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: [[confront Mr. Darcy with her suspicions]] . (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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“Mr. Darcy asked me to dance.” Mr. Wickham’s smile tightened. “He asked you to dance?” Was he jealous? “I could not refuse, of course,” she said slowly, “but you can imagine how surprised I was at his application.” He chuckled, but there was something strange about his expression, his eyes focused on her face as if searching for something. “And during the dance? Has he improved any in conversation?” “Not at all! I tried to take him to task for his treatment of you, but I could not be overt in a ballroom.” “I congratulate you on your effort, although it was unnecessary. Mr. Darcy is impervious to feelings of shame or regret.” That did fit in a little with what he had said about his implacable resentment. “Did he dance with many young ladies?” Mr. Wickham leaned forward, giving the impression that this answer was very important, although she could not guess why. “No, indeed! I do not believe he danced with any other woman outside his party. I cannot imagine why I was the ‘lucky’ one chosen.” “Can you not?” Mr. Wickham smiled broadly. “Come, Miss Bennet, do not be coy. You are a beautiful woman. It may be that Mr. Darcy can appreciate a pretty face as well as any other mere mortal, although I have never seen evidence of it before.” “He would have asked my sister Jane to dance in that case.” Although it was true that he knew her far better than Jane. Their time at Netherfield had led to a number of interesting conversations while Jane convalesced upstairs. “You left Longbourn early this morning, then? I would not like to have to rise early after a ball myself! You will call me lazy.” “Certainly not. I wish I could sleep a little later, to be sure, but I have always struggled to sleep once the sun has risen. I am accustomed to little sleep after evening activities.” She had never needed as much sleep as some of her sisters. “And that is all the news from Meryton?” Elizabeth laughed. “If you are expecting all the on dits you might hear in town, I am afraid you will be disappointed! Mr. Darcy asking a local woman to dance is the most interesting news I have for you.” Well, aside from Mr. Collins’s proposal, Lydia making a fool out of herself at the ball, Mary’s attempt to sing and her father stopping her, and Mama proclaiming to all of Mr. Bingley’s guests that Jane was as good as engaged. And, of course, Mr. Darcy's mystifying accident. Mr. Wickham looked towards the gate of the park. “I wish I could speak with you longer to enquire about the health of our other mutual friends, but I have an appointment soon. I hope to finish Colonel Forster’s errands here in town soon and return to Hertfordshire then. Will I have the delight of your company?” “I cannot say, but I believe I will be here in London for some time yet.” “Ah.” He bowed over her hand. “Until we meet again, Miss Bennet.” “Goodbye, Mr. Wickham.” Elizabeth shook her head with amusement as she watched Mr. Wickham hurry away. London was a large city, but in some ways it was almost like a small town. You were always sure to meet with someone you knew! The children had tired themselves out with running, and Elizabeth found herself carrying Michael back to the Gardiners’ house. “Mr. Darcy is in the drawing room,” Aunt Gardiner said as she lifted Michael from Elizabeth’s arms. “The drawing room!” “I believe he is anxious for his sister. He could not rest, and he insisted on coming downstairs to wait. Mr. Bartley strictly insisted that he may not read or do any activity that might strain the eyes or brain. Perhaps you might provide him with a little company while I take Michael upstairs to his governess. I will return shortly.” “Certainly, Aunt.” Elizabeth made her way to the drawing room, where she found Mr. Darcy sitting on the very edge of the sofa, staring blankly at a wall. He spun around when he entered, the eager expression on his face quickly transforming to a grimace of pain. He clutched his head. “I apologise, Mr. Darcy. I did not mean to startle you.” “It is not your fault. I heard your step and hoped that Colonel Fitzwilliam had found my sister.” “I am certain he is. Meanwhile, perhaps I might read you a book to pass the time?” The idea had occurred to her on the way here. She knew little