Create Your Own JAFF Adventure

(align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[<img src="https://authorsarahcourtney.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/02/2_aG1rZS0xNg-scaled.jpg" width=50%>] Have you ever read a JAFF story and wished you could shake some sense into a character or two? Tell them not to open that door, to tell the truth, to get out of that carriage, to stay at Netherfield? Now’s your chance! Travel back to the autumn of 1811 and step into Elizabeth Bennet’s shoes. Follow along as she finds her own adventure just after the Netherfield Ball and Mr. Collins’s proposal. Every time she reaches a decision point, you as readers get to vote on which decision she should make! Check back the following week to see what becomes of her decision and continue with the story from there. Are you ready? It’s time to don your stays and gown, put up your hair, and exercise your wit. You are now Elizabeth Bennet! Special note: just want to catch up to the current part? Click here: [[go herself to find Miss Darcy]]. (align:"=><=")+(box:"X")[<img src="http://authorsarahcarlisle.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/Decorative-border1.png" width=50%>] Elizabeth released a sigh as she sat back into the squabs of the carriage and watched Longbourn disappear in the distance. Mr. Collins’s proposal this morning had not been a complete surprise. After her embarrassing dance with him at the Netherfield Ball last night, and considering his limited remaining time before he returned to Hunsford and his noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, she had been certain that his proposal was imminent. Mamma’s reaction had not been a surprise. Desperate in her desire to see her daughters wed and grasp some security for both herself and them, she was always destined to be disappointed at Elizabeth’s refusal of her cousin’s offer. It was Papa’s response that had shocked her. “I should never have accepted my cousin’s ‘offer’ to visit,” he had said, taking off his spectacles and massaging the bridge of his nose. “I should have anticipated this very issue.” He had chuckled wryly. “Well, I would never have guessed that Mr. Collins’s attention would be on you. I could not have imagined a worse choice for him, except perhaps Lydia.” She dutifully chuckled, but there was something in his manner that gave her pause. “I am sending you to London,” Papa said abruptly. She gaped. “Pardon me?” “London.” He stood, pushing himself away from his chair. “There is a . . . situation at the moment that I must deal with. Something your mother and I must deal with together. This is not a good time for her nerves when we have a more serious matter to contend with. If you go to London, she will settle far sooner. Your aunt and uncle Gardiner will be happy to have your help with the children, and I hope that in a few weeks . . .” He cleared his throat. “A few months, perhaps, the situation might be resolved. I must speak with your uncle Phillips.” It had taken less than an hour to change into travelling clothes, say her farewells, and for the trunk her maid had packed to be loaded onto the carriage. To London. Well, she could not say she was displeased. Mamma had already been wailing about her refusal all morning, and even Jane had been beginning to look unhappy. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner’s home was always a haven of peace compared to Longbourn’s ruckus, although she hoped they would not be displeased at her sudden and unannounced appearance. If only Jane could have come along. But Mamma had insisted that Jane stay and wait for Mr. Bingley to return from London, as he was only expected to be gone for a few days, and Jane’s ready compliance seemed—for once—not from her gentle nature but from her eagerness to see Mr. Bingley when he returns. Elizabeth could only hope that he would take the arrogant Mr. Darcy with him on his visit to London and leave him there! There was a shout from outside the carriage, and Elizabeth was jostled against the window as it came to a sudden stop. She leaned out the window to see the coachman and manservant standing over what looked like a log in the road, the coachman gesturing wildly towards the forest. He half turned and saw her watching. “Please stay in the carriage, Miss Bennet!” he called back. “All is well!” She nodded and sat back into her seat, but something did not seem right. They were not very far on the road to London, and yet she was suddenly reminded of stories of highwaymen placing logs in the road to block carriages and then attacking as soon as the carriage stopped. She was being foolish. There were no highwaymen attacking carriages in Hertfordshire in the year 1811! The very idea was ridiculous. Yet there was something the coachman wasn’t telling her, and the longer she sat here, the more anxious she became. Should she: tamp down her nerves and [[wait patiently]] for the carriage to move again or [[get out to see what is going on]], despite the coachman’s warning?

