Chapter 3 - Mud and Manners

As they approached Netherfield, Darcy felt a mixture of relief and concern. The journey had been arduous, and Miss Elizabeth's condition worried him greatly. A wave of guilt washed over him as he realized how remiss he had been in not offering her his coat for the entire journey back. He had been so focused on leading the horse and keeping her safe that he had overlooked her comfort and modesty.

The gravel of the drive crunched beneath his feet as they neared the house. Darcy's muscles ached from the long walk through mud and rain, and his clothes were sodden, clinging uncomfortably to his skin. But he paid little heed to his own discomfort. His attention remained fixed on Elizabeth, who seemed to be barely holding on, her dress completely soaked through.

"Miss Bennet," he called up to her, his voice filled with regret, "I must apologize. I should have offered you my coat at the start of our journey. I'm afraid I wasn't thinking clearly. It was unforgivably thoughtless of me."

Elizabeth managed a weak smile. "Think nothing of it, Mr Darcy. You've already done so much."

Her graciousness only served to increase Darcy's sense of guilt. Noticing how her wet clothes clung to her form, he quickly shrugged off his great coat, despite it being nearly as wet as her dress. "It's not much, but it might provide some warmth," he said, holding it up to her. "I only wish I had thought to do this sooner."

"Miss Bennet, I'm going to help you down now and wrap you in my coat. I'm afraid this may hurt."

Elizabeth nodded weakly, her face pale with pain and exhaustion. With utmost care, Darcy reached up and gently lifted her from the saddle. As her feet touched the ground, she let out a small cry of pain, her legs buckling beneath her. Swiftly, he wrapped his coat around her, providing what little warmth and modesty he could, all the while berating himself for not having done this earlier.

Without hesitation, Darcy swept her into his arms. "Forgive me, Miss Bennet," he murmured, acutely aware of the impropriety but seeing no alternative. "I'm going to carry you inside."

Elizabeth didn't protest, which worried Darcy even more. Her head rested against his shoulder as he carried her up the steps, both of them dripping water with every movement. As he walked, Darcy couldn't help but dwell on his oversight. How could he have been so inconsiderate as to let her ride all that way without the additional protection of his coat? It was a lapse in judgment he would not soon forget.

"G-good heavens!" Mrs Hurst exclaimed, her eyes widening at the sight of them. "You're both soaked to the bone! Caroline, have a room prepared immediately. And send for hot water, dry clothes, and bandages."

"And blankets," Darcy added urgently, feeling another violent shudder run through Elizabeth's frame. "As many as you can find. Miss Bennet is dangerously cold." He paused, a new thought occurring to him. "Also, have the kitchen prepare a hot drink immediately - tea or broth, whatever can be made quickest. It's vital we warm her from the inside as well."

Mrs Hurst nodded, looking slightly overwhelmed but determined. "Of course, Mr Darcy. I'll see to it right away."

As Darcy carried Elizabeth into the house, he called over his shoulder, his voice tight with worry, "Miss Bingley, please see that a message is sent to Longbourn informing the Bennets of the situation. And ensure those men leave for the accident site as soon as they're prepared. Most importantly, we need a doctor here immediately."

"Of course, Mr Darcy," Miss Bingley replied, her voice betraying a mix of concern and something else - perhaps surprise at the urgency in Darcy's tone.

As Darcy carried Elizabeth into the warmth of Netherfield, the contrast with the cold rain outside was stark. He felt her shiver violently against him, her teeth chattering audibly. His guilt intensified.

Darcy paid little attention to the flurry of activity around him as he carried Elizabeth up the stairs, following a maid to a hastily prepared guest room. His focus was entirely on the shivering woman in his arms, her wet clothes seeping cold into his own as he held her close, trying to impart what little warmth he could.

"Mr Darcy," Elizabeth murmured, her voice weak, "I fear I'm dripping all over Mr Bingley's floors."

Even in her state, she was concerned about propriety. Darcy felt a rush of admiration mingled with his worry. "Never mind the floors, Miss Bennet. Your health is our only concern now."

"Hold on, Miss Bennet," he murmured, not sure if she could hear him through her violent shivering. "We'll have you warm and dry soon, and there's a hot drink on its way."

As he ascended the stairs, Darcy was acutely aware of Miss Bingley's calculating gaze following them. He knew this situation would likely spark gossip, but he pushed the thought aside. Elizabeth's well-being was all that mattered now.

Darcy followed the maid into one of the guest rooms, Elizabeth still cradled in his arms. The room was cold and dark, clearly not prepared for occupancy. As the maid hurried to light candles, Darcy made a swift decision.

"No," he said firmly. "This room is too cold. We'll use my chamber instead."

Without waiting for a response, he turned and carried Elizabeth to his own room. The fire there had been kept burning, and the room was comfortably warm. He gently laid Elizabeth on his bed, acutely aware of her shivering form.

