Jane's usual grace failed her as Bingley handed her into the waiting carriage full of Bennets. Her foot slipped on the first step, twisting at an unusual angle. It was lucky for her that her new fiancé was handing her in (though perhaps it was due to his distracting presence that she fell at all) or she might have fallen as hard as Elizabeth might have fallen on that rainy day one month earlier.

A doctor was summoned. Jane's ankle was broken and she could not be moved. Bingley paced outside the bedroom door the sick Jane lay behind, listening to the sounds of retching from within when Elizabeth lighted through the sick room. When Mr. Bennet had coerced the rest of his family back home, Elizabeth had refused to leave her sister behind. She must chaperone, she insisted; she must nurse, she defiantly stated. No one had challenged her.

"She is sick from the pain," Elizabeth explained to Mr. Bingley's worried countenance. She has never taken pain well, but the doctor has given her laudanum. She will sleep now."

"Thank God!" sighed Mr. Bingley before giving Elizabeth an examining look. "You are weary yourself Miss. Bennet, I will have someone show you to a room."

"One close to Jane's?" inquired Elizabeth.

"Of course, if that is your desire."

"Thank you Mr. Bingley, you have been a wonder tonight. You must know how happy I am that you are soon to be my brother." She gave him a genuine smile that soon turned into a yawn. And Bingley, ever the conscientious gentlemen, had her behind her own chamber door (right next to Jane's) before she could even finish.


"It's rather convenient, do not you think Bingley, that we should have both Bennet sisters so wonderfully and closely situated," reflected Mr. Hurst at breakfast the morning after the masked ball at Netherfield.

"I should say not! I would not have Jane sick for the world!" His face turned white. "You should have heard her… last night…" Bingley pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and placing a hand over his abdomen.

"It is hard that poor Jane Bennet should be hurt to bring them here, but it is quite advantageous for our matchmaking plans." Hurst looked quite satisfied, as if Jane's broken ankle had been just the first successful part of his plan. "Join me in the garden? I saw Darcy escape out there not more than ten minutes ago. What do you say we put our plan into practice?"

"I do not think it'll work, Hurst. But I'll give it a try," answered Bingley dubiously, rising from the table with Hurst, who stuffed a muffin in his jacket pocket.

The garden was rather dry. There had been a draught and the leaves of the trees were dry and dull. Darcy, however, did not seem to notice. He was seeking solitude, and the garden had seemed the perfect place for such a quest. Which is why he hid when he heard Bingley and Hurst approaching.

"Do you see him, behind the rose bushes?" asked Bingley.

"Yes. It seems he does not wish to be disturbed. Well, he will not have to worry about that. We'll simply continue our conversation," replied Hurst with a laugh. "You can not be serious, Bingley!" he said in a rather loud voice. "I would not believe you were it not that you have found out about it from a very reliable source."

"Oh yes, Jane and her Miss. Elizabeth share everything," said Bingley, assuming Hurst's rather dramatic tone.

"But to say that Miss. Elizabeth Bennet is so distraught for love of Darcy is incredible! I cannot believe it! I will not!" He laughed boisterously.

"Oh, do not make fun, Hurst. My dear Jane says her sister is miserable in her love. She daily and nightly admonishes herself for falling in love with such a professed woman hater as Darcy."

"Indeed, indeed. If this is the case, then her plight is hard." Both men nodded solemnly at each other. "I believe you tell the truth. I see it all now. She fights him because she is fighting an affection that will only cause her pain. For Darcy, with all his pride and arrogance will never find her fit enough to consider for marriage. Even if she is the most strikingly beautiful woman I've ever seen. Such fine eyes."

"Gorgeous! Not more so than my own dear Jane, but then they are sisters!"

Hurst laughed. "Too true my friend. But it is a lost cause, Bingley, a lost cause."

"But no! Something must be done! Jane says she is afraid Elizabeth will hurt herself with her grief. She sobs and gnashes her teeth and cries out, 'Requite my love Darcy!' though she knows he never will. We must tell Darcy."

Hurst rolled his eyes at Bingley's over dramatic sentiment and said, "No, Darcy must not know. He will but tease her, make her life a living hell. You know that Bingley. You have heard how he rails against love and marriage. No, he must not know." Both men looked thoughtful, walking together in reflective silence.