about Mr. Darcy, but she did know he liked to read. “A novel, I suppose?” Elizabeth laughed. “Mr. Bartly forbid you from over-exercising your brain. I do not imagine novels were what he had in mind, even if I am the one doing the reading.” “Poetry, then?” “Now, Mr. Darcy. If poetry is not straining your mind, you are not reading the right sort, or you are not reading it with the right attitude. No, we will read a travel monologue.” “Oh!” His eyes brightened. “Excellent.” She chose one of Uncle Gardiner’s favorites from the shelf, an account of a vicar’s daughter who traveled to India with her officer husband, and began to read. “You read remarkably well for someone who is not a great reader,” Mr. Darcy said mildly. Elizabeth hesitated. “Thank you,” she said. Was it true that a head injury could cause a change in one’s behavior? She had never seen Mr. Darcy so amiable. Should she mention it to Mr. Bartley when next he came to see his patient? With a flash of amusement, she wondered what Mr. Wickham would think of his erstwhile friend now. Elizabeth was reading about the smells and sounds of the harbor at Calcutta when her attention was torn from the book by a sound in the passage. A moment later, the door flew open and a man strode in. He was tall, almost as tall as Mr. Darcy, although not quite as handsome, and he wore the regimentals of a colonel in the regulars. This, then, must be Colonel Fitzwilliam. Behind him stood a young woman in a light blue dress who wrung her hands as the colonel clasped his cousin’s arms. “Darcy! Are you well? What happened?” Mr. Darcy opened his arms, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, the proud Miss Darcy flew into them, clasping her brother closely. A brother’s brush with death must overcome the pride Mr. Wickham had said she was afflicted with. Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to answer, but he had his hand to his head again, and she could see the pain in how he squinted his eyes against the light in the room. She answered for him, “On my way to London this morning, I happened upon Mr. Darcy in the road. His head was injured, but he woke briefly and insisted we bring him to London. We did as he asked, but when we arrived, he was unconscious and we could not wake him to ask for the address, so we brought him here.” “In the road?” Miss Darcy looked horrified. “Forgive me.” Mr. Darcy gave his cousin a weak smile. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, Georgiana, this is Miss Bennet. She is from Meryton, her father’s estate a few miles from Netherfield Park. Miss Bennet this is Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Georgiana Darcy. The colonel is my cousin—his father and my mother were siblings.” They exchanged pleasantries briefly, but a quick glance at Mr. Darcy revealed that he was wobbling. “We should get you home,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, putting out a hand to support his cousin. “I am afraid that the physician who examined me, Mr. Bartley, insisted that I stay here for a few days. Little as I like it, I agree. My head swims and pains me from standing, and I cannot imagine what it would do in a carriage.” “You do look ill. If you are so unwell, should you not be in bed?” “I could not rest until I knew Georgiana was safe.” Darcy smiled at her. “Safe?” Mr. Darcy stiffened. He leaned close to his cousin and said something too low for Elizabeth to catch. Aunt Gardiner bustled in, and Elizabeth made the introductions this time, as Mr. Darcy was beginning to look grey in color. “I shall walk with you upstairs,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said. “Georgiana will stay here while you are here, so you may rest easy that she is safe.” “Stay here?” Miss Darcy’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, but brother, you will be well enough to return home tomorrow, do you not think?” Mr. Darcy looked queasy at the thought. “Mr. Bartley believes I should take precautions until my headaches and dizziness subside, at least.” “Dizziness!” Miss Darcy shot her cousin a look of dismay. “Oh, we cannot stay here for days!” “You are welcome to stay as long as your brother needs until he recovers,” Aunt Gardiner said briskly. “And speaking of his recovery, now that he has been assured that you are well, I do believe he should go upstairs and lie down. It is time to dress for dinner. Would you like a tray in your