Six Inches Deep in Love
When Elizabeth Bennet's carriage overturns in a violent storm, her childhood fear of horses threatens to leave her stranded miles from safety. The last person she expects to come to her rescue is the proud Mr. Darcy, whose gentle patience in her hour of need forces her to question everything she thought she knew about him.
As Elizabeth recovers at Netherfield, tension builds between duty and desire, propriety and passion. With her reputation at stake and her heart increasingly uncertain, Elizabeth must decide if her prejudices against Mr. Darcy were as misplaced as her fears
Chapter I - When it Rains
Wednesday 13th November 1811
Longbourn, Breakfast Room - Elizabeth
Elizabeth unfolded Jane's note at the breakfast table, concern growing as she read its contents. The morning was grey and damp, with heavy clouds threatening rain later, but for now the weather remained merely unsettled. She shared news of her sister's worsening cold, though her mother seemed more preoccupied with the opportunities Jane's continued stay at Netherfield might present than with her daughter's health.
Elizabeth glanced at the leaden sky, her decision already forming. The carriage might be unavailable, but she was a strong walker, and if she set out now, she would reach Netherfield before the weather turned.
The threat of rain did nothing to diminish Elizabeth's determination. Not being a horsewoman, and with the carriage unavailable, walking remained her only option. She lifted her chin and announced her intention to go.
"How can you be so silly," cried her mother, "as to think of such a thing, in all this dirt! You will not be fit to be seen when you get there."
"I shall be very fit to see Jane - which is all I want."
Her father looked up from his book, amusement glinting in his eyes despite his serious tone. "Is this a hint to me, Lizzy," he said, "to send for the horses?"
Elizabeth smiled, already reaching for her walking boots. "No, indeed. I do not wish to avoid the walk. The distance is nothing when one has a motive; only three miles. I shall be back by dinner."
"I admire the activity of your benevolence," observed Mary, "but every impulse of feeling should be guided by reason; and, in my opinion, exertion should always be in proportion to what is required."
"We will go as far as Meryton with you," said Kitty and Lydia, both glancing hopefully at the heavy clouds. The morning was still dry, and they could easily be back before any rain began. Elizabeth accepted their company, and the three young ladies set off together.
"If we make haste," said Lydia, as they walked along the familiar path, "perhaps we may see something of Captain Carter before he goes. And we'll be home well before those clouds break."
In Meryton they parted, Kitty and Lydia hurrying off to the lodgings of one of the officers' wives while the first drops of rain began to fall. Elizabeth continued her walk alone, her pace quickening as the clouds darkened overhead. She crossed field after field at a rapid pace, jumping over stiles and springing over puddles that grew larger with each passing minute. By the time Netherfield came into view, her ankles were weary, her stockings splattered with mud, and her face glowing from both exercise and the increasingly bitter wind.
The butler showed her into the breakfast-parlour, where water dripped steadily from her sodden hem onto the polished floor. The assembled company looked up from their morning meal, their expressions ranging from shock to barely concealed disdain. Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley exchanged meaningful glances at the sight of her muddy stockings and windblown hair - walking three miles alone in such weather was clearly beyond their comprehension of proper behaviour.
Mr Bingley, however, greeted her with genuine warmth, his good humour dampened by her dishevelled appearance. Mr Darcy's reaction was harder to read - his dark eyes moved from her rain-spattered face to her muddy hem and back again, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Mr Hurst merely returned his attention to his plate, apparently finding his breakfast far more worthy of consideration than any rain-soaked visitor.
Elizabeth's inquiries about Jane brought worrying news. Her sister had slept poorly and was now feverish, confined to her bed. A maid led Elizabeth upstairs immediately, where she found Jane pale against the pillows but brightening at the sight of her sister. Their reunion was brief, however, as Jane could manage little more than a weak smile and whispered thanks before exhaustion overcame her again.
The morning progressed slowly. Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst joined them after breakfast, and Elizabeth found herself reluctantly impressed by their genuine concern for Jane. When the apothecary arrived, his examination confirmed their fears - Jane had developed a severe cold that required complete bed rest and medicine. As the day wore on, Jane's fever rose and her head ached too much for conversation. Elizabeth remained steadfast at her bedside, while the Bingley sisters drifted in and out, having little else to occupy them with the gentlemen gone out.
