MOST PRECIOUS GIFT

~ ~ ~ ~  Copyright 2025 Wendi Sotis ~ ~ ~ ~

 ~ ~ ~ ~  Cover Art by Matthew Sotis ~ ~ ~ ~

~~ Sample ~~

CHAPTER 1

~ Thursday, 14 November 1811

Miss Elizabeth Bennet bolted upright, clamping her lips tight to strangle the scream that threatened to escape.

Heart racing, her brow tightened with confusion as she lowered her hand from her mouth. Why was she sitting upright, her limbs unencumbered by tangled bed coverings, which was always a certainty following the thrashing associated with her nightmares? And where were Jane’s soothing whispers?

Eyes wide, Elizabeth scanned her surroundings, illuminated by the negligible glow from the hearth.

This was not her bedchamber.

A slight groan emanated from her right. Flinching, Elizabeth turned her head. Her sister Jane reclined in an unfamiliar bed close to Elizabeth’s chair.

Two muffled clangs rang out, marking the hour. A memory sparked, identifying the sound of the grandfather clock in the corridor outside Jane’s sickroom at Netherfield Park.

Elizabeth placed a hand on her chest and released a long breath.

With a second glance at Jane, Elizabeth’s concern increased once more. Her sister’s pallor had turned a bit more ashen. Perspiration dotted her forehead.

Leaning forward in the chair, Elizabeth reached towards Jane’s forehead but quickly retreated to chafe her hands.

Yesterday, after her three-mile walk to Netherfield, she had been uncomfortably warm when she climbed two flights of stairs, entered Jane’s bedchamber, and removed her gloves. Even then, her poor sister nearly jumped from the bed, protesting that Elizabeth’s fingers felt like ice.

Such an outcome had been monumental since never had a trace of a complaint passed from Jane’s lips before that time.

Elizabeth placed her hands against her own neck. To her, they were warm. Bracing herself for Jane’s reaction, Elizabeth gently laid her palm on Jane’s forehead.

Jane whimpered and pivoted her face away. In that brief moment, Elizabeth gauged that Jane’s skin blistered with fever.

Perhaps Elizabeth should have accepted Mr. Bingley’s offer to send for the apothecary last night.

Her vision now adjusted to the lack of light, she spotted Sarah, the maid, asleep on the fainting couch on the far side of the room. Should Elizabeth wake her and have a note delivered to their parents, begging for advice?

Elizabeth shook her head. A letter delivered to Longbourn in the middle of the night would only cause distress. For more than a year, there had been too much sorrow and angst amongst the Bennet household. She would not add to it.

Wringing the excess water from a cloth taken from the basin on the bedside table, she whispered, “Jane?”

Jane stirred; her eyes opened. “Lizzy?”

“I am sorry, dearest, but your fever is very high. I must bathe you.”

Elizabeth steeled herself to the necessity of causing distress, drew back the blankets, and bathed Jane’s face and arms.

Jane groaned. “So cold.”

Elizabeth cringed. “I apologize, but I must proceed as Mr. Jones instructed when Kitty contracted scarlet fever two years ago. Do you remember how high her fever crept up during the night?”

Eyes red and gleaming with fever, Jane protested no further.

Their voices must have awakened Sarah, for she rose, crossed the room, and added logs to the fire.

After wiping down Jane’s exposed skin, Elizabeth tugged the thick blankets to her sister’s neck and laid the damp cloth across her forehead.

Jane smiled weakly at her, closed her eyes, and fell into restless slumber.

Elizabeth stood and stretched.

Sarah approached and whispered, “How’s Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “My sister is a little worse, I fear.”

“Can I git a pitcher o’ fresh water for the basin, miss? Or maybe somethin’ fer you ta eat? You’ve been sittin’ here ever so long and barely touched your supper.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth to answer, but a series of thumps and thuds came from the corridor, startling both Elizabeth and Sarah. The sounds repeated, only louder.

Elizabeth turned to the maid. “Stay with my sister, Sarah. I will see what this disturbance is about.”

