Chapter 3 - Mud and Manners

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. After all, we already have Jane taking up residence."

"Indeed." Caroline's lips curled into a smirk. "And I'm sure that was their only horse for riding. Though who walks three miles to visit their sister? It's quite unheard of."

"Mr Darcy is too kind," Louisa replied. "He really shouldn't indulge Charles's whims so often."

Caroline moved to the window, watching the rain lash against the glass. Mr Darcy, out in this weather, searching for Elizabeth Bennet of all people! It was like something from one of those dreadful novels she secretly devoured - though in her imagination, it was always herself that Mr Darcy rushed to rescue, not some country miss who couldn't even arrange proper transportation.

A particularly violent gust of wind rattled the windows, making both sisters start. "This weather shows no sign of improving," Louisa observed, her voice betraying real concern now. "Perhaps we should—"

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion at the front of the house. Caroline rose, her curiosity piqued. "What on earth…?"

ooOoo

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.

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.

"G-good heavens!" Mrs Hurst exclaimed, her eyes widening at the sight of them.

Miss Bingley said. "Louisa ring the bell. We must 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. We'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.

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.

"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."

ooOoo

Caroline watched them ascend the stairs, as Betty - one of the newer maids - hurried ahead with blankets.

"I'll see to the servants, Caroline," Louisa said quietly beside her. "You should follow them up - Miss Eliza will need help changing out of those wet things."

"Yes, of course," Caroline replied, though her eyes were fixed on the scene above. It 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. 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…"

She watched as they disappeared into the blue room, then turned toward her own chamber to fetch a shift. One of her fine silk ones would do - it would demonstrate her generosity in the crisis. She selected one with delicate lace trim, almost wincing at the thought of such quality being wasted on someone who wouldn't appreciate it.

ooOoo

Darcy paid little attention to the flurry of activity around him. A maid hurried past with an armful of blankets, heading for the stairs. "This way, sir," she called over her shoulder. "We'll prepare the blue guest room."

He followed her up the stairs, his focus 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 Elizabeth. Your health is our only concern now."

The maid led them to a dark, she put the blankets down, rang the bell and started to light candles and build up the fire. Darcy took one look at the chill air and made his 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 Elizabeth," 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.

The maid had followed them, looking uncertain at the change of location. "Sir, shall I fetch more blankets for this room instead?"

He needed to leave the room - Elizabeth would need to be changed out of her wet things. "Yes and Miss Elizabeth needs to be changed out her wet things as soon as possible."

Just then, his valet emerged from the dressing room, clearly having been searching for him.

"Sir," Fletcher said, his voice low and concerned, "we should get you out of those wet things—" He stopped short, finally noticing Elizabeth on the bed. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, a rare occurrence for the usually composed valet.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet requires the use of my chamber," Darcy said quietly.

"I… I see, sir," Fletcher finally managed, his voice carefully neutral. He glanced at Elizabeth, then back to his master, still dripping on the carpet. "Sir, you really must get out of these wet things immediately."

"Yes," Darcy agreed, though he seemed reluctant to leave. "Betty, stay with Miss Bennet. She'll need help changing as soon as…" He paused, realizing they would need proper clothing for Elizabeth.

"I'll see to Miss Bennet's needs, sir," Fletcher assured him. "But first, let me get you settled in another room."

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."

ooOoo

Caroline returned to the blue room, her fine silk shift draped over her arm, just as Sarah appeared, looking confused.

"Miss," Sarah said, bobbing a curtsy, "the bell was rung but…" She gestured at the abandoned blankets on the bed.

Caroline frowned, looking around the room. Two candles had been hastily lit, their flames barely beginning to push back the gloom, and she could see the fireplace had been partially laid, kindling and a few logs scattered about the hearth as if the task had been suddenly abandoned. The blankets lay in a heap where they'd been dropped. "Go down to the kitchen and bring up the hot tea that was ordered, and send up Mrs Nicholls and a couple of maids, this room needs making up for Miss Eliza Bennet." she instructed the maid. "I shall locate Miss Eliza."

She stepped back into the hallway, shift still draped over her arm. Had Miss Eliza taken a turn for the worse? Perhaps Mr Darcy had taken her to be near her sister. She hurried to the yellow guest room, but found Jane sleeping peacefully alone, unaware of her sister's arrival.