When the clock struck three, Elizabeth reluctantly acknowledged she must start for home. The weather had worsened considerably since morning - she could hear the wind rattling the windows and see the trees bending under its force. Miss Bingley, perhaps noticing Elizabeth's concerned glance at the darkening sky, offered the use of the carriage. The gesture seemed born more from propriety than genuine concern, but Elizabeth found herself grateful enough to accept with only minimal hesitation.
"The chaise would be most suitable," Miss Bingley said, turning to give instructions to the butler. "It's lighter than the coach - more suitable for these roads." She cast a meaningful glance at Elizabeth's still-muddy hem. "Though perhaps you'd prefer to wait out the storm…"
But Elizabeth's thoughts were already on her mother's nerves if she failed to return for dinner. The chaise would be quick enough - she could be home well before the worst of the weather hit.
Elizabeth returned to Jane's room one last time. Her sister was sleeping peacefully, though her cheeks were still flushed with fever. After writing a quick note explaining her departure, Elizabeth hesitated in the doorway, reluctant to leave despite the lengthening afternoon shadows.
"You need have no fear, Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley said, appearing beside her and taking her arm with practised grace. As they descended the stairs, she added with honeyed concern, "Dear Jane will receive every attention while she remains with us."
Elizabeth forced herself to offer appropriate thanks, though something in Miss Bingley's solicitous manner rang false. At the door, Foster waited with an umbrella, though the rain had eased somewhat from its earlier fury. The chaise stood ready, its polished panels gleaming wet in what little daylight penetrated the clouds. Elizabeth allowed Foster to hand her in, carefully avoiding the puddle at the bottom step as she settled herself for the journey home.
Elizabeth had never been comfortable in enclosed carriages, much preferring the freedom of walking in the open air. Even the Bingleys' elegant chaise , despite its superior springs and lighter build, made her stomach uneasy as it swayed along the muddy road. The clouds hung ever lower, and through the window she could see more storm clouds gathering in the west, dark and threatening.
Elizabeth pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the side window, trying to focus on the passing countryside rather than her growing discomfort in the confined space. Dead leaves whirled past in the strengthening wind, and the November darkness was settling early under the heavy clouds. She tried to distract herself with thoughts of Jane, but worrying about her sister only increased her anxiety. Jane would wake and find her gone, while Elizabeth herself was trapped in this swaying box…
The chaise lurched suddenly, its high-mounted body swaying precariously as Thomas fought to keep control on the wind-swept road. Through the forward window, Elizabeth caught glimpses of the coachman's back as he called instructions to the footmen. His words were lost in a tremendous crack that split the air - a sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once, though she would later realize it was the moment a massive oak gave way to the storm's fury.
The horses' screams pierced through the howling wind. Elizabeth's fingers clutched desperately at the leather-covered rail as the chaise lurched violently. Her stomach dropped as the vehicle's elevated body, designed for speed on good roads rather than stability in storms, tilted sharply. She felt the exact moment when the wheels on one side lost contact with the ground, the sensation horribly similar to missing a step in the dark.
Time seemed to slow, then rush forward all at once. The initial impact threw Elizabeth hard against the opposite wall, her forehead striking the wooden panel between windows with enough force to make her vision blur. The world tilted sickeningly as the chaise rolled, each revolution marked by the terrible splintering of its delicate frame. She caught fragmented impressions - the sky where the road should be, rain somehow falling upward, leather cushions and travelling blankets tumbling around her like autumn leaves in a whirlwind. Her body seemed to float for a terrifying moment before gravity reasserted itself with brutal force.
When the chaise finally shuddered to a stop, Elizabeth found herself trapped in a world turned sideways. Her familiar carriage had become a disorienting prison - the window she had pressed her forehead against minutes ago was now buried in mud, while its opposite partner had become a rain-streaked skylight overhead, its cracked glass letting in weak grey light. The forward-facing bench seat loomed above her like a threatening shelf, while the curved ceiling pressed against her shoulder, transformed into an unwelcoming wall. Every surface that should have been horizontal was vertical, and nothing was where it ought to be.
