Colonel Fitzwilliam stumbled into Netherfield, his eyes red and heavy from exhaustion. His uniform was covered with dust and dirt, the remnants of two days of hard fighting and travel. His hair was dishevelled, as though he had not had the time or energy to care for it. He had worked tirelessly to try to maintain peace during the riots that had broken out in Halling, but the situation had become increasingly volatile as the violence and animosity had escalated. He had begun to feel a sense of helplessness, as no matter how hard he tried, the situation was rapidly spiralling out of control.
As he lay in bed, his thoughts kept him from sleeping. His mind was fixated on the recent unrest and he couldn't help but think of what he could have done differently to prevent the chaos from unfolding. If only he had acted quicker, maybe he could have avoided the violence altogether. However, his duty had been cut short by General Darner's orders to return home. The news was bittersweet, but there was a glimmer of hope in the General's message. The senior workers at the mill were finally showing signs of cooperation. Perhaps a peaceful resolution was still possible.
As he lay there, he allowed the sounds of the house to lull him. The creaking of the old floorboards settling in the night, the gentle crackling of the fire, and the occasional shuffling of a servant moving about below stairs, all seemed to combine in a comforting lullaby. He felt the tension leave his body and the comforting embrace of sleep begin to overtake him when a different noise disrupted the melody. He paused, listening intently for any sound that might arise from the next room. After a few moments of silence, he heard it again – a strange, low groan. He could barely make it out, but it was enough for him to decide that he needed to investigate. Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened the door to Mr. Witting's room, steeling himself for whatever he might find. The Colonel knocked on the door, but there was no answer. He slowly pushed it open to find Mr. Witting writhing in pain. The man's face was contorted in pain and anguish, and sweat was pouring down his forehead. His eyes were tightly shut, as if he was desperately trying to hold something in, and his lips were trembling. He seemed to be fighting against an invisible force, his forehead creased with effort and his brow furrowed in a deep frown. His fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles had turned white, and his chest was heaving as he struggled to take in a breath.
No one was with Mr. Witting, which was strange. Surely, someone would have been tasked with attending him, yet there was no one there. As he ran down the corridor, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, desperate to find a servant who could point him in the right direction. Despite his search, he found no one and was forced to descend to the servants' quarters to question the kitchen maid. When he finally reached the doctor's quarters, he began pounding on the door with ferocity, the sound echoing through the hallway. He kept going, pounding on the door and shouting until he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps coming from within the room. The door creaked open a few seconds later, and the doctor appeared, his expression filled with concern.
"What is the matter, Colonel?" the doctor, Mr. Reed, asked, his voice thick with sleep.
"It's Mr. Witting," the Colonel replied urgently. "He's in agony. You must come and see him."
The doctor quickly grabbed his bag and followed the Colonel back to Mr. Witting's room, his heart racing with a combination of fear and anticipation. As soon as he entered, he could see that the man was in a bad way. His breathing was laboured, and he was sweating profusely. His skin was pale and clammy, and his eyes had a distant, glazed-over expression. The Colonel quickly filled the doctor in on what had happened, and the doctor immediately began to assess the situation. He checked Mr. Witting's pulse and breathing, and then quickly set to work, adjusting the man's position in the bed and taking his temperature and other vital signs. He could see that the man was in a great deal of pain, and he suspected that he might be suffering from an infection.
The Colonel watched as the doctor changed the bandages on Witting's wound, applying a salve before re-wrapping the head wound. His years of service had exposed him to countless wounds, but this one stood out as particularly gruesome. The Colonel winced in sympathy as the doctor tended to the wound, gently cleaning and dressing it. Witting groaned in pain, but he did not utter a single word of complaint. His face was pale and his breathing was shallow, but he still managed to remain stoic despite the agony he was in.
Once the bandages were securely in place, the doctor turned to the Colonel. "Where is the maid who was supposed to be attending him?" Mr. Reed asked.
The Colonel sighed and shook his head. "I do not know. I have only just returned from Halling and I heard his misery. I thought surely the someone would be here taking care of him, but there was no one here."
The doctor frowned, clearly displeased that his orders for Witting's care were not obeyed. "Well, I suppose it falls on us then."
