Chapter 4 -Impropriety and Interference
Caroline Bingley sat in the drawing room, a cup of tea cooling forgotten beside her as she gazed out at the worsening weather. "I cannot believe Charles has gone out in this storm," she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. "And for what? That Bennet girl who had the audacity to walk here through the mud."
Louisa Hurst nodded in agreement. "It's quite improper. I'm sure Mrs Bennet sent her on purpose, hoping she'd catch a chill and have to stay here."
Caroline's lips curled into a smirk. "No doubt. The woman is desperate to marry off her daughters. Though I must say, I'm more concerned about Mr Darcy accompanying Charles on this fool's errand."
"Mr Darcy is too kind," Louisa replied. "He really shouldn't indulge Charles's whims so often."
Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion at the front of the house. Caroline rose, her curiosity piqued. "What on earth…?"
As she reached the entrance hall, Caroline froze, her carefully cultivated poise momentarily deserting her. There stood Mr Darcy, soaked to the skin, carrying an equally drenched and seemingly unconscious Elizabeth Bennet in his arms. The scene was like something straight from one of those dreadful novels she secretly devoured - the kind her finishing school had forbidden. The proud hero, his wet shirt clinging to his form, cradling the swooning heroine…
Except this was no romantic tale, and Elizabeth Bennet was certainly not meant to be the heroine. Caroline felt her cheeks flush with mortification. What if word of this reached London? She could already hear the whispers in Almack's: "Did you hear about Darcy of Pemberley? Carrying some country miss through the rain like a character from Mrs Radcliffe…"
"Good heavens!" Caroline exclaimed, hurrying forward and trying to take control of the situation. "Mr Darcy, what has happened? Where is my brother?"
Darcy's explanation was terse, his attention clearly focused on the woman in his arms. Caroline felt a twinge of jealousy at the concern evident in his eyes. How many times had she imagined herself as the subject of such a look? But never like this - bedraggled and unconscious, being carried through the house like some romantic rescue. Caroline felt a twinge of jealousy at the concern evident in his eyes, but she quickly pushed it aside. This was a crisis, and she would handle it with the grace expected of a lady of her standing.
"Of course, we must act quickly," Caroline said, her mind already racing through what needed to be done. "Louisa, have a room prepared immediately. And send for hot water, dry clothes, and bandages."
As Darcy carried Elizabeth upstairs, Caroline called for more blankets and ordered a hot drink to be prepared. She was in her element now, efficiently managing the household in a crisis. Yet, as she followed Darcy up the stairs, she couldn't help but notice the tender way he held Elizabeth, the worry etched on his face.
When Darcy insisted on putting Elizabeth in his own room, Caroline felt a moment of shock. The impropriety of it! But one look at Darcy's determined face told her that now was not the time for objections.
"I'll have the servants prepare a room for you right away, Mr Darcy," she said, smoothing her features into a mask of concern. "And I'll help Miss Eliza change into dry clothes."
As she entered Darcy's room with a cup of hot tea, Caroline's mind was awhirl with the implications of this situation. The potential for scandal, the upset to her carefully laid plans… But there was also an opportunity here, she realized. A chance to show Mr Darcy her capability in a crisis.
With renewed determination, Caroline set about assisting Elizabeth. She would handle this situation with all the grace and efficiency expected of a true lady of quality. And perhaps, in doing so, she might yet turn this unexpected event to her advantage.
Caroline Bingley stood in Mr Darcy's bedchamber, one of her own clean shifts draped over her arm, trying to maintain her composure despite the unprecedented situation before her. Elizabeth Bennet - muddy, bedraggled, and quite possibly feverish - lay in Mr Darcy's own bed, wrapped in his great coat.
"Really, Miss Eliza," she murmured, more to herself than to the semi-conscious woman, "what were you thinking, attempting such a journey in this weather?"
She turned to the maid who had followed her in. "Martha, we'll need hot water and towels. And build up the fire - though why Mr Darcy insisted on his own chamber…" She let the sentence trail off meaningfully.
As she helped remove Elizabeth's sodden clothes, Caroline couldn't help but notice the simple quality of the other woman's garments. Really, what kind of lady went traipsing about in the rain in such attire? Yet here was Mr Darcy, giving up his own chambers for her comfort.
"There now, Miss Eliza," Caroline said, her voice honey-sweet despite her inner disdain. "Let's get you into something dry." She held up one of her own clean shifts that a maid had brought - fine silk with delicate lace trim. It was almost painful to offer such a luxurious item to someone who clearly wouldn't appreciate its quality.
Elizabeth mumbled something incoherent, her teeth still chattering. Her skin was frighteningly pale, except for two bright spots of colour high on her cheeks that Caroline didn't like the look of at all. Fever, most likely. How inconvenient.
