Disclaimer: I do not own any of Jane Austen's creations. Nor do I own the character of Amanda Price from ITV's "Lost in Austen" ... I am simply borrowing them!

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Chapter 3 – In the Bedroom

My sore throats are always worse than anyone's. – Jane Austen

I wake to see myself lying in a room with Grecian columns. I peer at the ceiling and think it is odd that someone would paint a Vatican-like mural in a bedroom. But, then again, this is the Era of Extravagance. It is odd that someone would go to such great lengths to show their monetary benefits, for; this bedroom is lined with Grecian columns from ceiling to floor. "If this is the guest bedroom," I think to myself, "then I am in awe of their splendor."

There is a sharp knock upon the door and Mr. Bingley enters my room. I quickly pull my blankets around me and nod, "Hello."

"Why," he seems astonished. "You are faring better than Miss Jane."

"I've had the flu before."

"Pardon me," he looks at me confused, "the flu?"

I bite my lip and lie, "Oh! I must be quite ill! I have just made up an illness."

He laughs, "At least it is not a case of flibbery jibbets."

I smile, "Oh no, that would never do." I look away, "How is Jane?"

"Very bad, I'm afraid. She has a headache and a high fever."

I want to laugh. But, I know I should not, for, in my time fevers and headaches are nothing. 99.9 is not considered a fever anymore and nothing but being close to death can get you out of work for the day.

Then I remember, in my jacket pocket, I had a pair of Paracetamol that the doctor had given me a few days prior; before my little time travel episode. I did not have one for myself, but, as my immunity system was stronger than Jane's; I figured that I did not need it.

"May I have my jacket?"

"Yes," Bingley crosses towards an armchair; where my jacket is. He walks towards me and hands me my jacket. I rummage through the pockets and pull out the tablets.

"What is this?" Mr. Bingley asks.

"Paracetamol, please give this to Jane with water now." I hand him the tablets, "It will bring down her fever."

"What about you," he asks.

"Pff," I scoff. "I'm fine. My immunity system is – I am stronger than she is. She is delicate."

Bingley obliges and leaves with the tablets. I close my eyes and go to sleep. However, in a few hours, I suddenly begin to feel as though I am suffocating and for some strange reason; I wake up to find that my fever was quite higher than before. In the darkness, I see the outline of a man; sleeping rather uncomfortably in an armchair.

He wakes up with a start. He stands up and places the back of his hand upon my forehead. He mutters something to himself, but, all I can hear is the word: foolishness.

I cannot make out his face and I am too delirious to study him. But, I go back to sleep, for, there is something comforting in his touch (as gruff as his voice sounds).

***

The next day, I find that I am a little better. I clean myself (the best I can without proper running water) and change my clothes. I walk downstairs and can hear people talking at the breakfast table. Mr. Bingley stands up as I enter the room.

I nod and Bingley inquires, "Are you well?"

"I am better." I smile, "But, not well. How is Jane?"

"Her fever is gone; thanks to the Paracetamol." Bingley smiles, "She has gone to town with my sister."

Another man enters the room as soon as I sit down. I awkwardly stand up and curtsy. He bows and looks away from me as he sits down. He focuses intently upon the wall.

Goodness! He looks furious!

He seems familiar to me. Yet, I cannot place it.

Bingley pats the man upon the back and says, "Ah! Darcy! How are you this morning?"

"Quite well," Darcy says and nothing more (in a gruff voice).

Then it hits me, "You nursed me back to health. Didn't you?"

Mr. Darcy seems taken aback, "The untowardness of your abrupt statement is something that I will not abide even if you are feverish."

I look down; confused, "It was a simple question, sir. Did you or didn't you?"

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy concludes, "your questions lack the propriety of an accomplished woman. I trust you understand that I will not answer you."

I sit back down; "Pray, Mr. Bingley, when will you hold a ball in Netherfield?"

I look away from Darcy's glare as Bingley says, "As soon as you will allow it, Miss Elizabeth!"

"Well, then," I smile, "I allow it!"

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