Together, they settled Mr. Witting back onto his bed and made sure he was comfortable. "I will remain with him," said the physician. "You should rest before you fall ill yourself."
The Colonel nodded, grateful for the doctor's presence and expertise. As he settled back into his own bed, he couldn't help but wonder what had caused Mr. Witting's sudden worsening. He made a mental note to inquire about Witting's health in the morning, but for now, exhaustion overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep. The events of the day and the strange sounds from the adjacent room seemed like a distant memory as he drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Elizabeth yawned and sat up in bed, at first confused where she was before recalling that she had remained the night at Netherfield. She rose from her bed with a deep breath and stretched, feeling her muscles loosen as she moved her body. She made her way to the washstand, splashing her face with cool water from the basin, before wiping it down with a cloth. She looked in the mirror, taking a moment to take in her reflection and the dark circles from lack of sleep. She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again and brushing her hair and pinning it back. She did not wish to wake Sarah, who had had just as difficult a day prior as she herself had.
As she exited her chambers, she heard a giggle, and nearly ran into her sister, Jane, coming from the wrong direction. Elizabeth took a step back, feeling her heart racing as she looked her sister up and down, blinking rapidly, certain that she had made a mistake. Jane was wearing a white nightgown with lace detail along the neckline and cuffs. Elizabeth could feel her mouth going dry as she tried to make sense of the situation. Why would Jane be coming from the family wing while wearing a nightgown?
As Elizabeth grappled with her confusion, her sister Jane's bright and cheery voice interrupted her. "Good morning, Lizzy! Did you have a pleasant slumber?"
"Yes, I did. Thank you for asking," Elizabeth replied with a smile.
"If you would not mind allowing me into your rooms, Mother sent trunks, but my gowns were put in with yours."
Elizabeth smiled, glad that she had been foolish in judging her sister. "Oh, of course. Come in."
She opened the door to her chambers, and they both went inside. As expected, under Elizabeth's gowns were two of Jane's. Yet, her sister was still acting very strangely, as if she had a secret that she did not wish to reveal.
After they were both dressed, they made their way downstairs to the breakfast room. As they entered the room, Elizabeth couldn't help but notice the look of joy on Mr. Bingley's face when he saw Jane. It was as if the room was suddenly filled with sunshine, and his gaze seemed to linger on her a little longer than it should have. Jane blushed, embarrassed by the attention, but she couldn't help but smile at the same time.
"Good morning, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth," said Mr. Darcy. His friend echoed him.
"Good morning, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy," replied Elizabeth.
Jane greeted the gentlemen as well, but her eyes never left Mr. Bingley's. As the tea and food were served, the servants bustling around the room, the couple seemed unable to take their eyes off each other, completely oblivious to everything and everyone else. Even the most basic of courtesies were completely forgotten as they were enraptured in each other's gaze, their newly betrothed state bringing out a new warmth, a new love, that was impossible to contain. As the servants made their way out of the room, the couple continued to bask in each other's presence, their own little world created out of love and understanding. A feeling of jealousy overcame Elizabeth, not due to Mr. Bingley's affection, but due to Jane's reciprocated love.
There was a faraway look in Mr Darcy's eyes, Elizabeth noted when she turned to him. Elizabeth had seen him like this before, but it had never seemed as intense as it did in that moment. His brow furrowed as he pressed his lips into a thin, hard line. Elizabeth's gaze was fixed on his face, searching for any signs of what he was thinking, but all she could find was the intensity in his eyes. He had always been a man of many secrets and she wanted to know what was hidden behind his stoic facade.
She leaned closer and gently touched his arm, offering him a warm smile. He seemed to relax a little at her gesture, and she was pleased to see him return her smile. She could tell that he appreciated her concern, and she felt a sense of satisfaction in knowing that she had been able to break through his mask, even if only for a moment.
"Are you well this morning, sir," she finally asked, unable to contain her worry.
He nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at her. "Yes, thank you, Miss Bennet. I am just a little preoccupied with Mr. Witting's condition. He had a fit during the night. His wound, Mr. Reed thinks, has affected his brain."
Elizabeth's expression softened as well. "That is truly unfortunate," she said sympathetically. "Does Mr. Reed think he will recover?"