room, Mr. Darcy? You have been sitting for some time already.” “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Gardiner.” He willingly allowed his cousin to aid him to his feet, which told Elizabeth more than anything else how poorly he felt. “Thank you for coming, Georgiana.” Mrs. Gardiner accompanied the men upstairs to show Colonel Fitzwilliam his room, leaving Miss Darcy with Georgiana. They were not alone for long. “I have spotted a herd of wildebeests!” a small voice cried from the doorway. Elizabeth had enough experience with her cousins to know where this was going, and she held up a hand. “Your mother will have your hide if you attack our guest, little tigers.” “We aren’t tigers!” Andrew protested, stepping into the room, Michael at his heels. “We are lions!” He illustrated with a dramatic—if rather uninspiring in its volume—roar. A quick glance at Miss Darcy proved she was a little confused, but not irritated. “Are you not supposed to be upstairs with Miss Hammerlin?” “She is reading Cecilia and Margaret their spelling words,” Andrew said. “If I were eight, I would spell much better than Cecy. She cannot even spell ‘wrought’ correctly.” “Can you?” Miss Darcy asked. He made a face. “I’m only five. I don’t have to spell it yet. But if I were eight, I could.” “All the same, I think you had better go upstairs before your mamma catches you,” Elizabeth said. Aunt Gardiner would not appreciate the boys playing their silly games in front of their guest, charming as the children could be. With a groan, the two little lions conceded, although Michael took the opportunity to demonstrate his own kittenish roar on his way out. “I apologise for my cousins. We took them to the park today, but it seems that not even running pell-mell through the grass for an hour could exhaust them.” Miss Darcy laughed. “I used to love to run at the park when I was young. My governess hated it. I miss those days.” “You do not visit the park anymore?” “Certainly not to run. The park is more a place to see and be seen now. I am certain of running across some acquaintance and being forced to stop and speak to her, and so I cannot even manage a brisk walk.” “I suppose that is an advantage of not knowing many people in London.” Elizabeth found herself remembering the acquaintance she had met with on her own visit today. Should she: [[tell Miss Darcy about meeting their common acquaintance]] in the park today or [[end the conversation]] and take her upstairs to show her her room so that she might change for dinner?

“In fact, although I know very few people here aside from my aunt and uncle, I saw an acquaintance from Meryton in the park.” “I hope . . . I hope it was a pleasant meeting.” Miss Darcy looked down at her feet. “I would not have thought . . .” She trailed off. “You would not have thought?” Elizabeth encouraged her. “From what my brother had said, I would not have thought many of your neighbours in Meryton would spend time in London, especially during hunting season.” Of course Mr. Darcy would have spoken of the few connections of people in Hertfordshire. “It was a lieutenant in the militia, Mr. Wickham, who is currently stationed in Meryton.” Mr. Wickham had spoken fondly of his days with Georgiana in her youth, but she wondered if the girl would acknowledge the acquaintance now. From what he had said, Elizabeth had the impression the girl had grown too proud to speak of a steward’s son. Miss Darcy blushed. “Mr. Wickham! I did not realize you knew him.” “A little.” Elizabeth cocked her head, considering. From Mr. Wickham’s words of her pride, she would not have expected this reaction, but rather something more like irritation or disregard. Her blush made her think of Kitty’s reaction when Lydia teased her about Mr. Denny. Perhaps Miss Darcy had seemed proud and distant to Mr. Wickham because she had a little schoolgirl infatuation for him? How much did Miss Darcy know about Mr. Wickham’s lost inheritance? Did she know what her brother had done? Likely not. Brothers never shared much with sisters about such things, especially not when there was such a difference in age between them. “Would you care for some tea?” Elizabeth asked. “Or would you prefer to see your room? I would go up to change for dinner soon, but I suppose you do not have your things, do you?” “I do, in fact!” the younger girl said. “I was ready to rush to my brother’s aid when I heard he was injured