Elizabeth cracked open the door and peeked through the gap into the hallway.

Opposite her sister’s door, a barefooted man dressed only in a nightshirt bent over a sofa. Frantically, he removed, replaced, and then removed the cushions repeatedly. The pillows that had adorned the couch when she had arrived yesterday were now scattered across the wood floor.

As he carelessly pulled the sofa away from the wall and looked behind it, he turned. The light from a sconce in the corridor revealed his profile.

Good Heavens! What was the fastidious Mr. Darcy doing out and about at this time of night, without even a dressing gown to cover his night clothes?

Leaving the cushions askew, Mr. Darcy opened a drawer in the little table next to the sofa, pulled out a small book, and then thrust his arm inside the drawer.

“I must find…” he said, though Elizabeth could not make out several words at the end. He tossed the book to the floor with a bang.

He would awaken the entire household if he continued making such a racket. Jane needed whatever rest she could get.

Elizabeth must have made a noise, for Mr. Darcy turned to face Jane’s door.

“Who is there?” he asked.

‘Tis I, sir. Elizabeth Bennet,” she whispered through the small opening between the door and the wall.

“Where?”

She directed her gaze at the carpet, opened the door a bit wider, and slipped through. At least she was fully dressed. “Here, sir.”

Mr. Darcy shuffled his feet as he approached. His hands clamped around her own and pulled her across the corridor.

“Mr. Darcy!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Unhand me.”

“Help me, Miss Elizabeth, please.” He let go of her hand. “I beg your assistance.”

She sighed. How could she turn down such an urgent plea?

Elizabeth looked around at the chaos Mr. Darcy had created. If the misplaced item was small enough to be lost amongst the cushions, she imagined it to be a cufflink or something similar. She supposed if it was an item that held significant sentimental value, it might explain why he had defied all sense of propriety in coming out here wearing only his nightshirt. She knew he had not lost his signet ring because she was looking at that very adornment.

“Mr. Darcy, it would help if I knew what we are looking for.”

“I cannot find her anywhere,” he said with little inflection.

Her? She furrowed her brow and looked around.

What called “her” would fit in the drawer Mr. Darcy had searched? A small pet, perhaps? One of the Lucas boys had kept a mouse at some point.

Deciding to ignore the gentleman’s state of undress, Elizabeth dared to raise her eyes to look at his face.

Mr. Darcy’s eyes were half-closed. His glazed stare… it was as if he looked right through her.

Recognition jolted her heart.

His vacant expression was all too familiar, but the implication was unfathomable.

Mr. Darcy was in the midst of an episode reminiscent of the very one that had caused her brother, TJ’s, death.

CHAPTER 2

A burning awareness of the staircase, only a few steps from their position, raked across Elizabeth’s perception. Alarm tightened her chest.

Tears sprung to her eyes. She struggled to breathe.

She thought, I will not have an attack of nerves now. Mr. Darcy needs me.

She pulled her hands from his, cupped them before her mouth and nose, as the apothecary had taught her to do, and took several deep breaths, concentrating on the sensation of air rushing across her palms.

She thought, Make a plan, Lizzy.

She must get Mr. Darcy to safety and then return to Jane.

Regaining some measure of control, she found her voice. “To be of assistance, sir, I must know what we are looking for.”

“Georgiana.”

Miss Bingley had mentioned the name “dearest Georgiana” dozens of times since they had met, but only when Mr. Darcy was nearby.

She blinked. “Your sister?”

“Of course.”

That settled it—she had been correct. He was walking in his sleep. Of all people, she knew from experience that those who sleepwalk did not use their logical minds when they had an episode. Seeking his sister under the sofa cushions and in such a tiny drawer now made sense.

She inhaled another deep, calming breath. “I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I do not see her, though I was unaware that Miss Darcy had arrived at Netherfield.”

“She is not at Netherfield. She has been here since we returned from Ramsgate.”

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Here?” Her brother, TJ, had never mistaken their location, but then again, they had rarely left home.