"Martha," Caroline instructed the hovering maid, "fetch more blankets. And see that the fire is built up properly." She turned back to Elizabeth, who was now wrapped in the clean shift but still shivering violently.
Caroline helped settle Elizabeth into the bed - Mr Darcy's bed, she thought with mounting anxiety. The impropriety of the situation was becoming clearer with each passing moment. If word of this got out… if Elizabeth had been seen being carried into Netherfield by Mr Darcy, if anyone learned she had been placed in his private chambers…
"Martha," Caroline said sharply, turning to the maid. "I trust you understand the need for absolute discretion regarding today's events." She fixed the girl with a stern look. "Miss Bennet was brought directly to this guest chamber when she arrived. Is that quite clear?"
"Yes, miss," Martha nodded, though Caroline noted the slight hesitation in her voice. She would have to speak with the housekeeper about keeping the servants in line.
As she tucked the blankets around Elizabeth's shivering form, Caroline's mind raced through the potential consequences. If rumours started, if the local gossips got hold of this story… She had not spent years cultivating her relationship with Mr Darcy only to see him forced into marriage with some country nobody because of one unfortunate afternoon.
"We must manage this carefully," she murmured to herself, adjusting the blankets with more force than necessary. "Perhaps if we send word to Longbourn that Elizabeth arrived safely by carriage…" She paused, considering. "Yes, and we'll need to move her to another room as soon as she's stable. We can't have her remaining in Mr Darcy's chambers any longer than absolutely necessary."
Elizabeth stirred restlessly, mumbling something about Jane. Caroline pressed her lips together in annoyance. The Bennet sisters were becoming entirely too much trouble. First Jane's illness, now this… If only Mr Darcy hadn't been so impulsively gallant. Really, he should have sent servants to fetch Elizabeth rather than going himself.
She emerged from Darcy's chamber to find him still waiting outside, water dripping from his clothes onto the fine carpet. Really, the man ought to change immediately. Before she could suggest as much, his valet appeared, looking concerned.
She was about to excuse herself when Louisa hurried up the stairs, slightly out of breath. "Caroline, the doctor has been sent for, but with these roads…" She glanced at Mr Darcy apologetically. "It may be some time before he arrives."
Caroline was opening her mouth to respond when she overheard Darcy sigh tiredly and say to his valet, "And if you could arrange a warm bath."
"I've already arranged for one for you, sir," Fletcher replied promptly.
"For Miss Elizabeth," Darcy clarified. "I can wait."
Caroline watched Fletcher's eyebrows rise slightly before the valet composed himself. Really, Mr Darcy's solicitude for Elizabeth Bennet was becoming quite alarming.
"Of course, sir," Fletcher replied. "I'll see to it immediately."
As the valet hurried away, Caroline exchanged a meaningful look with her sister. This situation was rapidly spiralling beyond her control. Not only was Elizabeth Bennet in Mr Darcy's bed, but now he was giving up his own prepared bath for her comfort!
"Louisa," Caroline said under her breath, drawing her sister aside as Fletcher disappeared down the hallway. "This is becoming intolerable. Mr Darcy is behaving most… irregularly."
"Indeed," Louisa agreed, glancing back toward where Darcy still stood, dripping onto the carpet. "Though I must say, Charles isn't back yet. Perhaps we should—"
"Never mind Charles," Caroline cut her off. "We must focus on containing this situation. The servants are already talking, I'm sure of it. And now Mr Darcy insists on giving up his own bath, after putting her in his chambers…" She shook her head in frustration. "If word of this reaches London…"
"Surely it won't come to that," Louisa said, though her expression betrayed her uncertainty. "Once the doctor arrives—"
"Who knows when that will be, in this weather? And in the meantime, that Bennet girl grows more firmly established in Mr Darcy's private chambers with every passing minute!"
"Perhaps," Louisa ventured, "if we were to have her moved while she sleeps? The blue guest chamber could be made ready before the doctor arrives."
"Yes," Caroline agreed eagerly. "It would be much more… appropriate. And surely the doctor would prefer to examine her in a proper guest chamber rather than Mr Darcy's private rooms."
"We could have her settled before he arrives," Louisa continued, warming to the idea. "It would be much more suitable for everyone concerned."
"Miss Bingley." Darcy's voice cut through their planning. Both sisters turned to find him still standing there, water dripping steadily from his clothes. "Miss Elizabeth will remain where she is. Moving her now could worsen her condition."
"But surely, Mr Darcy," Caroline began, "the propriety of the situation—"
"Is of less concern than her health," he finished firmly, though his voice remained low. "The room is warm, she is finally settled, and I will not have her disturbed."