here, but my cousin forced me to wait an extra few minutes while he asked my maid to follow with some clothing for me, and now I am glad he did, if I will be staying until my brother is well. I would like to go to my room, please. I shall hope my maid has arrived with my trunk.” Elizabeth led her upstairs and showed her the room before retreating to her own, thankful that the Gardiners had enough spare rooms that she would not have to share with Miss Darcy. Much as she liked the girl, it would be uncomfortable for them both since they had just met. The meal was a quiet one. Mrs. Gardiner spoke of the physician’s suggestions, and Colonel Fitzwilliam suggested sending his father’s physician to examine Mr. Darcy as well. Elizabeth bristled for her uncle at the suggestion that his physician was somehow lacking, but Uncle Gardiner took it in stride, cheerful agreeing that a second opinion might be valuable. They did not linger long downstairs after dinner. Miss Darcy went upstairs to be with her brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam soon following, and Elizabeth was too exhausted after a long day to stay with her aunt and uncle for long. She fell asleep quickly, although she woke several times from dreams of Mr. Darcy dying en route to London or being in the carriage and covered in his blood. The next day passed quietly. After breakfast, Colonel Fitzwilliam went back to his regiment, and Miss Darcy spent much of the morning with her brother. After some time, however, she came downstairs. “I appreciate your hospitality,” she said, her eyes flicking from Elizabeth to Aunt Gardiner, “but I have an important appointment I must keep. I believe my cousin brought my brother’s carriage here?” “Yes, it is at your disposal,” Aunt Gardiner assured her. “But you are not going out alone, surely! Would you like Elizabeth to accompany you?” “Oh, no, I would not trouble her for such a little thing,” Miss Darcy said, but Elizabeth noticed that her eyes slid away from the older woman. “My maid will come with me, and I will return in a few hours. My brother is sleeping, so I know I can safely leave him in your care.” “My dear, I believe we should speak with your brother first. I cannot in good conscience let a young lady of fifteen go out into London with only a maid for escort.” Miss Darcy looked up, her eyes showing a startling amount of fire for the quiet girl. “Not even to see her own aunt? Mrs. Gardiner, I mean no offense, but it is not your place to question me.” She stalked off, and Elizabeth and her aunt exchanged a look. She was right, though. Neither Aunt Gardiner or Elizabeth had the right to stop the girl from doing as she pleased, as they were not her guardians or even related to her. Mr. Darcy was sleeping, and by the time he could be wakened, the girl would be long gone. Surely she was safe enough traveling to her aunt’s house—this was Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mother, was she not?—although perhaps they might ask if the aunt could send a carriage to retrieve her next time. Elizabeth found herself pondering over Miss Darcy’s words and attitude. She was very eager to go out without anyone else, except a maid, and she had not brought her companion to Gracechurch Street. She was generally quieter and better-behaved, but Elizabeth had a vast deal of experience with younger sisters, and Miss Darcy’s mulish determination to go out reminded her of Lydia. Still, the Darcys were none of Elizabeth’s business, aside from what was necessary for Mr. Darcy to recuperate under the Gardiners’ roof. He would be in his room upstairs for a few days and then depart. She had no reason to concern herself with any of their affairs. In the afternoon, she walked to the park again with Miss Hammerlin and her cousins, although this time, she did not see anyone she knew. After she returned to the house and handed the children over to their mother and governess, she found Mr. Darcy alone in the drawing room. “Georgiana?” he asked, looking past her. “She is still out?” Elizabeth asked, taking up the book that she’d left on a side table. “She was not with you?” He looked bemused. “Your aunt mentioned that you had both gone out.” “Oh! No, she went out earlier in your carriage to an appointment of some sort. I went with the children to the park.” Elizabeth watched him, curious what he knew of Miss Darcy’s appointment. “Appointment?” He stood up