"You are right, Hurst," Bingley finally replied. "We will not tell Darcy, we will pray for Miss. Elizabeth, and we will go for a ride… shall we not?"

"Yes, we shall, I feel like a bit of sport myself."

Once they were out of the garden and out of earshot of Darcy, both men broke into peals of laughter. "If Darcy does not start to rethink his own position on marriage after this, he is a fool," said Hurst.

"And if he does take the bait, then we are the only Gods of Love!"

Hurst rolled his eyes.


Darcy could not speak for several seconds. His mind was a confused mess of words and phrases. "Distraught with love for…me!" he finally exclaimed. "I would not believe it but that Bingley has it straight from the mouth of Jane, and neither Jane nor Bingley seem capable of deception. Elizabeth, dearest, loveliest… I will return your love! There is truly no reason not to. That Bingley would think his fiancée more beautiful than Elizabeth is insane! It is not so. And she is all that a man of my standing would want in a wife. She is intelligent… except for loving me… but that is no detraction either." A small smile hinted at the corners of his mouth. "I will not be proud," he spoke, tempering his smile into a serious thin line. "She is, after all, a gentleman's daughter, a virtuous, beautiful, wise gentleman's daughter." He frowned. "But I will be teased for jumping into something I have for so long railed against. But does that matter? No! I would not touch food as a child that I delight in now. Will I keep Bingley's and Hurst's vain quips keep me from the next stage in my life? No… the world must be peopled!" And, he thought, Elizabeth was just perfect for such an occupation. "When I said I'd die a bachelor… I did not think I would live till I were married," Darcy said quite convincingly with a serious nod of his head.

A flash of bright clothing in an upstairs window attracted his attention. Elizabeth looked out, her hair a mess of curls around her face, her face blank with exhaustion and reflection. She looked outward, towards Longbourn, towards her home.

"She is a vision," said Darcy breathily "Does she think of me? Is that why she looks so sad?" Darcy shook his head, tore his gaze from her face, and left the garden.


Bingley could not even be persuaded to bathe before seeking the bedside of his injured Jane. Bounding up the stairs two at a time, he saw Elizabeth enter the room ahead of him, and realized that this interruption of his visit might prove valuable in Hurst's plan. Entering the room and smiling wide at his fiancée, he noticed that Elizabeth was rummaging in the water closet on the other side of the room. Winking atrociously at Jane, he knelt by her bedside and smiled.

"I'm so glad to have found you alone, dearest," he said, hoping the words would keep Elizabeth busy where she was hidden, but in clear earshot of the conversation. "Are you in much pain?"

Jane was confused. Bingley's winking had become quite rapid and over exaggerated. "No. But… are you alright, Mr. Bingley?"

"Why whatever do you mean?"

"Your eye… is there something in it? Perhaps you've scratched it."

"My eye? Oh!" Bingley laughed heartily and stilled his twitching lids. "My eyes are fine now that they rest on you." Jane blushed and took her hand in his, with one more wink for good measure. "I must tell you the most remarkable news." Jane smiled and shook her head in compliance, realizing finally that the matchmaking scheme devised by Mr. Hurst was being put into play. "I have just heard, from my valet, that Mr. Darcy is in love with your sister!"

"He's… he's… in love! With Elizabeth? I have seen no signs. He appears to… he appears to hate her so."

"Oh yes, I know, I know. But, both Darcy and I have had the same valets since our university days. And you can't expect them not to at least talk with each other now and then. Of course they do," answered Bingley, not even waiting for Jane's reply to his statement. "Chilvers, my own man, had quite an interesting discussion with Baxter, Darcy's valet. It seems that Darcy mumbles when dressing. And bathing… and shaving." This was truth. For Bingley knew two things. One, Darcy did have a tendency to mumble all the time, and second, that and tiny truth that can be given to a lie gives it more credibility.

"What does he mumble about?" asked Jane.

"Elizabeth," was Bingley's one word answer before continuing. "He mumbles of brown curls and sparkling eyes, a teasing manner and an adventurous spirit. He whispers of a witty, intelligent woman for a wife. He mumbles Elizabeth Darcy over and over, a mantra almost. Baxter has become quite disturbed.

