.
Elizabeth increased her pace, determined to see to Jane’s comfort—and perhaps to observe for herself just how Mr Bingley and his sisters were treating her dearest sister during her unexpected stay.
The air was cold and damp as Darcy walked the grounds with Bingley, the scent of wet leaves and churned earth lingering heavily after the storm. The landscape was littered with branches and debris, and they stepped carefully through the muddy paths, inspecting the damage with critical eyes.
“That makes at least four Spanish chestnuts we have lost,” Bingley said with a sigh, glancing towards the cluster of felled trees near the orchard. “They were healthy trees, too. Such a waste.”
Darcy nodded, prodding the wet ground with his walking stick. “It could have been worse.”
Bingley hummed in agreement before his expression sobered. “You heard about the Wilsons, I presume? Their cottage near the eastern lanewas all but destroyed. A tree fell right through the roof, shattering the rafters. They are shaken, but thankfully no one was injured.”
“What is the plan for them?” Darcy asked, glancing sideways at his friend.
“I have offered them the gatehouse until repairs can be made. It is empty, and it will keep them warm and dry. I will speak with the steward later today about arranging the repairs.” Bingley rubbed a hand across his brow, looking weary for a moment before he brightened. “They were most grateful. It was the least I could do.”
Darcy nodded approvingly, tapping the stick against his boot absently. “Prudent. I wonder how the other estates in the area fared.” His thoughts flickered briefly to Longbourn and the care of its lands, then to the Bennet family and—
Movement across the fields caught his eye, and for a moment, Darcy found he could not draw breath. Elizabeth Bennet was approaching across the muddy path, skirts lifted delicately above her boots, her bonnet tied firmly under her chin whilst rebellious curls peeked out, damp from the mist. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion, her eyes brightened by the cold and the exercise. Though her pelisse was modest and her boots well-worn, she looked…breathtaking.
She is not the sort I imagined I would be attracted to,Darcy admitted silently, and yet, having not seen her in a fortnight, he could not look away. She was vibrant, alive, and unpretentious in a way that stirred something within him he could not entirely name. He realised, with faint amusement, that he had been hoping for the promise of sensible conversation that day, and here it was, making its way across the damp grounds towards him.
Bingley raised his hand in greeting. “Miss Elizabeth!” he called, and she glanced up, looking slightly embarrassed at being caught in such dishevelment.
“Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy,” she greeted, stopping before them and offering a quick curtsy, her breath clouding in the cold air. “Forgive my appearance, but I wished to see how Jane fared and enquire if the carriage might be made ready for our return.”
Darcy opened his mouth, but Bingley, ever eager, answered first. “We have sent a footman to examine the roads, Miss Elizabeth. It would not do for you and Miss Bennet to be caught in any danger. Pray, will you remain with your sister until we have word on the conditions? It will ease all our minds.”
Elizabeth hesitated only a moment before nodding, her eyes softening with gratitude. “Thank you, Mr Bingley. That would be most kind.”
“Come, let me take you to Miss Bennet's side,” Bingley offered, gesturing towards the house. She gave Darcy a small, warm smile before turning to follow Bingley towards the entrance.
Darcy stood rooted for a moment, watching her walk away, the muddy hem of her skirts swaying with each step, her curls catching the faint light of the dull morning. A strange sense of loss swept over him, swift and unwelcome. Shaking his head slightly, he turned and made his way to the breakfast room, the promise of sensible conversation slipping from his grasp just as it had arrived.
And yet, even as he settled into his chair, the image of her remained—her brightness, her liveliness, the easy warmth in her smile. He found, to his mild irritation, that it would not leave him for therest of the morning.
Mr Bingley escorted Elizabeth down the corridor, pausing before a door halfway down the guest wing. His easy manner seemed dampened by worry as he turned to her. “Will you let me know how Miss Bennet fares once you have seen her?”
“I will,” Elizabeth promised softly.
“Thank you, Miss Elizabeth.” He hesitated, his eyes warm with concern before bowing and leaving her to enter.