The idea of highwaymen was ridiculous, but something was clearly amiss. Mamma would have waved her handkerchief and cried for her smelling salts at the idea, but Elizabeth could not sit in the carriage and wait, not knowing what might happen. Gingerly, she cracked the door and peeked outside. The coachman was crouched low in the road, and he did not notice her. Slowly, carefully, she opened the door and climbed down without a footman to help, her eyes on the forest alongside the road. Nothing visible threatened, but that did not mean all was safe. She went unnoticed until she landed neatly on the ground. The coachman looked up with dismay. “Miss Bennet!” But she ignored him. There was something familiar about the shape on the ground. The dark form rolled and groaned, and she gasped. It was not a log. It was a person! “Mr. Darcy!” It was unmistakably him. She recognized the firm jaw, the wavy hair, and the bold eyebrows of her adversary. But his face was pale and sweaty, his clothes muddy and damaged as if he had been thrown from his horse. He squinted up at her, as if the weak morning sunlight was too much for his eyes. “Miss . . . Bennet?” The words were weak, barely above a whisper. Just what had happened to him? “John, we need to get him into the carriage now,” Elizabeth said. “Mr. Darcy is ill. Where . . . where is his carriage?” She straightened, suddenly puzzled. Where was Mr. Darcy’s carriage? He must have been traveling to be here, so far from Netherfield, and yet he was alone. Of course, he must have been traveling by horse. “No sign of a carriage or horse, ma’am.” The coachman exchanged a look with the manservant. “Likely as not he was riding alone and was thrown.” Elizabeth nodded. It was the obvious explanation. Could his pallor and trembling be from injury? “Let us take him back to Netherfield.” The coachman nodded and shifted to get under Mr. Darcy’s shoulders, but Mr. Darcy’s hand snapped forward and grasped her wrist before she could move. “Not Netherfield,” he gasped out. “Not Netherfield. Take me to London.” “London!” The coachman drew back, staring at him in shock. “Sir, we are not so far along the route as you may think, if you were on your way to London. It is still another fifteen miles to town at least!” Mr. Darcy coughed. “What is fifteen miles of good road?” he said, and it was if he were trying to smile. “It must be London.” Shaking their heads, the men worked together to haul Mr. Darcy up and into the carriage. Mr. Darcy was not a small man, and both were gasping by the time they deposited him on the seat. “Sorry, ma’am, but we don’t dare put him on top,” John apologized. “No, no, of course you should put him inside,” Elizabeth said. Mr. Darcy was now slumped into the squabs, eyes closed. “Mr. Darcy? Are you well?” He did not reply. “Ma’am?” The coachman looked from Mr. Darcy to Elizabeth. “Should we . . . should we go on to London as he says? Only it really is fifteen miles. Or should we take him to Mr. Bingley at Netherfield Park?” Elizabeth did not know why Mr. Darcy refused to be taken to Netherfield. But he had been so insistent. Was he desperate to go to London or was there a problem at Netherfield? A falling out with Mr. Bingley, perhaps? It did not sit well with Elizabeth to override the wishes of an unconscious man. Yet she did not know the severity of his illness or perhaps injuries if he really was thrown from his horse . . . what if taking him to London caused irreparable harm? Maybe there is another option. She could take him to Longbourn. Papa had wanted her to leave for London, it was true, but he would forgive her change of plans in this situation, and Mamma would be delighted to have a rich, single man taking up a guest room at Longbourn. What if his business in London was of dire urgency? Either he had been traveling despite being very ill, or his apparent illness was actually injury from being thrown. Given how well he rode, falling from his horse might imply that he had been traveling too fast, and he did not seem the sort to push his horse to ride fast without reason. The coachman was still looking at her expectantly. She needed to make a decision. Should she: [[take Mr. Darcy to London]] as he insisted or [[take Mr. Darcy back to Longbourn]] and call for Mr. Jones?

