Page 13 of The Crown’s Gift

"I do not mean that you should become ill. Only damp enough to require tea."

"She will take the carriage," Sir Thomas said.

Lady Bennet looked at him. Ten years of a more attentive husband had not taught her meekness, but it had taught her that he did not issue commands merely to amuse himself.

"Very well. Though the lanes are perfectly passable."

The carriage was required unexpectedly before Jane could depart. A tenant's little boy had fallen from a hayloft, and Sir Thomas would not wait for Mr Jones to find another conveyance. Jane watched the horses disappear down the drive.

"I can remain at home," she said.

"Or ride," Lady Bennet replied, too quickly.

Sir Thomas was gone. Miss Harwood judged the weather improving. Jane wished to go and did not wish to confess how much. Within half an hour she rode from Netherfield in a dark blue habit, accompanied by a groom.

The weather betrayed every opinion offered of it. The fine mist thickened before they reached the lower lane. Then the clouds opened.

Jane arrived at Longbourn soaked through.

Bingley met her in the hall with alarm so sincere that Caroline could not hide her displeasure. Fires were lit, dry clothes found, and hot wine prescribed. By evening Jane's throat ached. By morning she had a fever.

The note sent to Netherfield was written in Bingley's hurried hand.

Elizabeth read it twice.

"I am going to her."

"The carriage has not returned from Mr Robinson's farm," Lady Bennet said. "The axle was damaged in that dreadful lane. We shall send as soon as it is repaired."

"I shall walk."

Mary looked toward the windows. The rain had stopped, but the lawns shone and low clouds crowded the horizon.

"Lizzy, the lower path will be mud."

"Then I shall wear boots."

Lady Bennet protested. Miss Harwood offered to accompany her, but Kitty's cough had worsened and Lydia was one unguarded hour away from climbing the roof in search of excitement. Elizabeth kissed Mary's cheek, promised to send word, and set out with a maid.

The short route between the estates crossed two meadows, a narrow footbridge, and a rise from which Longbourn's chimneys appeared among old elms. Elizabeth had walked it since childhood. The landscape carried a double memory now: the freedom of the fields and the shape of the home they had left.

Mud caught at her boots. Wet grass darkened the hem of her brown walking dress. At the footbridge she lifted her skirts and laughed when the maid nearly surrendered a shoe to the bank.

By the time they reached Longbourn, Elizabeth's cheeks were bright from exertion and several curls had escaped beneath her bonnet.

Darcy saw her from the breakfast-room window.

He had been listening to Caroline describe the inconvenience of an invalid when motion beyond the lawn drew his eye. A woman crossed the last field with quick, certain steps. Her dress was muddied, her bonnet damp, and her attention fixed upon the house.

He knew her before he saw her face.

"Who can that be?" Mrs Hurst asked.

Bingley reached the window. "Miss Elizabeth."

He left the room before Caroline could answer.

Elizabeth entered the hall as a servant moved to take her cloak. Bingley came toward her with both hands extended, checked himself before touching her, and said, "Your sister is better this morning. Jones is with her now. I am very sorry. We ought to have sent her home before the rain worsened."