Chapter 1

The weeks turned into months, summer into autumn, and, slowly, Elizabeth recovered. The doctor was an excellent one, although his abrasive manner did little to endear him to his patient, or indeed, anyone but Jane. Even worse was the condition of her throat; after weeks of coughing, it was so raw that she could scarcely speak in anything above a whisper. Jane, as saintly as ever, spent more time than she could spare at Elizabeth's bedside, leaving the placation of Mrs Bennet and, when present, Lady Elliot, to her husband. The children were delighted to have Aunt Lizzy with them, even two-year-old Bennet who could barely say "Nant Lizbet," although Jane shooed them away the instant she perceived any sign of weariness in her sister.

One morning in October, not long after the early snow had first fallen, Elizabeth -- inwardly railing against her enforced imprisonment -- found Jane reading her correspondence, and wrapping her shawl around herself, cheerfully greeted her.

"Oh, good morning," Jane said, smiling. "How are you feeling, Lizzy?"

She had grown more tired of that particular phrase than she would ever say. "Very well, thank you. Are you very busy?" No one else, except possibly (but not probably) Bingley, could read Jane's expressions as well as she, and the small crease between her brows spoke of considerable vexation on her sister's part.

"No, no, I am only a little -- undecided." She bit her lip, frowning at the letter in her hand -- a single sheet of paper, covered with a close, neat hand.

"May I help you decide, then?" She looked through the books covering the shelves. Bingley's collection was far more extensive than she recalled, although certainly still diminutive. Neither he nor his wife were particularly scholarly, so there was little to reason to acquire books except for the sake of posterity -- or appearance, were they more akin to his sister.

"I -- I do not know, Lizzy. You see, it -- at least partially -- concerns you." Jane chewed on her lip, and Elizabeth raised her brow.

"It concerns me? Well, then, you should certainly speak of it to me." She settled down and looked at her sister expectantly.

"It is from Mr Darcy, about Lydia," Jane said hurriedly. Elizabeth flushed, and plucked at the fringe of her shawl a little.

"Mr Darcy is writing to you, Jane?"

"No, no, to Bingley, but -- well, it is really to me -- I mean, not addressed, but -- oh!" She stamped her foot, and Elizabeth fought back the instinctive smile.

"Jane, what has Lydia done?"

"Oh, she took three of her children and left Mr Wickham, when you first took ill. I feel responsible, you see, because I was the one who urged Mr Darcy to go back to Pemberley, and if he had not, I am sure she would have eventually returned."

Elizabeth put one hand against her head, struggling to make sense of this all. "Jane -- Mr Darcy was here? When I was ill?"

"Oh, not for very long," she said distractedly, "just long enough to send for Dr Thompson. He wrote Bingley about Lydia when he first found her, and we agreed to let her stay with him, for your sake -- "

"Lydia is at Pemberley?" Elizabeth shook her head. "Dr Thompson -- Mr Darcy sent for him? Jane, I don't understand, at all."

Jane glanced up as if really seeing her for the first time. "Oh! I should not have said. You should not be distressed -- that's why I encouraged him to go, and why he thought he ought to -- " She bit her lip. "I was not at all certain what to do, because the letter -- mamma almost read it and Mr Darcy snatched it up before, I think, even he realised what it was -- but what I do not understand, Lizzy, is why -- if it is that letter -- why did you -- oh, I am trying not to be impertinent, but he has been so kind to us, and to me in particular -- when Mr Taylor was stealing from us -- that was the lawyer, not the steward -- even Bingley started asking me if I'd misplaced the money, and Mr Darcy was the only one who refused to believe a word of it -- and I had always liked him so much anyway, so -- oh, he has been so good, and he is such a nice man, and so lonely, but you are my sister, of course, so I shall do whatever you want." She looked at her expectantly.

"Jane," said Elizabeth firmly, her mind whirling with this influx of information, "what are you speaking of? What does Mr Darcy have to do with me?"

Jane looked faintly reproachful. "Well, of course you know, Lizzy," she said infuriatingly.

Elizabeth gathered the shreds of her patience and said, "No, Jane, I do not."

"Well, he loves you," she said matter-of-factly, "that is why he came as soon as he got the letter, and sent for his own doctor and paid for him and everything -- and I don't think he would let Lydia stay at his house -- he is very particular about his privacy -- if she were anyone else's sister, because he doesn't like her very much. And perhaps even that terrible business with Caroline -- of course his cousin is married to Mr Crawford's sister -- "

"Mr Crawford?" Elizabeth echoed confusedly. "Jane, will you please slow down? What do you mean, he loves me?" She thought of the silent years spent at home, her father's wit growing more acidic with each that passed, until she almost resented him as much as she loved him -- of the third and fourth proposals she had refused, of how the memories had, impossibly -- or at the very least improbably -- become fresher and clearer with time, until she wanted nothing more than escape. She would not demand Pemberley -- all she wanted was to be free of Longbourn. And yet Baildon, even with its beauties and Jane and Bingley's kindness, was becoming another cage. You are so slight and delicate, Lizzy, Jane said, and so --

Jane blinked. "Well, Lizzy, he proposed to you. Of course he loves you," she said.