Mr. Darcy turned to the table and again thrust his hand inside the drawer, ignoring her question. “She is gone. I must find her before it is too late.”

His movements were becoming quite frantic, at odds with his blank facial expression and soulless eyes, exactly like what had always happened with her brother.

Elizabeth’s respiration sped again as the familiar sense of vulnerability spread over her at this all-too-real reminder.

Internally, she told herself, I am not helpless. Remain in the present. I must convince Mr. Darcy that all is well so he will return to the safety of his bedchamber.

As she composed herself once again, she realized that if Miss Bingley were in this situation instead of Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy would face a very different sort of danger. Elizabeth was certain Miss Bingley would call attention to them, claim compromise, and force him to marry her.

Although Elizabeth might have a poor opinion of the gentleman, she would not wish that on him.

But if all his noise awakened someone, they might assume the worst. Especially after seeing his state of undress.

She needed to resolve this. Now.

Elizabeth moved towards a door through which she had seen him enter earlier in the day. “I believe Georgiana is in here, sir.”

As Elizabeth reached for the handle, Mr. Darcy rushed past her, knocking into her with such force, she tumbled to the floor.

Thrusting open the door, Mr. Darcy called, “Georgie?” He hesitated and then rushed in.

Through the open doorway, Elizabeth spied a man with untidy white hair enter the room through another door. Sporting a suit less fine than any of Mr. Darcy’s, she assumed him to be Mr. Darcy’s valet.

Good. Although Elizabeth did not want any harm to come to Mr. Darcy, under no circumstance did she wish to enter the gentleman’s bedchamber, even if it was only to make certain a sleepwalker was safely put to bed. If Mr. Darcy awakened from his dream-state, or if someone found them together… she shuddered at the repercussions skipping through her thoughts.

“Where are you, Georgie?” Mr. Darcy called out.

The other man glanced several times between her, sprawled out on the floor in the corridor, and then to a part of the bedchamber not within her line of sight, where she imagined Mr. Darcy must be. Clearly, the poor valet could not decide between aiding his employer or the lady who the gentleman had bowled over.

“I am well,” Elizabeth said as quietly as she could and still have the man hear her. “I believe he is looking for his sister, so I told him she was in there. My suggestion is that you tell him she is sleeping in a chair near the bed or something similar.”

Relief crossed the man’s features, and he rushed out of sight.

By the time Elizabeth rose from the floor and brushed herself off, Mr. Darcy’s valet was standing before her. He moved into the corridor and half closed the door.

“Thank you, miss. Your solution worked perfectly.”

“I am happy to hear it.”

“I am Barnaby, madam. Mr. Darcy’s personal valet.” He bowed.

She smiled. “I am Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Do you mind my asking…” Barnaby gestured towards Mr. Darcy’s rooms. “Do you have experience with a somnambulist?”

It was odd to hear anyone other than her father utter the Latin term—the translation of som meaning to “sleep” and ambul connoting “walk.” Even her mother and two youngest sisters had never remembered it, though they had more reason to be familiar with such a word than most.

Nodding in response to his question, memories of her brother, TJ, invaded once again. She pushed them away and swallowed past the lump blocking her throat.

Barnaby said, “Mr. Darcy must not have been out of the room for very long, as I had only just stepped away from the chair I was in, which was blocking the door.” He colored.

Heat rose to her face when she realized he must have required the chamber pot.

He continued, “I am grateful it was you who came upon Mr. Darcy in the corridor and not someone who did not know what to do. Thank you again, Miss Elizabeth.” Mr. Barnaby’s gaze focused on her left arm and then his eyes widened. “Have you been injured?”

Realizing she had been unintentionally rubbing at the spot Mr. Darcy had bumped into in his haste to find his sister, she answered, “It is nothing. It was my error, Mr. Barnaby. I should have realized he would push past me, for it has happened with another in the past. When in such a state, a person does not see what is right in front of them.”

