Two long weeks passed. Jane spent the nights in with Mary, leaving Lizzy to the bed alone. It was cold, and lonely, for Lizzy ensconced herself in her room and would not be persuaded to come down. Her father was away on business, visiting with their Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, and Mrs. Bennet would not see her second-eldest daughter, so distraught was she by the news Lady Lucas had passed to her.

The house barely limped along, with Jane seeing to the affairs, the younger sisters all of no help at all when it came to the ordering of meals and the speaking with the various people who worked the Longbourn estates.

It was, Jane privately thought, a trial by fire, and a preparation for a future as a wife and mistress of lands that may actually never happen for her. Mr. Bingley had not called. He had not written, or returned her missives to him, small love notes similar to the ones they had exchanged in secret when she had been at Netherfield and convalescing in bed. He'd had his notes sent up to her with her breakfast then, alongside her morning chocolate. Those pretty words folded on scraps of parchment? Well, she kept with her wedding trousseau, the one she may never have the opportunity to wear now that Lizzy's shame had stained the entirety of the Bennet family.

Jane did not weep for herself, though. She plowed onwards, attempting to keep up the spirits of her younger sisters, and making sure that the maids reported to her what Lizzy ate of the food that was sent up to her room.

Enough time passed, that she had all but forgotten the harsh words her sister had said to her, although the meaning had not been lost on her. No, if anything, Jane felt she had a better understanding of the outside world and the unforgiving nature of it. It was a great unfairness, that Lizzy should be ruined for a perfectly lovely future and her sisters along with her, when it had been Mr. Hurst's inability to control himself. Mr. Hurst, she dared say, deserved the most exacting and harsh punishment. Normally Jane was a forgiving sort, and could find it in her heart to let go of the greatest trespasses, but this was one she did not dare even think to forgive.

It was on the morning of the third week, with no word from Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth still not stirring from her room that Jane decided to take matters into her own hands. She sat down in the drawing room, told her sisters to be quiet and began to write.

By the early afternoon, a rushed messenger was on his way to Pemberley, with all deliberate haste to bring Jane's letter to one Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy, who despite his dour countenance and severe nature would not abide by a young woman being ruined by a cad and a callous snake. Jane was certain that there was fairness in Mr. Darcy, and that he would be called by duty and honor to defend Elizabeth's name and reputation. He had saved her once, he would perhaps save her again.

When their father returned to Longbourn, the estate was not in such a great disrepair that he noticed for he noticed very little in the runnings of his own lands. Instead he took note of a certain malaise that hung in the air, and that his wife was not there to greet him.

Only Jane stood at the gate to welcome him home with a kiss and an embrace as tender as any father could hope to have from a loving daughter.

"Come Papa," she said, her normally cheerful face grave and drawn. "We must to your study, to talk."