"Miss Bingley!" Sarah hurried toward her with a steaming cup. "I heard Mr Darcy's voice from his chamber, miss, and the door stands open…"

Caroline frowned. Mr Darcy would know where he had taken her. She moved toward his chamber, then stopped short at the sight before her…

Caroline froze in the doorway, the teacup nearly slipping from her suddenly numb fingers. Eliza Bennet - muddy, bedraggled, and quite possibly feverish - lay in Mr Darcy's own bed. Mr Darcy himself stood beside it, still dripping water onto his fine carpet, while Betty hovered uncertainly nearby and his valet looked on with carefully composed features.

She heard herself speaking, something about tea and rooms, but her mind was racing with the implications of this situation. The potential for scandal, the upset to her carefully laid plans… Mr Darcy's bed! Of all the improper, unprecedented… She was vaguely aware of Mr Darcy responding, his tone brooking no argument, but she could hardly focus on his words.

The shift in her arms - her own fine silk shift with delicate lace trim - suddenly seemed to mock her. She had imagined demonstrating her generosity, proving her worth as mistress of a great house. Instead, here was Eliza Bennet being installed in Mr Darcy's private chamber like… like…

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 disheveled, so openly concerned. It was so at odds with his usual composed demeanor 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.

ooOoo

Just then, Caroline Bingley appeared at the door, shift in her hands. She paused, taking in the scene with wide eyes. "Mr Darcy, hot tea for Miss Eliza, but… this is your room."

"Yes," Darcy replied, his tone brooking no argument. "Miss Elizabeth 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. He noticed the shift in Miss Bingley's hands - at least Elizabeth would have something dry to change into. But first…

"The tea, Miss Bingley? She needs warming from the inside as well."

Sarah stepped forward with the cup as Caroline seemed to remember she was meant to be managing the situation.

"Sir," Fletcher said quietly, "I've already arranged for your bath—"

"For Miss Elizabeth," Darcy clarified. "I can wait."

Water continued to drip from his clothes onto the fine carpet - and worse, onto the bedding near Elizabeth. Betty and Sarah stood uncertainly by the door, waiting for instructions.

"Sir," Fletcher persisted, "you really must get out of those wet things immediately. Let me help you to another room."

Darcy hesitated, watching as Betty and Sarah carefully helped Elizabeth to sit up. She seemed barely conscious as they supported her, trying to help her take small sips of the tea. Her hands trembled too much to hold the cup herself.

"Yes, very well," he conceded, though he made no move toward the door. "Betty, stay with Miss Elizabeth. She'll need…" He paused, realizing they would need proper assistance for moving Elizabeth to her bath.

"I'll see to Miss Elizabeth's needs, sir," Fletcher assured him. "But first, let me get you settled in another room."

"Sir," Fletcher said quietly, reading his master's expression all too well, "Mrs Nicholls will be here shortly to oversee everything. Miss Elizabeth will receive proper care."

Darcy nodded sharply, forcing himself to look away from Elizabeth's trembling form. The sooner he left, the sooner the ladies could attend to her properly. And Fletcher was right - he was dripping water everywhere and doing no one any good by staying.

"Very well, Fletcher." He turned toward the door, then paused. "But you'll send word if—"

"Of course, sir," Fletcher assured him, already moving to guide him from the room. "The moment there's any change."

They nearly collided with Mrs Nicholls in the doorway.

"Mrs Nicholls," Caroline Bingley said quickly, "the blue room will be needed for Mr Darcy instead. Miss Bennet will remain here for now."

The housekeeper took in the scene before her with professional efficiency - the patient in Mr Darcy's bed, the maids helping her with tea, her master dripping on the carpet, and Miss Bingley with her fine shift.

"Indeed, miss. I'll see to the arrangements immediately." She turned to Fletcher. "The blue room should be ready shortly, Mr Fletcher. Shall I have hot water sent up for Mr Darcy's bath as well?"

"Yes, thank you, Mrs Nicholls," Fletcher replied, still trying to guide his reluctant master from the room. "And perhaps you could oversee Miss Bennet's bath? She'll need assistance…"

"Of course. Though if I may say so, sir," Mrs Nicholls added with the authority of long service, "we don't want you taking ill as well. Let's get you out of those wet things immediately. The doctor will have enough to deal with when he arrives."

Darcy knew they were right. He allowed Fletcher to guide him toward the door, though he couldn't help glancing back one last time at Elizabeth's pale face. The tea seemed to have revived her slightly - at least her shivering appeared less violent.

"Sir," Fletcher said quietly, reading his master's expression all too well, "Mrs Nicholls will send word if there's any change. Miss Bennet is in good hands."

As his valet practically herded him down the hallway to the blue room, Darcy found himself straining to hear any sound from his chambers. The quiet murmur of female voices, the occasional clink of what must be the bath being attended to…