"Mr Darcy, you cannot go in there!" Caroline's voice rose slightly in her agitation. "You're still in your wet things, and it would be most improper—"
"Martha is with her, is she not?" Darcy asked, his tone making it clear he would brook no argument.
"Well, yes, but—"
"Then propriety is satisfied." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Though perhaps, Miss Bingley, you might accompany me, since you're so concerned with appearances?"
Caroline felt herself caught in her own argument. She could hardly refuse without appearing to contradict her stated worry about propriety. "Of course," she managed, shooting a desperate look at Louisa.
"I'll… I'll go see about having some more tea sent up," Louisa murmured, clearly abandoning her sister to this awkward situation.
Caroline followed Mr Darcy back into his chamber, noting with dismay how his wet boots left marks on the carpet. Martha stood by the bed, the untouched tea still steaming on the side table. Elizabeth lay pale against the pillows, though her cheeks were flushed with fever.
"How is she?" Darcy asked the maid, moving closer to the bed.
"Still feverish, sir," Martha replied. "She's been muttering about her sister Jane."
Caroline watched with growing unease as Darcy reached out to touch Elizabeth's forehead. Really, the man was behaving as though… as though he actually cared for the girl. And leaving water everywhere - the sheets would be damp now too.
"Mr Darcy," she said, trying to keep her voice gentle but firm, "you really must change out of those wet clothes. You're dripping on everything, and what good will you be to Miss Eliza if you fall ill yourself?"
For a moment, she thought he might ignore her entirely, so intent was his gaze on Elizabeth's face. But then Fletcher appeared in the doorway, fresh clothes draped over his arm, and Caroline saw her opportunity.
"Sir," Fletcher said quietly, "Miss Bennet's bath is ready now, and yours will be prepared shortly. Perhaps this would be the best time to change while the ladies attend to Miss Bennet?"
"Yes, yes, Fletcher," Darcy interrupted, his eyes still on Elizabeth's face. "Just… give me a moment."
Caroline watched in mounting horror as water continued to drip from his clothes onto the fine carpet - and worse, onto the bedding near Elizabeth. Really, the man was usually so fastidious about his appearance. What had gotten into him?
"Mr Darcy," she tried again, "surely Miss Eliza would not want you to risk your own health. And we must get her into the warm bath while it's still hot. The doctor will approve of our promptness in treating her chill."
This practical consideration seemed to reach him where concern for his own comfort had not. Darcy straightened, though Caroline noticed how reluctant he seemed to step away from the bed.
"You'll send for me immediately if there's any change?" he asked Martha.
"Of course, sir," the maid replied, bobbing a curtsy.
As soon as Darcy left the room, Caroline took charge. "Martha, is the bath ready in the dressing room?"
"Yes, miss. The water's just right, and I've laid out warm towels."
"Good. We'll need help moving Miss Eliza. Send for another maid." Caroline surveyed Elizabeth's still form with a critical eye. The fever hadn't abated, and the girl was still shivering despite the warmth of the room. "Though how we're to manage her in this state…"
She broke off as Mrs Nicholls, the housekeeper, appeared in the doorway, followed by two housemaids and Wilson, Caroline's own lady's maid. "I've come to assist with Miss Bennet's bath, miss," Mrs Nicholls said with quiet authority. "I've had experience with fever patients."
Caroline felt a flicker of relief, though she was careful not to show it. "Very well, Mrs Nicholls. Though I must insist on staying to supervise—"
"Miss," Wilson interjected softly, "your own dress is quite damp. Perhaps I might help you change while Mrs Nicholls sees to Miss Bennet? She appears to have matters well in hand."
Caroline glanced down at her dress, noting with dismay the water stains and mud marks from handling Elizabeth's wet clothes. She hesitated, torn between maintaining her supervision and preserving her own appearance.
Mrs Nicholls was already directing the maids with quiet efficiency, preparing to move Elizabeth to the dressing room. The housekeeper's capable manner made Caroline's presence seem somewhat… superfluous.
ooOoo
Fletcher practically herded Darcy down the hallway to the blue guest chamber. "Sir, you really must get out of these wet things immediately."
Darcy found himself glancing back toward his chambers, where he could hear the efficient movements of the servants preparing for Elizabeth's bath. He knew he should leave her care to the women, but the memory of her fever-bright eyes and pale face haunted him.
"Sir," Fletcher's voice held that particular tone of patient exasperation that Darcy remembered from his youth. "The sooner you're warm and dry, the sooner you'll be presentable enough to check on Miss Bennet again."
This practical observation finally penetrated Darcy's preoccupation. He allowed Fletcher to help him out of his sodden clothes, "You'll let me know immediately if—"
"If there's any change in Miss Bennet's condition, yes sir," Fletcher assured him, efficiently gathering up the wet garments. "Though I believe Mrs Nicholls has matters well in hand. She's had considerable experience with fever patients."