quickly, and a pained look came across his face. He put his hand to the back of his head. “What appointment?” “To her aunt’s, I believe she said. Is that Colonel Fitzwilliam’s mother?” “Oh. Of course. She went out with Colonel Fitzwilliam.” He lowered himself back into his chair, his hand still to his head. “I am afraid not. He went to his regiment today. My aunt did try to dissuade Miss Darcy from going out alone with only a maid, but she was . . . determined. And we had no authority to stop her.” Mr. Darcy’s face darkened. “I have that authority. You could have wakened me!” “By which time she would have been long gone, as we could not physically restrain her, and the carriage is your own and thus hers to command.” With a huff of air, Mr. Darcy said, “At least she has only gone to my aunt’s home. Lady Matlock is beginning to introduce Georgiana to important acquaintances in preparation for her coming out, although I would have preferred Georgiana have her companion accompany her. I suppose there is no room for her?” “I believe we have taken all of my aunt and uncle’s spare rooms,” Elizabeth admitted. “Someone would have to share.” “Ah.” He frowned. “Nonetheless, I cannot like her going out alone. She was supposed to be safe here. I will speak with her when she returns.” Elizabeth looked at the book in her lap, then back at Mr. Darcy. She had held off on her curiosity for an entire day, but it seemed impossible to wait another moment now that they were alone. She would have no better opportunity. “Mr. Darcy, what happened to you yesterday? Why were you on the road? And why were you so anxious to get to London?” She had read in books of a person’s face becoming “closed off,” but she had never seen it before this moment. He was silent for so long that she was sure he would tell her that it was none of her business. “I cannot tell you exactly,” he said. “I was set upon by two men, although they did not say why.” “Were you on the way to London?” “I was still at Netherfield.” Elizabeth’s blood ran cold. She had always assumed that he had been on the road when he was injured. “You were injured on Netherfield property? You were in riding gear; we assumed you had been riding to London.” “I had been riding, but on Bingley’s property.” “Is that why you did not want to return to Netherfield Park?” “It was part of it. I was also anxious to get to my sister.” “Were you concerned she would be worried for you?” His eyes were distant, unfocused. “Yes, and . . . well, yes.” It was not a complete answer, but he did not elaborate. “Have you written to warn Mr. Bingley?” Mr. Darcy’s attention turned back to her. “Warn Mr. Bingley?” “Of the danger! You would not leave him unprotected when there are dangerous men attacking people on his lands.” There was something odd about this. Mr. Darcy’s response was too slow. Because of his head injury? Or was there another reason. “Of course,” he said slowly. Maybe there was a reason Mr. Darcy did not seem worried for Mr. Bingley’s safety. Maybe Mr. Darcy knew that he, and he alone, was the target. It would make sense. He was wealthier than Mr. Bingley, and from what Mr. Collins had said, he had wealthy and titled relatives. He could be ransomed for more than Mr. Hurst or Mr. Bingley. But no, kidnap for ransom did not make sense. Mr. Darcy had been found injured far from where he had been attacked. That meant that either ransom was not their design, or that he had somehow escaped his kidnappers. “You will warn Mr. Bingley?” “I will tell him what he needs to know.” He was certainly holding something back. He would not assume Mr. Bingley was safe from the danger unless he somehow knew for certain he was the target. Even if that were the case, why would he not be anxious to assure his friend of his safety? If he’d been attacked on a ride, they must be worried for him at Netherfield! Unless he suspected that someone from Netherfield Park was involved, or maybe wanted to keep his survival a secret. But why? Was there something more nefarious about Mr. Darcy than any of them had ever suspected? She needed information, and she needed to know what was going on back in Meryton. Was Mr. Darcy even telling the truth about the attack? Should Elizabeth [[confront Mr. Darcy with her suspicions]] and ask him for the truth about why he was attacked or [[write to Charlotte Lucas]] asking what people were saying and what was happening at Netherfield?