Through the chaise 's oak-framed panels came a confusion of sounds - muffled shouts, the high-pitched whinnying of frightened horses, the ominous creak of fractured wood settling around her. Elizabeth stared up at the door above her head, its brass handle catching what little light filtered through the cracked window. It might as well have been a mile away for all the good it did her. Rain drummed steadily against the exposed wheel and undercarriage, finding its way through the door's warped seams to fall in a methodical drip-drip-drip into her sideways prison.
ooOoo
Netherfield, Library - Darcy
Darcy had managed a brief ride that morning, taking advantage of a break in the weather to escape Miss Bingley's persistent attentions. But the threatening clouds had driven him back to the house sooner than he would have liked. Now he had settled in the library with the book he'd been reading the previous evening, though his attention kept straying to the worsening weather outside. The house was unusually quiet - Bingley had gone into Meryton, Hurst was no doubt sleeping off his substantial breakfast somewhere, and the ladies were occupied with Miss Bennet upstairs.
Try as he might, Darcy could not focus on his book. His thoughts kept returning to Miss Elizabeth Bennet's arrival that morning - her rain-spattered face glowing from exercise, those fine eyes bright with concern for her sister. He attempted to dismiss such reflections. Surely there could be no danger in admiring a lady's wit and beauty from a safe distance. She would prove to be like all the others eventually, once the novelty of her impertinent observations wore thin.
The constant drumming of rain against the library windows made the afternoon seem later than it was. Despite his best efforts to maintain his usual discipline, Darcy found himself drifting into an uneasy doze. His last conscious thought was of those remarkable eyes, dancing with barely suppressed laughter at his expense…
Darcy woke with a start to the sound of urgent voices in the hall. His book had fallen to the floor during his unexpected nap, and the library had grown dim around him. The fire had burned dangerously low while he slept. Rising stiffly from his chair, he crossed to add more logs, trying to catch the distant conversation.
The voices drew closer, becoming clearer - Miss Bingley's sharp tones mixed with Morris's more measured ones. Something about their urgent manner made him pause, poker still in hand.
"Have the carriage brought round directly," Miss Bingley commanded, her voice carrying clearly through the library door.
"Mr Bingley has taken the coach to Meryton, miss," Morris replied with careful deference. After a slight pause, he added, "But I can have the chaise prepared immediately."
"Yes, yes, that will do," Miss Bingley snapped, her impatience evident even through the closed door.
Darcy moved to the window, studying the deceptive break in the weather. The clouds hung low and threatening, and his experienced eye noted how the trees still bent under the force of the wind. Not ideal conditions for the lightweight chaise . He caught himself wondering whether Miss Elizabeth had reached home safely, then immediately dismissed such concerns as inappropriate.
After ensuring the hall was empty, he made his way to the billiard room. He needed activity to dispel these unwanted thoughts, though his preferred remedy of a hard ride was impossible in such weather.
The billiard room was empty, for which he was grateful. The rhythmic clicking of balls against each other usually helped order his thoughts, but today each crack of thunder drew his attention back to the windows. Still, he persisted, telling himself his concern about the weather was merely the natural reaction of an experienced horseman to dangerous conditions.
After an hour of increasingly distracted play, he finally acknowledged defeat. Replacing his jacket, he noted it was nearly time to dress for dinner. Perhaps reading Georgiana's latest letter would provide better distraction - though his sister's continued low spirits worried him. He had hoped to bring her to Netherfield for Christmas, but Miss Bingley's presence made that impossible. The last thing Georgiana needed was that particular brand of false sympathy.
His thoughts turned to the immediate problem of Christmas arrangements. London offered Georgiana more diversions, but her letters suggested the city's entertainments had failed to lift her spirits. Perhaps Pemberley would be better - the peaceful winter landscape might soothe her wounded heart more effectively than his aunt and uncle's well-meaning attempts at distraction.
He should have stayed with her in London, instead of retreating to Netherfield with Bingley. But his own restless energy had only increased her anxiety - he had never learned to bear helplessly watching those he loved in pain. It reminded him too much of his mother's long illness, his father's death, those endless days of contained grief while others looked to him for strength.
A fresh burst of wind rattled the windows, pulling Darcy from his dark reflections. The storm had worsened considerably while he'd been absorbed in thoughts of Georgiana. He was halfway up the stairs to his room when Bingley burst through the front door, water streaming from his coat as he spoke urgently to Morris.