Elizabeth shut her eyes. "He proposed to me six and a half years ago, Jane. And considering everything that has happened between then and now -- between then and that fall, for that matter -- "

"Well, I don't think he's the sort to change his mind. I think he would have asked you again, if it hadn't been for that dreadful business with his cousin. And I know that by the time she was dead and he'd mourned her properly, he thought it too late -- he said that much -- not to Bingley, of course, but he and I -- Mr Darcy and I, I mean -- talked a great deal over that business with Mr Taylor -- and of course, you were so busy with papa, and he had a little girl to take care of."

"He said -- " Elizabeth, her head whirling, gathered her shawl more closely about her. "Jane -- " she look plaintively at her sister, feeling more like seven than seven-and-twenty, "Jane, I just -- he said that he -- he told you?"

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane said, overflowing with compassion, "I am so sorry -- I shall make him stay away, I promise -- "

"No!" Elizabeth grasped her sister's hand tightly. "No, Jane, please -- please do not do that."

Jane looked at her consideringly. "Lizzy, will you tell me why you returned for that letter?"

Elizabeth sighed and looked away. "Jane, I cannot explain it. It -- " She looked at her sister, as beautiful, as angelic, as ever, with her adoring husband and properly-behaved children. Dearest Jane. In five years, had anything worse than the misappropriation of funds happened to her? Did she dare cast a pall on that happiness by trying to put her own grief into words for her, when she had not even done so for herself? No, she thought, I do not dare. Oh Jane. "You know that he cares?" she asked insistently.

"Oh yes. He was terribly distraught -- when you were taken so suddenly ill, that is -- worse than I had seen him before, even at Lady Rosemary's funeral."

Elizabeth's lips thinned slightly. From Mrs Gardiner's hints, she had managed to put a complete picture together -- she knew, now, that she was no more at fault than Darcy himself -- but such intense hostility was a difficult habit to break. "Oh?" she said, trying not to appear too eager.

"I don't think he's been very happy," Jane confided happily, more than pleased to speak of her friend now that she supposed there was some hope. "Of course there's his little girl -- he simply dotes on her -- and she on him -- she's the spitting image of him and they are just that darling together. I know that the Gardiners are very fond of him, too, but it isn't the same, of course. And of course there's the other child -- his nephew, Stephen, he has practically raised him too, and I daresay could not be any fonder of him than he is, but it's still rather sad that he -- the little boy, I mean -- has been left to his own so much. And I know Mr Darcy was estranged from nearly the whole family when he supported one of his cousins when she married a poor curate -- or was it that he arranged the marriage himself? I don't recall exactly, but I know he was involved, and everyone was very angry at him -- angrier than they were at the curate himself, actually. Oh, and he gave him a living. He is very generous."

"Yes, I know," said Elizabeth quietly. "You are quite certain, Jane, that he still loves me?"

"Oh yes. Even the Gardiners -- Margaret and Amelia even -- know about that -- your feelings are the only ones that have ever been in question, Lizzy. Of course he hasn't the slightest idea how you feel. How could he? You have been very sly with us all. I really thought you disliked him, even with what Bingley said about Pemberley, until I saw Mr Darcy with his letter, and I suppose he did too." She smiled absently, as she looked over her own letter again. Elizabeth fidgeted. "If he'd had any hope, I daresay he would never have married her. Even Mr Darcy has limits."

Elizabeth looked away. "What does your letter say, Jane?"

Jane coughed. "Oh, he asked after your health, and said that, er, he would only be too glad to personally deliver Lydia and the children here at our earliest convenience."

Elizabeth bit her lip, and could not restrain herself from a mischievous sideways glance at her sister.

"He did say it -- those were almost his exact words," Jane assured her earnestly.

Elizabeth laughed outright at this, only too able to hear his quiet, dry voice. "I am certain they were."

---

A/N: Somehow I always imagined that Jane gets very flustered when she's upset -- almost Mrs Bennet-like in her ditziness. Forgive me!

elen: Oh! Well, they seem to be getting longer. Yes, he still loves her -- if it was not patently obvious before, I hope it is now! The letter -- that just popped into my mind as a really efficient way of showing him, because he'd never believe it otherwise (and even so can't help but doubt). You're welcome, and here you go.