Mr. Darcy let out a sigh. "It is difficult to say. The doctor is with him now, trying to determine the extent of his injuries. But I fear the worst."
Elizabeth could see the concern etched on Mr Darcy's face. She felt a pang of empathy for him and placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "I am sure everything will turn out for the best. Mr. Witting is in good hands."
Mr. Darcy gave her a grateful smile, and the two of them lapsed into a comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts, while Jane and Mr. Bingley chatted happily about their upcoming wedding plans. Elizabeth couldn't help but smile at the blissful couple. She was thrilled for her sister's happiness and knew that Mr. Bingley was a good match for her. Glancing over at Mr. Darcy, she realised he was watching her, not the couple. Their eyes met and Mr. Darcy smiled at her. Elizabeth felt a blush creeping up to her cheeks, and she quickly looked away. She couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking, but she knew better than to indulge in such fantasies.
As they finished their meal, Jane and Mr. Bingley excused themselves and went to the music room. Elizabeth remained seated, sipping her tea, when Mr. Darcy spoke up. "Miss Elizabeth, would you care to join me for a walk in the gardens?"
"It is rather cold and I am quite tired from yesterday's excursion, Mr. Darcy, but I would be delighted to join you in the library," Elizabeth responded with a smile. She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks, but she steeled her nerves and met his gaze.
As they made their way to the library, Elizabeth could not help but feel a sense of excitement mixed with trepidation. She was reminded of her last stay at Netherfield; the time before she understood and appreciated Mr. Darcy. On that visit, her opinion of him had been quite the opposite of what she felt now. The combination of his aloofness, intelligence, and good looks had attracted her, although she had not been able to confess it. Now, with such proof of his goodness, she could not help but feel drawn to him, sensing their attraction deepening. She yearned for a genuine connection with him, a level of understanding they had yet to explore. She wondered if he felt the same way, if he too was yearning to break down the walls between them and reveal his true self.
"...seven hundred from Hodgson's, the book auctioneers," Mr. Darcy was saying.
Elizabeth then realised that Mr. Darcy had been speaking to her, and she had not been paying attention. She felt a flush of embarrassment as she realised her thoughts had drifted, grateful for his patient understanding. Thankfully, the evidence of what he had said was before her, for they had arrived at the library and the shelves were quite full, a sharp contrast to the nearly bare shelves of her previous visit. Elizabeth was struck by the beauty of the library, the rows of books with their gilded spines shimmering in the light of the oil lamps, and how Mr. Darcy's presence seemed to add a warmth to the room that made her want to stay. She suddenly felt a warmth spreading through her body as she became acutely aware of Mr. Darcy's proximity. She tried to ignore the feeling, but it was impossible. As they walked through the library, Elizabeth couldn't help but steal glances at Mr. Darcy. It was a moment of clarity, as she noticed the way his sparkling eyes met hers and how his coat draped over his broad frame.
The unspoken emotions between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were palpable as he leaned closer, their eyes locked in a silent exchange. A strange sensation ran through her arm when he touched her. His gaze bore into her soul, causing her to feel both embarrassed and desirous. The intensity of his nearness was not lost on her, nor was his silent plea for something more.
Breaking the tension, he stepped away from her and loudly cleared his throat. He gestured towards the shelves of books again. "I shall show you the catalogue, if you wish," he said, stepping carefully past her. "Otherwise I organised the books by genre, so if you tell me what you wish to read, I can lead you thither."
Elizabeth felt a little flutter in her stomach as she met his gaze, and she quickly turned away, her heart pounding in her chest. She had to focus on the task at hand. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I would love to peruse the catalogue with you, sir."
Her response seemed to please him, and he led her over to the stand where the catalogue was open. She started flipping through the pages, lightly skimming some and carefully studying others. At intervals, she stopped and focused closely on a certain entry before proceeding to the next. After what seemed like ages of searching, she finally found something that she wished to read. With excitement shining in her eyes, she eagerly wrote down the book's location. With the signs on the shelves, she quickly found the volume, returning to Mr. Darcy with the book in hand. They settled into comfortable armchairs, lost in their own worlds as they read together in a companionable silence.