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Mr. Darcy groaned and shifted as the carriage went over another bump. Anxious, Elizabeth watched him. Was he looking paler than he had when they had found him? Another bump, and he groaned again. The rough ground must have been jarring his head so cruelly! There was something red on the cushion visible behind Mr. Darcy’s head as he moved, and panic coursed through Elizabeth at the realisation. He was bleeding! Heart racing, Elizabeth pulled out a handkerchief and folded it, moving to the backward-facing bench to sit next to Mr. Darcy. She had to force herself to move slowly so as not to startle him, as his eyes were once again closed, but she lifted his head a little away from the seat cushion and pressed her handkerchief to the back of his head to stop the flow, although thankfully it seemed to be bleeding only sluggishly. She could not see the wound through his thick, curly dark hair. She could only pray that the carriage would get to London quickly, and before Mr. Darcy’s condition worsened. Another bump, and Mr. Darcy began to slide off the seat. Elizabeth did the only thing she could think of—she flung her other arm around his waist and hauled him back into the seat. Or, at least, she tried to. “You are heavier than you look,” she muttered, straining to keep him from sliding onto the floor. He mumbled something, and she leaned closer to hear, but he did not repeat it. Instead, his head dropped to his chest, and his entire torso began to lean. He was about to topple over! Returning her arm to his waist, she pressed herself against his side, almost shoving him into a corner of the carriage to keep him from tumbling. Would it be better to lower him to his back across the carriage seat? She was not sure it was wide enough, though, and if it was not, it would be even more uncomfortable for his head to be crooked against the wall. No, it was better to keep him upright. But how was she going to survive hours of this until they reached London? “Elizabeth?” His voice was so low, she could barely make out her name. “Mr. Darcy!” “Where . . . where are we?” His eyes half opened, and he was looking about the carriage with confusion. He looked down at her, his head wobbling a little. “London?” “We are on the way to London,” she said, relieved that he seemed to remember asking her. “Good,” he said, his eyes closing again. “Knew I could trust you.” Elizabeth blinked. He knew he could trust her? He hardly knew her! And what he knew of her, he did not like. From “tolerable” and “not handsome enough to dance with” to their constant disputes at Netherfield Park, why would he think he could trust her? But he could. Why it mattered, she could not say, but no matter her personal feelings for the arrogant Mr. Darcy, she would see the injured man safely to London and in the hands of a physician before she discharged her duty to him. By the time they reached the outskirts of town, Elizabeth was dismayed at a new problem. Where should they take Mr. Darcy? She did not know his address. Mayfair? It was a reasonable guess, but she did not know for sure, and she certainly did not know which house was his, nor were the coachman and driver likely to. They had not asked her, but as she craned her neck to see around Mr. Darcy’s lolling head out the window, she recognised the streets they passed. They were going to the Gardiners’. It was a safe choice. After all, the coachman had been tasked with taking her safely to London. Mr. Darcy was not his main responsibility. But now . . . he was hers. What was she to do with him? “Mr. Darcy?” she asked softly. When he did not respond, she nudged him as much as she dared and spoke louder. “Mr. Darcy?” He did not wake. The carriage stopped in the mews, and soon after the door opened. Her father’s manservant widened his eyes to see Elizabeth wedging Mr. Darcy in the corner to keep him upright, but his eyes softened almost immediately. “Shall we take him inside?” he asked. “Or is he awake to give the direction to his townhouse? John says he has heard Mr. Darcy lives on Mayfair.” “I could not wake him,” she admitted. “I can take your place and hold Mr. Darcy upright for now,” he offered. “You can go on into the Gardiners’, and John will take him to Mayfair and enquire. Someone must know which house is his.” Elizabeth considered. Bringing Mr. Darcy into the Gardiners’ house would be a disruption to the household, and the man himself might not wish it. If he had an urgent reason to go to London, he would not want to be delayed waiting on Gracechurch Street for a physician. But somehow the idea of relinquishing Mr. Darcy to the men did not feel right, and she dismissed that option. She could not so easily hand him over to others without knowing whether they would put enough effort into keeping him safe. Perhaps Aunt Gardiner would be willing to join her so that they might see Mr. Darcy safely home together. Should she: [[insist Mr. Darcy be taken into the Gardiners’ house]] or ask to have Aunt Gardiner summoned to help her [[see Mr. Darcy safely home]]?