“You are a most sympathetic lady, Miss Elizabeth. God bless you.” He bowed.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnaby.” She half-turned and gestured towards Jane’s door. “I must return to my sister’s bedside.”

“I do hope Miss Bennet’s health improves soon. Good night, Miss Elizabeth.”

It was no surprise Mr. Darcy’s valet would know the goings on of the house.

Mr. Barnaby remained in the corridor as Elizabeth closed the door behind her.

~ Z Z Z Z ~

The clock in the hall struck four times as Elizabeth finished bathing her sister and covered her once again.

This treatment helped. Jane’s fever had stabilized.

Earlier, Sarah had brought up some bread, cheese, and cold meats from the kitchens so Elizabeth could keep up her strength. Jane had also swallowed a bit of broth past her raw throat.

Now Jane dozed again, and Elizabeth rested her head against the side of the leather wingchair.

A scuffling noise in the corridor reminded Elizabeth of the events of a couple of hours ago.

Sarah rounded the bed and whispered, “Probably Mista Darcy again.”

Elizabeth should have expected Sarah to know what had occurred earlier. As the daughter of her father’s tenant, they had played together as children, much to Mrs. Bennet’s annoyance. The maid would have ensured Elizabeth’s safety by standing by the door. Most likely, Sarah had trained one eye on Jane and the other on Elizabeth during the entire episode.

“Excuse me for speakin’ up, Miss Lizzy, but you should know—that gentleman’s been wanderin’ in his sleep every night since he arrived. All the servants been talkin’ ’bout it. Some think a demon possesses him, but knowin’ what I know—” Eyes widened, Sarah covered her mouth with both hands.

Elizabeth nodded once at the reference to TJ. She felt it was a travesty that nobody spoke of him, not even the servants, but it seemed no one else agreed.

 Sarah cleared her throat. “Well, o’ course, I been tryin’ ta set ’em all straight.” Her expression softened. “Besides, can’t expect somethin’ so bad as from a gentleman with a staff as loyal as his… he jus’ can’t be an evil man.”

Elizabeth pressed her lips together to keep her jaw from dropping open. She would have thought Mr. Darcy would be as rude to his staff as she had witnessed Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst behave towards their employees.

Sarah continued, “But Mista Darcy’s troubled by something, sure as the sun’ll come up in the mornin’. Miss Bingley’s maid, what came with her from London, says Mr. Bingley has traveled with Mista Darcy for years. The family even stayed at Mista Darcy’s houses time and again. Accordin’ to her, Mista Darcy’s never done this ‘afore.”

Mumbles came from the hallway. Surely, Mr. Darcy’s valet would be with him this time.

Again, memories of her brother filled her thoughts. The staircase was almost directly across from Mr. Darcy’s door.

Elizabeth shuddered. She refused to leave it to fate; she needed to ensure his safety.

“Would you mind staying with Jane again while I peek into the corridor?”

“That’s fine. I understand, miss.”

Pity—that was what Sarah’s eyes reflected. How Elizabeth despised that response from those who knew what had happened to TJ, though she was certain Sarah’s intentions were purely benevolent.

Elizabeth placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder and squeezed a little. “Thank you.”

She opened the door, expecting to see Mr. Barnaby with his employer. However, Mr. Darcy was alone again, pacing the length of the corridor.

He wore slippers this time and had at least tried to don a dressing robe, though he had only one arm in a sleeve before leaving his rooms. Hanging from his shoulder, the material dragged behind him like a debutante’s train at court.

Mr. Darcy was more disturbed than he had been earlier—his movements faster and broader. He picked up his feet a bit more this time. Elizabeth felt a surge of fear as she imagined him tripping over the trailing material of his robe.

The ache in her arm reminded her not to get as close to him as she had before.

“Georgie?” Mr. Darcy called out.

If he continued to speak at such a high volume, he would undoubtedly awaken someone this time.

She stepped into the hallway and pulled Jane’s bedchamber door almost closed behind her. “Mr. Darcy, are you looking for your sister?”

“If I do not find her, he will take her.”