"Mrs Nicholls?" Darcy paused in the removal of his wet waistcoat. "I thought Miss Bingley was overseeing—"
"The housekeeper arrived with additional maids just as we left, sir," Fletcher explained, as he helped Darcy a into a warm robe. "Miss Bingley's own maid suggested she might want to change her dress."
Darcy felt a small measure of relief. Mrs Nicholls was known for her competence, and her presence would ensure Elizabeth received proper care. Still, he couldn't quite suppress his concern.
"And my bath will be ready soon?" he asked, knowing he needed to be presentable before the doctor arrived.
"Yes, sir. Though…" Fletcher hesitated, then continued with the frankness of long service, "you seem more interested in pacing than bathing at present."
Darcy realized he had indeed been moving restlessly about the room, pausing at each sound from the hallway.
"I merely wish to ensure Miss Bennet receives proper care," he said stiffly.
"Of course, sir," Fletcher replied, his tone carefully neutral as efficiently gathering up the wet garments. "Though perhaps you might wish to sit down while you wait? The carpet can only take so much wear."
Darcy sank into a chair, though his posture remained tense. Every distant sound from the direction of his chambers drew his attention. The quiet murmur of female voices, the occasional clink of what must be the bath being attended to, footsteps in the hallway…
"Sir," Fletcher said, moving to adjust the fire screen, "might I suggest some hot tea while you wait? And perhaps something stronger? You're still shivering."
Darcy pulled the robe tighter around himself, realizing Fletcher was right. The warmth of the fire had yet to reach his bones. "Yes, very well."
Fletcher nodded approvingly and moved to pull the bell cord. Darcy found himself straining to hear any sound from down the hallway, his fingers drumming restlessly on the arm of his chair.
"And your bath will be prepared as soon as Miss Bennet is settled," Fletcher added, watching his master's obvious agitation with concern. "Though perhaps you might try to rest while—"
"Rest?" Darcy interrupted, rising to pace before the fire. "How can I rest when—" He broke off, running a hand through his still-damp hair.
A soft knock at the door made him turn sharply. "Enter," he called, perhaps too eagerly.
A footman appeared, bearing a tea tray. "Mr Fletcher requested tea and brandy, sir. And Mrs Nicholls asked me to inform you that Miss Bennet is being settled in her bath now."
Darcy nodded sharply at the footman's news, trying to maintain his composure despite the relief that flooded through him. A warm bath was exactly what Elizabeth needed. Though the thought of her being moved, even just to his dressing room…
"Sir?" Fletcher's voice broke through his thoughts. The footman had departed, leaving the tea tray, and his valet was now holding out a cup that smelled strongly of brandy. "You should drink this while it's hot."
Darcy accepted the cup automatically, but remained standing by the fire. His chambers were just down the hall. If anything were to go wrong, if Elizabeth were to worsen… But no, he could hardly go bursting in while she was in her bath. The very thought made his cheeks warm, and not from the fire.
He took a large swallow of the hot drink, trying to banish such inappropriate thoughts. Elizabeth was being cared for by competent women. His presence would only cause embarrassment and scandal. And yet…
"Sir," Fletcher said quietly, reading his master's expression all too well, "Mrs Nicholls will send word if there is any change. And I believe Miss Bennet would prefer you presentable when next she sees you."
Darcy ran a hand through his damp hair, grimacing at the truth in Fletcher's words. He must look quite uncivilized at present, pacing about in his robe like some caged animal. What would Elizabeth think if she could see him?
A particularly loud gust of wind rattled the windows, drawing Darcy's attention to the worsening storm outside. Somewhere out there, Bingley was still dealing with the overturned carriage and the injured servant. And Elizabeth… Elizabeth was here because he hadn't been thoughtful enough to insist on proper transportation for her earlier in the day.
"It's not your fault, sir," Fletcher said quietly, seeming to read his thoughts. "If you hadn't gone out when you did…"
"She might have died," Darcy finished grimly, taking another swallow of the hot drink. The brandy burned pleasantly in his throat, but did little to ease his conscience. "Still, if I had only thought to send the carriage this morning—"
"Sir," Fletcher interrupted with the particular tone that meant he was about to speak an uncomfortable truth, "you cannot protect everyone from everything. And from what I understand, Miss Bennet is not the sort of young lady who appreciates being managed."
Darcy almost smiled at that. No, Elizabeth was certainly not one to be managed. Her independence, her spirit… it was part of what drew him to her, though he tried not to dwell on that particular realization.
A murmur of female voices in the hallway made him tense again. Were they moving her back to bed already? Was the bath helping with her fever?