“We should take him inside,” Elizabeth insisted. “He cannot wait in the carriage while you travel up and down Mayfair enquiring as to his address! It would be much better to let him recover here and ask my uncle to make the enquiries.” “Very good, ma’am,” the servant said. Before they could make any attempt to move Mr. Darcy, however, Aunt Gardiner came hurrying out of the house. “Elizabeth!” she cried. “It is you! Andrew swore he saw you from the window and I could not credit it. Does your father know you are here? What am I saying, of course he does.” Elizabeth gave her aunt’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Of course, Aunt. He sent me, and I will explain more later. But for now . . . John Coachman found Mr. Darcy, a gentleman we know from Meryton, injured on the roadside. Mr. Darcy woke a little and insisted on being taken to London, but he has lost consciousness again.” “Oh, goodness!” Aunt Gardiner began calling servants and giving orders, and Elizabeth stood aside and watched her aunt, impressed with her efficiency, as Mr. Darcy was borne away into the Gardiners’ townhome and, presumably, upstairs to a bed. Only when she was left alone downstairs and all the commotion had moved on did she finally take a deep breath and lower herself onto a comfortable sofa. Poor Mr. Darcy! What was to become of him? Why was he so insistent on coming to London? “Lizzy!” A tousled head appeared at her side, and she leaned over the arm of the sofa to see Andrew, with Michael close behind him, peering up at her. “Oh, no! I will have to call Aunt Gardiner and let her know that two little puppies have let themselves into her parlour!” “We are not puppies,” Andrew said with scathing disgust. “We’re tigers!” Michael piped up. “See?” He growled ferociously. “We’re hunting!” “What are you hunting?” Something slowly unfurled in Elizabeth’s chest at the ordinariness of playing with her cousins despite the anxieties of the morning. “Buffalo!” Andrew cried. “Do you want to be a water buffalo? Mamma says she will not anymore.” Elizabeth grinned. Poor Aunt Gardiner. “Very well, but only for a few minutes. I must speak with your mother when she returns downstairs.” As an unsuspecting water buffalo, Elizabeth was peacefully drinking from a pond while waiting for tigers to pounce upon her when she heard the physician arrive, and she was injured and near to dead from her wounds when she heard the physician leave. She was dying of curiosity, but she knew that Aunt Gardiner would fetch her when there was something to tell. Despite the short and contentious acquaintance they had, she felt somewhat responsible for Mr. Darcy’s care. He had, after all, declared for some strange reason that he could trust her, and the burden felt heavy upon her shoulders. When the water buffalo had been consumed and the tigers finally fetched by their nurse for their naps, Aunt Gardiner returned to the parlour. The furrow in her brow gave her a look of disapproval, and Elizabeth found herself shrinking away from her aunt’s severe look. Had she done so wrong by bringing him to London? “Aunt?” she ventured. “Is he well?” “According to Mr. Bartley, he will live,” her aunt said, and Elizabeth felt some of the tension leave her. “His head wound is not so very bad. Mr. Bartley was dismayed to hear that he had been unconscious, but he thinks that Mr. Darcy waking a few times is a good sign, and Mr. Darcy is awake now and knows who he is. He is a little confused about where he is, but that much is to be expected.” She hesitated. “Lizzy, just how well do you know this man?” “Not very well,” Elizabeth said. “I met him when he arrived in Netherfield with Mr. Bingley in October. We met each other a few times, and then I did spend almost a week at Netherfield during Jane’s illness. He is a difficult man to know, I would venture.” She bit her lip. Should she tell her aunt the whole? “I heard some things about his past from Mr. Wickham that give me pause, though.” She had written several times about