She turned then, making her way back through the hall and toward the door. The house remained as she had left it—steady, ordered, unchanged. But beyond it, the world waited. And Elizabeth, with her basket in hand and her purpose set, went out to meet it.
The walk to Netherfield was longer than she might have preferred on such a morning, but not beyond her ability. Thankfully, the rain had ceased, though its effects remained. Thelane was soft beneath her feet, the earth yielding slightly with each step, and the air carried the damp chill that follows a night of steady weather. Offering no clear sunlight, the sky hung low and gray, yet it didn't threaten more rain. It was, in its way, a tolerable compromise.
Elizabeth kept her pace steady. Her walking stick touched the ground with regularity, guiding her where the path was less certain. She proceeded with thoughtful consideration. There was no need for haste. She had set out early enough, and though her head still held the faint echo of the morning’s discomfort, the motion itself seemed to ease it.
The basket rested against her arm, its weight familiar, its purpose clear. Jane would come home to her son. That was all that mattered.
As Netherfield came into view, its shape resolving slowly through the softened distance, Elizabeth drew a breath. The house stood as it had last time she had seen it, unchanged by the weather that had complicated so much else. Its windows reflected the muted light, its entrance sheltered and still.
She approached without hesitation.
The servant who answered her knock showed no surprise at her arrival, though his gaze lingered briefly upon the basket before he stepped aside. “Miss Bennet,” he said. “You are expected.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. Jane must have informed the staff that she would be leaving shortly. Her sister’s faith in her family was solid. “I have come for my sister.”
“Of course. If you will follow me.”
She stepped into the house, the warmth of it meeting her at once. The air within was still, carrying faint traces of breakfast—tea, bread, something richer beneath it. The peace of the morning lingered, though there was movement further within, the soft murmur of voices and the shifting of chairs.
She was led into a small parlor.
Miss Bingley rose as she entered.
“Miss Bennet,” she said, her tone polite, her expression arranged with precise civility. “What a surprise.”
Elizabeth inclined her head, pivoting so she could observe the lady better. “Miss Bingley.” Her walking stick remained in her hand as she stepped further into the room. She turned her face slightly, angling it so that her left eye might better take in the occupants.
Jane sat near the window, close enough to be seen clearly. Relief came at once. She looked well. Perhaps a touch pale, though that might be attributed to the morning light, or to the circumstances of her stay. Her posture remained composed, her expression calm.
Beside her sat a young lady Elizabeth did not immediately know. Tall for her age. Fair, with hair the color of honey caught in softened light. There was a gentleness in her manner, though her posture held a certain reserve, as though she were uncertain of her place within the room.
Miss Darcy,Elizabeth thought.
Mr. Bingley stood near the hearth, his expression brightening at once upon seeing her.
“Miss Bennet,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.”
Elizabeth inclined her head once more. “I have come to escort my sister home.”
There was a pause. Mr. Bingley’s expression shifted—not entirely, but enough that Elizabeth caught it. Disappointment, faint but present. “I understood,” he said, “that the carriage was not available.”
Yes, that was what Mr. Collins had intended to convey. Elizabeth felt the faintest curve of her lips. “It is not.”
Mr. Bingley hesitated. “My own carriage,” he said, with a slight awkwardness that did not escape her notice, “is…undergoing maintenance.”
Elizabeth regarded him for a moment. Privately, she thought it a rather convenient circumstance. There was a sincerity in his manner that suggested no intent at deceit, and yet she could not help but suspect that some effort had been made to ensure Jane’s continued presence.
She said nothing of it. “I do not doubt that the roads are still difficult,” she said instead. “But they are not impassable.”
Jane rose. “Lizzy,” she said, her voice warm with relief. “You should not have come.”
Elizabeth smiled faintly. “And leave you to remain here another day?” she replied. “I think not. Thomas has asked after you.”
Jane’s expression softened. “I shall retrieve my things.”
Elizabeth stepped nearer, placing the basket into her hands. “Your boots,” she said.
Jane’s eyes brightened at once. “Lizzy—”