"Darcy!" Bingley called, water streaming from his riding coat. "I had to abandon the coach in Meryton - the roads are becoming impassable in this weather." He shook his head, spattering water across the floor. "Had to ride back, and even that was treacherous enough."
Morris stepped forward. "Sir, about the chaise —"
"chaise ?" Bingley looked between them. "What chaise ?"
"Miss Bingley arranged the chaise to take Miss Elizabeth home," Morris explained carefully. "She left over an hour ago, during the brief improvement in the weather."
Darcy felt his chest tighten. The chaise was light, fast - and dangerously unstable in strong winds. And if Bingley had seen no sign of it on the road…
"Over an hour?" Bingley's usual good humour vanished.
"Over an hour?" Darcy repeated sharply. He turned to Bingley.
"Which way did you return?" Darcy asked sharply, already moving down the stairs.
"I cut across the fields - didn't want to risk the coach getting stuck on the main road. Left it in Meryton and rode back the shorter way." Bingley paused, understanding dawning. "The chaise would have taken the high road…"
"And you saw nothing of it?" Darcy pressed, his voice tight with sudden urgency.
"Even crossing the fields was treacherous enough," Bingley added, his expression darkening. "The trees were swaying badly - I saw several branches down already."
Just then, Morris stepped forward again. "Sir, the stable master reports the chaise is now significantly overdue. He's particularly concerned about that stretch near the stone bridge - the old oak there has been unstable since the last storm."
Darcy was already striding toward the door. "Have horses readied immediately," he ordered, his voice sharp with barely contained urgency. "And lanterns - it's nearly dark."
"I'll come with you," Bingley said, turning back to Morris. "Have the stable hands mount up as well. We'll need to search both roads."
"I'll lead the search along the main road myself," Darcy said, his tone brooking no argument. The memory of Elizabeth's departure in the lightweight chaise haunted him - how could he have let her leave in such unstable weather? Every moment they delayed now…
He forced himself to focus on practical matters rather than the growing knot of dread in his chest. "The stone bridge will be treacherous in this wind. We'll need ropes, in case—" He cut himself off, unwilling to complete the thought.
ooOoo
Netherfield, Overturned Chase - Elizabeth
Elizabeth wiped blood from her mouth with a shaking hand, trying to clear her thoughts. The chaise 's confined space seemed to be growing smaller with each passing moment. Every movement sent fresh pain shooting through her right ankle, and the curved ceiling-turned-wall pressed uncomfortably against her shoulder. Through the cracked window above, she could see only grey sky and rain.
Disoriented and aching, Elizabeth tried to find a better position in the awkward space. The leather cushions and travelling blankets that had fallen around her offered little comfort against the oak panels. When she attempted to brace herself against the bench seat above, her ankle buckled, sending a fresh wave of pain up her leg. She bit back a cry, the reality of her situation becoming clearer - she was well and truly trapped in this strange sideways world.
"Miss Bennet!" The voice was muffled by the walls and the storm. "Can you hear us? Are you hurt?"
"Yes, I can hear you!" Elizabeth called back, fighting to keep her voice steady. Her heart began to race as she fully comprehended her situation. She tried again, louder. "My ankle - I cannot stand! The door is above me, I cannot reach it! Are you all alright?"
Rain dripped steadily through the door seams above her, each drop making her more aware of how thoroughly she was trapped. Through the cracked window, she could hear the wind howling. There were more shouts now, and what sounded like the scraping of metal against the frame as they tried to reach her. She pressed her hands against the walls, trying to control her rising panic as she realized how completely she was at the mercy of her rescuers.
"We're going to try to get the door open, Miss!" The voice was closer now. "Hold on! A tree came down - spooked the horses something terrible. But we're all right, miss, don't you worry about us."
Elizabeth pressed herself against the wall beneath her, trying to stay still as the chaise creaked with each movement of her rescuers. Her head throbbed, and she could still taste blood. Every sound from outside made her tense - would their attempts to open the door make the chaise shift again? The thought of the bench seat above her coming loose, of the cracked window giving way, of being trapped here as the storm worsened… She forced herself to take slow, steady breaths, though her heart continued to race.