Mr. Wickham, so she trusted her aunt remembered him. Aunt Gardiner nodded brusquely. “I know of him a little, as he is from Derbyshire, not so far from where I spent some years in my youth. His parents were good people, very generous.” She sighed and sat down on the sofa next to Elizabeth. “He is asking for you.” Elizabeth blinked. “Asking for me?” “Yes. He insists that he must speak with you. Are you certain that you do not have a more . . . intimate relationship than you are telling me?” Elizabeth shoved herself to her feet. “Intimate relationship? Certainly not!” “Good.” Aunt Gardiner hesitated again. “I do not like to allow it, but he is very insistent, and he is becoming agitated and trying to come downstairs. I compromised and allowed him to sit in a chair in the sitting room to wait while I spoke with you, but he is better off in bed, I think. Will you come speak to him so that I may convince him to rest?” “Of course.” As Elizabeth followed her aunt upstairs, she contemplated the odd happenings. Why would Mr. Darcy want so desperately to speak with her? Mr. Darcy had been settled into a chair, but as Elizabeth followed Aunt Gardiner in, he attempted to rise to his feet before he sat back down, groaning and putting a hand to his head. “Now, Mr. Darcy, you promised me you would sit,” her aunt scolded. “Of course. I apologise.” Mr. Darcy looked right at Elizabeth. “I will speak quickly, as my head spins, and I do not know how long I can remain upright. Miss Elizabeth, I was rushing to London on urgent business. I must find my sister immediately.” He closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. “I . . . do not . . . I—” “Let us get you back to bed immediately,” Aunt Gardiner said, standing and moving to his side. “Lizzy, I will see you downstairs.” “Lizzy,” Mr. Darcy echoed in a whisper as Aunt Gardiner led him into the neighbouring bedroom. The sound of his voice saying her nickname gave her an odd tickling feeling in her stomach, and Elizabeth could hear it over and over in her head as she obeyed her aunt. He had been not in his right mind, of course. Staying upright and conscious in order to make his request had cost him dearly, and she could not blame him for repeating her nickname in his confusion. “There you are, Lizzy,” Aunt Gardiner said as she bustled in. “I suppose that was Mr. Darcy’s reason for wishing to speak to you, although I cannot see why he was unwilling to tell me. Still, I think we’d best fetch his sister. We can offer her the other guest bedroom, although we will have to hope he has no other relatives who would wish to stay, as we will have no more rooms to offer them!” Elizabeth gave her a slight smile and shook her head. “I know nothing of his relatives except that he has already inherited, so his father must be dead.” “His mother is, too. I remember when she died, many years ago. Now, Mr. Darcy did stay awake long enough to give me the direction, so we may send for his sister.” Elizabeth nodded, but she remembered Mr. Darcy’s urgency. He had been hurrying to London. Was something wrong with his sister? From Mr. Wickham’s description, Miss Darcy was likely proud and arrogant, more like Miss Bingley than Elizabeth’s beloved Jane. Still, her brother was injured and asking for her, his first concern for her. Was sending a note to the girl sufficient? “Perhaps I ought to go with the carriage,” Elizabeth said. “Miss Darcy may not come to a house that is unknown to her on the word of an unfamiliar coachman and a note.” “That may be.” Aunt Gardiner frowned. “But if Mr. Darcy should wake again and ask for you, I should hate for him to become agitated again. Mr. Bartley says his brains were violently shaken and that he must lie still in the dark and quiet as much as possible.” Which would Mr. Darcy prefer? It was an odd way to approach the question, but nonetheless Elizabeth found herself contemplating it. Should she: [[send a note to Mr. Darcy’s sister]], begging her to come, or [[go herself to find Miss Darcy]]?