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“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth said, determined to get to the bottom of this, “is there danger for my family in harbouring you here?” He blinked, startled. “Danger? I cannot imagine so.” He glanced toward the door as if hoping his cousin will come in to save him from her enquiry, but she was determined. “And yet you were set upon on the grounds of Netherfield Park—” “—which is almost twenty miles from here,” he interrupted. “Yet you show no urgency in alerting Mr. Bingley to the danger on his property, which leads me to believe that the danger is not to the people of Meryton, but to you specifically.” Elizabeth watched him very carefully at this. He did not reply immediately, but she could see him swallow hard. She was right in her guess, but he did not wish to tell you more. “You were very concerned for Miss Darcy when you arrived here,” she went on, frowning as she tried to think over the sequence of events. “The danger extends to her.” Mr. Darcy ran a hand over his eyes in a surprisingly casual gesture, then huffed out a laugh. “Miss Bennet, you are too astute for your own good.” He shook his head, a slight smile gracing his face. “It is no wonder your father called you the wittiest of his daughters.” “And yet you are not answering me.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “To be honest with you, I do not know much myself. I have some conjectures, but I am hesitant to say much without proof. What I know for certain is that I was riding at Netherfield Park when I came across a rope stretched across the riding path.” “A rope!” He nodded sharply. “There are a number of trails throughout the grounds, but there is one that I take most frequently—and I am the earliest rider of the Netherfield party. Thankfully, Rupert was able to stop in time.” “Rupert?” He reddened. “My, erm, horse.” Mr. Darcy had a horse named, not Wellington or Zeus or Bucephalus, but Rupert. “A lovely name. Go on.” “As I said, he stopped in time, but it was a near thing. And while I was regaining control, I was set upon by two men. I remember little else.” “What did they look like?” “Farm labourers,” Mr. Darcy said slowly. “I was fighting to keep Rupert calm after our sudden stop, so I saw them more out of the corner of my eye. For a moment, I thought they had come to help me. But then one grabbed my arm and yanked me sideways off the saddle, and then I felt the blow to the back of my head.” “Do you think Mr. Bingley involved?” Mr. Darcy bolted upright so suddenly that he groaned and clutched at his head. “Bingley? Certainly not.” “Then why are you hesitant to write to him?” Mr. Darcy did not speak for a moment, but his jaw worked as though he wished to say something but would not. Finally, he said, “Because I believe the men who attacked me think they killed me, and I do not wish Mr. Bingley, however unwittingly, to spread the word of my survival. I know my friend. He would not mean to, but he would read the letter aloud, or he would walk around with a pleased smile on his face, and then all of Meryton would know I survived—including those who wished me dead.” It made sense, in a way. It must have been part of the reason Mr. Darcy was so concerned about getting to London, along with his worries about his sister. His sister! “Miss Darcy—do you think her in danger?” “I do. I have been remiss in not explaining to her my concerns, but I will do so as soon as possible, so that she does not leave this house without sufficient escort. I may assume too much—perhaps they really were merely opportunists who laid a trap for the next horseman who rode that direction, as I would imagine the grass was worn away to make an obvious trail—but I dare not risk it.” “Did I put you in danger by taking you to the Gardiners’ instead of to your London house?” Elizabeth had been anxious over the idea since he first mentioned keeping his survival a secret. By bringing him here, she had necessarily involved more people, people who were not in his employ and might not keep the secret. “I cannot say. In a way, this may be better, as anyone watching my London home will see that I do not arrive.” He sat forward in his chair, his eyes intent on hers. “Miss Bennet, I believe it goes without saying that this must remain between us. I cannot hope to conceal my survival, but I do want to keep as much information to myself as possible.” There was a clamour outside in the passage, and Mr. Darcy stood up just as Miss Darcy entered the room, Aunt Gardiner on her heels. “Brother!” she exclaimed merrily. “You are awake! I am so pleased to see you downstairs.” He took two long strides toward her, and for a moment, Elizabeth thought him about to embrace her. Instead, he took her hand in his and released a long breath of relief. “Georgiana, where were you?” She let out a puff of air and pulled away from him, lowering herself elegantly onto a chair. “Calling on a friend of mine. Our aunt wishes me to keep up with my acquaintances from school, as a number of them are from influential families, and of course we will all be coming out close together.” Elizabeth frowned. Her phrasing reminded her a little of Lydia when she did not wish to tell an outright falsehood but was not willing to tell the strict truth, either, although she could not imagine what Miss Darcy would be concealing. “Our aunt may have a point, but for the moment, I do not want you venturing out of the house without a proper escort—and not just your maid. Either Colonel Fitzwilliam or myself, or perhaps Mrs. Gardiner or Miss Bennet might be willing to go on calls with you.” Her eyes went wide. “That is not fair!