"Elizabeth? My Elizabeth… and Mr. Darcy?" Jane had been pretending to be asleep when her sister had entered her room, and knew that Elizabeth did not know her she knew she was there. Elizabeth was very still in the wash closet, not a movement could be distinguished, not a breath could be heard.

"Do not tell her of it," said Jane.

"But I have to. I've discussed this with Hurst, and we both agree it is the only thing to do. Darcy is a good man, is he not? Does he not deserve as good a bride and your sister would make him?"

"Oh indeed Mr. Bingley! Mr. Darcy is a very fine man indeed, else you would not be friends with him."

"Very true, dearest. He is the noblest of gentlemen, the most intelligent. Women throw themselves at them and men vie to hold one minutes conversation with him. We must tell your sister, Jane. You do not think she will scorn him do you!"

Jane bit her lip. "Yes, Mr. Bingley, I do believe she will scorn him. You have seen her incessant teasing of the man. There is not a man she has met that did not escape her contemptible tongue. Every good nature is turned inside out with her mocking words. Do spare Mr. Darcy her teasing. It would be better that he expire from longing for her hand than to have his love tempered in the fires of her wit." It was difficult for Jane to speak so of her favorite sister, but knew that a condemnation of her manners might be the only way to get Elizabeth to take stock of her own judgmental nature. Jane looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "Rather, Mr. Bingley," she said seriously, "advise your friend against such a fatal mistake as declaring himself. She will never do the man justice."

"And then… are these your true feelings in the matter, Jane?" asked Bingley.

"Indeed, they are."

"Well, then, I will council him against his heart, to save it." Jane smiled at him and he confounded her with his next question. "Will you marry me next week, Jane? I've spoken to your father. He wishes to be done with this bridal to do as quickly as possible, and you know I am not opposed to it if you are not."

Jane flushed a bright hue of red, vibrant against the porcelain pale of her slip neck and the light golden braid that laid limp over her shoulder. "If that is what you and father wish, then I am content and overjoyed to be your bride as soon as tomorrow!"

Overcome with joy, Bingley kissed her full on the lips before running to the door. "I've much to do! There must be a special license obtained you know." Bingley turned thoughtfully before leaving the room. "Jane, love, would you like to leave the room for a bit? Come to the library for afternoon tea with Elizabeth, Caroline, and Louisa?"

"Very much so! But I cannot get there I'm afraid," she said, her face downcast.

"I will take you! I'll call your maid to dress you. I'll be right outside to bring you downstairs when you're ready. Is that acceptable?"

"Very much so, Mr. Bingley," Jane replied, flushing once more.

"Charles, love, call me Charles," he said before turning swiftly and departing the room with a decisive thud of the door.


Elizabeth, who did not wish to be discovered in what she thought was her hiding spot, stayed silent and still until Bingley had come to take Jane downstairs. She was happy for her sister's imminent matrimonial bliss, but was rather distracted from this familial joy by other, more confusing matters.
Mr. Darcy loved her! She had always thought him handsome. And he was obviously a sharp, intelligent man, even if he was annoying at times. But things had not added up before. That jolt of something pressing and thunderous that had struck her entire being when Mr. Darcy had saved her from falling to the muddy ground on their first meeting had never entirely left her. It was always there at the edge of her consciousness, flaming into full awareness whenever he was near, aching horribly whenever they fought. And though he aggravated her, their verbal sparing were always stimulating, leaving her breathless and mentally enlivened after he or she had stalked off.

She had known the man in the leopard mask at the ball had been her adversary. Not until he had stooped low to whisper in her ear, but then she had known with no doubt whatsoever. That jolt, that bit of thunder he had first left inside her with a single glance had immediately blazed to life.

She… she quite believed she was in love with the man.

The man whom her future brother in law was at this moment most likely warning against her waspish tongue and woman's pride.

"Am I truly as bad as Jane describes," she wondered to herself, leaving the water closet to sit on the rumpled end of Jane's bed. "Do I truly care more for my wit than for the heart of a good man? Will I thusly deny myself the matrimonial happiness that awaits my sister because… because why? What real reasoning do I have to submit? None!" She jumped from the bed and went to stand at the window where she had seen Mr. Darcy in the garden earlier that morning. "Love on Mr. Darcy," she whispered to the window pain, her breath a hint of fog on its surface. "I see no reason to censure you when I should be censured myself. Love on… and I will love you too."