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Elizabeth approached the door at the address Mr. Darcy had provided and smiled confidently at her companion. Miss Hammerlin, the governess for the Gardiners’ children, was anxious about the etiquette of approaching the house without being acquainted with Miss Darcy. In other circumstances, Elizabeth would have shared her hesitation. But Mr. Darcy was concerned for his sister, and his sister ought to know that her brother was injured and at the Gardiners’ house. For all Elizabeth knew, Miss Darcy might be expecting him to arrive at any moment. At their knock, a butler appeared in the doorway. Tall and slightly stooped, he somehow still conveyed the impression of a man with his nose elevated almost as much as Caroline Bingley’s. “I am afraid, madam, that the family is not at home.” Before he could close the door, Elizabeth blurted, “But Mr. Darcy is injured at my aunt’s house, and he has sent me to bring Miss Darcy to him.” The butler’s bushy eyebrows rose a notch. “Neither Mr. nor Miss Darcy is currently available, madam. Good day.” Before he could close the door, Elizabeth thrust a card at him. “Please, take this. It is the location where Mr. Darcy is recovering. Even if you do not believe me, you must at least tell Miss Darcy where her brother is.” The butler took the card as if it were some sort of dung beetle she had shoved into his hand, but at least he took it. A moment later, the door shut in their faces. “Unfortunate,” Miss Hammerlin murmured. “I do understand, of course. He must be protective of his mistress, and our story is a bit odd. But Miss Darcy must be told.” “Perhaps I should have sent a note after all,” Elizabeth mused. “But would she not be likely to ignore that? Do you think she is really away from home, or not at home to us?” “It makes little difference in the end,” Miss Hammerlin said. “I suppose.” Elizabeth hated to return to Mr. Darcy and tell him she had failed. Would he be the sort of man to grow angry? He must have other relatives who might be more likely to act on the information. Wait, had Mr. Collins not mentioned that Mr. Darcy was the nephew of his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh? She lived in Kent, though, not London. Perhaps Uncle Gardiner could write to her by express. She might be able to be in London by tomorrow if he sent it soon. “We will have to return to the house for now,” she told Miss Hammerlin. “Mr. Gardiner may have returned at my aunt’s summons, and he may have better luck in sending a note to Miss Darcy, or Mr. Darcy may have another relative we might notify.” Their return to the house was subdued. Aunt Gardiner greeted them at the door, peering behind Miss Hammerlin. “She did not come with you?” Elizabeth shook her head. “She was not at home.” “Disappointing, but not shocking.” Aunt Gardiner shook her head. “We will have to tell Mr. Darcy immediately. I convinced him to rest, but he is anxious for his sister and cannot be at peace.” She smiled at Miss Hammerlin. “Thank you for your assistance.” “Of course, madam.” Miss Hammerlin curtsied before hurrying upstairs to her charges. When they reached Mr. Darcy’s sitting room, they knocked. The door was opened by a footman Aunt Gardiner had set to keep an eye on her guest. As they entered, Mr. Darcy, who had been resting on a comfortable chair with his eyes closed, woke with a jerk. “Miss Bennet!” He sat up straight. “My sister?” Just as Aunt Gardiner had done at the door, his eyes strayed past her, looking for Miss Darcy. “I am afraid that she was not at home,” Elizabeth said. “Have you any other relative we might summon?” “Not at home?” he repeated. Pushing against the armrests, he rose to his feet, wobbling alarmingly. “Where is she?” “Mr. Darcy!” Aunt Gardiner exclaimed, rushing to his side. The footman hurried to support him from the other. “We are doing our best to fetch her for you, but you must sit down! Heaven help us if you should collapse.” “It would take a great number of footmen to get you back up,” Elizabeth quipped, regretting it instantly when his eyes flicked back to hers. What must he think of her teasing when he was in pain? “I am not certain if she was truly away from home or if she was not at home to us. We are strangers, after all, bearing odd tales about you.” Mr. Darcy nodded and then winced, holding his head. He slowly lowered himself back into the chair. “Of course. I should have thought of that, but I was not thinking straight. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, is stationed at the barracks. If I may have a pen and ink, I will write a note that will convince him to find Georgiana. I should have done so from the start.” Aunt Gardiner promptly supplied him with paper and writing implements and the letter was duly written. Once it was, and dispensed with a footman with careful instructions, she became stern. “Mr. Darcy, your cousin will receive the message and retrieve your sister. However, it will all take some time, and you are recovering from having your brain considerably jolted. Mr. Bartley insisted that you must rest as much as possible. I insist that you remove to your bedchamber and lie down, even if you cannot sleep. Your sister will be here as soon as she may be, and you may be assured that I will inform you as soon as she and your cousin arrive.” Mr. Darcy meekly conceded, to Elizabeth’s surprise. Given his arrogance in Meryton, she would never have imagined he would take orders from a tradesman’s wife, but his injuries must have left him more compliant than he would ordinarily be. Once they were back downstairs, Aunt Gardiner had another request. “Lizzy, would you go with Miss Hammerlin to the park? I would usually accompany her, since the children can be a handful once they see the ducks, but I really think I ought to remain here to greet Mr. Darcy’s cousin and his sister if they should arrive sooner than expected and, of course, in case Mr. Darcy has need of something.” Elizabeth nodded slowly. She didn’t like to leave while Mr. Darcy was in such a state, but truly, what was he to her? A gentleman she did not even like with whom she had a trifling acquaintance. Not only had she imposed on Aunt Gardiner without prior invitation, but she had brought along trouble to her household. The least she could do was to help with the children. “I would be happy to.” The children were bundled into warm clothing with the expertise of a governess who was very accustomed to frequent trips to the park. Perhaps a little too bundled, according to the children’s protests, as the day was not very cold considering the season. Soon enough, they were hurrying to the park, Elizabeth trotting ahead with the older ones while Miss Hammerlin tried to keep up while dragging little Michael, whose legs were shorter than those of his siblings and who was all too prone to being distracted by an interesting leaf or animal dropping. A breeze sent shivers through Elizabeth, and she remembered that Mr. Darcy had been lying on the ground for some time that morning before the coachman found him. How lucky he was that it had not been raining and that it was not as cold as Novembers typically were. She had worried a little that her cousins would scatter in four different directions upon arrival at the park, but thankfully they found a game they could all play together. Margaret and Cecilia almost immediately found friends to play with, reluctantly including Andrew in a game of chase. Michael eagerly ran after them, pumping his little legs in an attempt to keep up and almost toppling over every time he changed directions. A group of men walking by on the path caught Elizabeth’s eye, and she studied them as they passed. Wait, she knew that man . . . Just as she recognized him, he looked up and caught her gaze. His face broke into a grin, and he said something briefly to his companions before breaking off from the group. “Miss Bennet!” he greeted her jovially. “I am surprised to see you in London!” “A pleasure to see you, Mr. Wickham.” After curtsying, she gestured to the children and Miss Hammerlin, who stood a little distance away. “I have come to London to visit my aunt and uncle.” “I had not know you planned to visit. When last we spoke, you talked of the ball at Netherfield Park.” “The ball was last night, and it was a delight. My father sent me to London today.” She almost said, “After an awkward proposal from Mr. Collins,” but Mr. Collins, irritating as he was, did not deserve to have his rejected proposal made public outside her family. “Today!” Mr. Wickham’s eyes lit up. “I am especially pleased to meet you, then, as I have been in London these past several days. What news do you have from Hertfordshire?” For once, Elizabeth could understand why Lydia took such delight in being the first to find out every tidbit of news. Mr. Wickham would be shocked to hear of Mr. Darcy’s appearance on the road. While Mr. Wickham was too kind to take delight in another’s injuries, he must feel at least a little vindicated by his enemy’s misfortune. “Mr. Darcy . . .” she began, but then she stopped. Although Mr. Wickham was a good and honest man, she could not deny he had been a little indiscreet in the past, to have told her so much of his history with Mr. Darcy so quickly, although of course that had been his own story to tell, not gossip. If she swore him to secrecy, would Mr. Wickham keep the news of Mr. Darcy’s situation to himself? “Mr. Darcy?” Mr. Wickham asked, eyebrows raised. “What of him?” He was expecting something surprising about Mr. Darcy now. But what should she tell him? Should she: [[tell him that her coachman found Mr. Darcy on the road]] and brought him to the Gardiners’ or [[tell him that Mr. Darcy asked her to dance]] at the Netherfield Ball?

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