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “You were injured at Netherfield! That can have nothing to do with me! I have already left home to stay here in Cheapside with you, and now I cannot even go to see my friends without the escort of a tradesman’s wife or niece?” If she stamped her foot, her Lydia impression would be complete. Mr. Darcy, ever the gentleman, excused himself to take Miss Darcy upstairs so that they might continue their conversation in private. To Elizabeth’s private dismay, unlike Lydia, Miss Darcy did modify her voice such that she had no idea how their conversation concluded. Her only clue was that she did not come downstairs for dinner but instead took a tray in her room. When Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived just before the meal, he went upstairs to speak with Miss Darcy for a little while, but he returned just as they were all about to proceed to the table, shaking his head and giving his cousin a speaking look. “Miss Bennet,” Mr. Darcy asked after dinner, “I wonder if you might play something for me.” His cousin looked at him in surprise, but he did not spare the colonel a glance. “It will not aggravate your headache?” Elizabeth asked, for she had noticed him wince and touch his head from time to time, and he was still willingly taking tea with bitter willowbark added. “I thought you might play that lullaby you played at Lucas Lodge,” he said. “It was lovely.” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. He remembered a single song she had played weeks ago? “As you wish,” she said, taking a seat at the pianoforte. She would not act the blushing young miss by protesting that she did not play well. He had clearly heard her play before, as had the Gardiners, so if he and his cousin were not pleased with your performance, it was his own fault. But disappointment is the last thing Elizabeth saw on his face when she looked up as she played. If anything, he seemed . . . enraptured? It was a simple lullaby, soft and pleasant, and it suited her voice well, but it was nothing complicated or impressive. Yet he gave it more attention than he had Mrs. Hurst’s far more impressive performance of Rondo Alla Turca. What an odd man. “Thank you,” he said when she finished, standing up gingerly. “I should retire for the night, but your playing was a delight.” “Darcy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “I will come with you.” His look said that there were things to discuss. Aunt and Uncle Gardiner were sitting very close together, and it occured to Elizabeth that they had had little enough time alone since her dramatic arrival with the injured Mr. Darcy. Perhaps it would be a kindness if she, too, were to go upstairs a little early. As she neared the stairs, she caught a glimpse of a man’s coat in her peripheral vision. She turned just in time to see the library door close behind—was that Colonel Fitzwilliam? What was he doing in the library? Were he and Mr. Darcy planning to discuss the situation? Elizabeth knew there was still something Mr. Darcy was concealing from her. She had noticed the absence of a real motive or culprit in his story earlier. She did not think he was lying, but he must have had his suspicions that he was not sharing with her. He might however, share them with his cousin. “—to Miss Darcy,” a voice said in the other direction, and Elizabeth pivoted again to see the housekeeper speaking with one of the maids, who carried a tray with a hot chocolate. “The poor girl says she cannot sleep without it.” Miss Darcy was still awake. Was she still sulking after the limitations Mr. Darcy had set upon her? A sympathetic ear might make her inclined to pour out her own woes—and maybe a few of Mr. Darcy’s as well. Would she know anything about someone who might have a grudge against Mr. Darcy? Of course, Elizabeth dared not ask outright, but a few leading questions might lead to interesting answers. Miss Darcy was less guarded than Mr. Darcy. Should she: [[creep to the library ]]and crack open the door, hoping to eavesdrop on Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam’s conversation or [[offer to take the chocolate upstairs]] to Miss Darcy and see if she might be more open about what she knows?

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