"Miss Bennet," he said softly, "you're safe now. We're going to get you warm and dry."

Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open briefly, meeting his with a look of confusion and gratitude. "Thank you, Mr Darcy," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Just then, Miss Bingley appeared at the door, a steaming cup in her hands. She paused, taking in the scene with wide eyes. "Mr Darcy, I've brought some hot tea for Miss Eliza, but… this is your room."

"Yes," Darcy replied, his tone brooking no argument. "Miss Bennet needs warmth immediately. I'll take one of the guest rooms."

Miss Bingley looked as if she wanted to protest, but thought better of it. "Of course. I'll have the servants prepare a room for you right away."

"Thank you, Miss Bingley," Darcy said. "A servant has been sent for the doctor, I presume?"

"Yes, but it may be some time before he arrives," Miss Bingley replied. "This weather will slow his journey considerably."

Darcy's brow furrowed with worry. He knew they would need to do their best to care for Elizabeth until the doctor could arrive. "Miss Bingley, could you please help Miss Bennet change into dry clothes? I'll wait outside."

As he stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him, Darcy found himself face to face with his valet, who had clearly been searching for him.

"Sir," the valet said, his voice low and concerned, "we should get you out of those wet things. Perhaps we could—" Fletcher said in his usual efficient way and made to enter Darcy's rooms.

Darcy stepped in front of Fletcher to prevent him from entering the room.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet is in my chamber."

Fletcher stopped short, his eyes widening in surprise. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, a rare occurrence for the usually composed valet.

"I… I see, sir," he finally managed, his voice carefully neutral. "Shall I… prepare one of the guest rooms for you then?"

"Yes, please," Darcy replied, his voice low. "And bring me some dry clothes. Also, ensure that a warm nightgown and robe are provided for Miss Bennet."

Fletcher nodded, quickly regaining his professional demeanour. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it immediately. Which guest room would you prefer?"

"Whichever is most convenient," Darcy said, his mind clearly elsewhere. "Thank you, Fletcher."

Darcy sighed tiredly, "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."

Fletcher's eyebrows rose slightly, but he quickly composed himself. "Of course, sir. I'll see to it immediately."

As his valet hurried off to carry out these new instructions, Darcy remained leaning against the wall opposite his bedroom door. He was acutely aware of his wet clothes clinging to his skin, but his discomfort was nothing compared to his concern for Elizabeth.

This simple exchange with Fletcher had made Darcy realize just how much his usual routine had been disrupted. Yet, he found he didn't mind. All that mattered was ensuring Elizabeth's comfort and recovery. He knew his actions would raise eyebrows and potentially cause gossip, but at this moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

He straightened as he heard movement inside the room. Miss Bingley would be finished helping Elizabeth change soon, and then the long wait for the doctor would begin. Darcy steeled himself for the hours ahead, determined to do whatever was necessary to see Elizabeth through this ordeal, even if it meant sacrificing his own comfort and risking his reputation.

ooOoo

Elizabeth felt as if she were floating, disconnected from her body. The world around her was a blur of motion and muffled sounds. She was vaguely aware of being carried, of the steady rhythm of footsteps, and of a warmth that seemed to envelop her despite her sodden clothes.

Through the haze of her confusion, Elizabeth became aware of water dripping onto the floor. A memory surfaced of her mother scolding her as a child for tracking mud into the house.

"Mr Darcy," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, "I fear I'm dripping all over Mr Bingley's floors."

She heard Mr Darcy's reply, though the words were indistinct. His tone was gentle, reassuring. How strange it was to see him so dishevelled, so openly concerned. It was so at odds with his usual composed demeanour that she wondered if perhaps she was dreaming.

As she was gently laid upon a soft surface, Elizabeth forced her eyes open. Through her blurred vision, she saw Mr Darcy's face, etched with concern. His lips were moving, but she couldn't make out the words. She wanted to thank him, to reassure him that she was alright, but her tongue felt heavy and uncooperative.

The room spun around her as she tried to focus. She caught glimpses of candlelight, of unfamiliar furnishings, of people moving about. Someone was removing her wet clothes, wrapping her in warm, dry fabric. The pain in her ankle throbbed distantly, as if it belonged to someone else.

As warmth slowly seeped back into her body, Elizabeth found her thoughts becoming clearer. She realized with a start that she was in a man's bedchamber - Mr Darcy's, if she had to guess. The impropriety of the situation should have alarmed her, but she found she was too exhausted to care.

She heard Miss Bingley's voice, shrill with barely concealed agitation, and then blessed silence. Elizabeth closed her eyes, giving in to the exhaustion that pulled at her. Her last coherent thought before sleep claimed her was of Mr Darcy's hands, surprisingly warm as he had lifted her from the horse, a stark contrast to the cold rain that had seemed to seep into her very bones.