Since he thought Miss Darcy was in danger, maybe if she insisted his sister was out of harm’s way, it would calm him like before.

She followed him down the corridor. “Georgiana is sleeping in her rooms, sir.”

“They will elope to Scotland. I must prevent it.” He swung his arm, nearly hitting Elizabeth.

Elope to Scotland? She thought while covering her mouth to muffle her gasp.

It occurred to her that Miss Bingley had mentioned Mr. Darcy’s sister was only fifteen years old. Elizabeth should not be hearing such scandalous things about this poor girl.

She allowed him to get a few steps further ahead so she could stay out of range of any further arm movements.

Mr. Darcy turned abruptly and looked at Elizabeth. “Georgiana.”

Heavens! Did he think she was his sister?

“Thank God, I found you…”

Whether real or a product of Mr. Darcy’s imagination, she might as well play along since Elizabeth now understood what he was about. “Yes, Mr. Da—”

She paused abruptly, thinking, His sister would not call him Mr. Darcy. Oh, what is his Christian name? A failing memory had become a constant along with her nightly terrors. In her letters, she had asked Baron Dr. Karl von Reichenbach about it, and he had alluded to a restful night’s sleep being essential for recall to function properly.

As always, she would have to make do. “All is well now, Brother. You found me.”

He clutched her shoulders tightly as though he were terrified she might flee from him.

Though he mumbled, she could make out some words and filled in the rest. “Georgie, I am sorry to have wounded you, but Wickham is a greedy man, only interested in your dowry. While his aim was to injure me, he would have treated you poorly for the remainder of your life. Do not hate me any longer.”

Elizabeth’s heart shattered. Mr. Darcy had acted nobly, and yet, his sister was angry at him?

No wonder he was having such difficult episodes.

Perhaps he would rest if she found the right thing to say? “I understand, Brother. You saved me.”

Before Elizabeth could predict his next action, Mr. Darcy had already pulled her into an embrace, one which would have been appropriate if Elizabeth were his sister. But she was not.

Pressed against his athletic physique, which was difficult to conceal in such a thin night-shirt, she had always found the scent he wore agreeable, but in such close quarters, it made her giddy. Disturbingly pleasant sensations quivered through her.

This is a dream for him, she reminded herself. I am his sister.

She must untangle herself from this tempting cocoon. Immediately.

Her traitorous body warmed in quite an unsisterly fashion. Working her hands up to his chest, she pushed away.

He tightened the embrace in response.

Her approach was all wrong. Georgiana Darcy would not struggle to remove herself from her brother’s arms. If Elizabeth expected to escape from this predicament soon, she had best behave as Miss Darcy would.

Such deliberation calmed her until his hand cradled her head, gently pulling her cheek against his chest. He whispered something unintelligible.

Elizabeth’s breath stilled, as she thought, Sister. I am his sister! These were not a lover’s advances.

His heart throbbed against her cheek, beating rapidly, which she attributed to his recent pacing in the corridor.

Elizabeth relaxed her muscles.

His hold eased.

After a few moments, she angled her head upward. “Brother, thank you. I am safe now. But I am quite tired and wish to retire.”

“Good idea, Poppet.”

Relief swept through her. Why was it that when he released her, a sense of loss almost overwhelmed her?

 

CHAPTER 3

Mr. Darcy gripped Elizabeth’s elbow and escorted her down the corridor. Since he barely lifted his feet, every step sounded as if someone nearby swept with a broom.

As they approached the door to the gentleman’s rooms, it opened. Barnaby rushed out, almost crashing into them.

The valet skidded to a stop and visibly relaxed, releasing a deep breath.

Elizabeth gulped at the blood smeared over Barnaby’s face and the soiled handkerchief he held to his head. No wonder he had not been in the hallway with his employer.

“Sir,” Barnaby said, “Shall I escort the lady to her rooms and meet you in your bedchamber?”

Mr. Darcy nodded and then kissed Elizabeth’s forehead. “Good night, dearest.”

Barnaby’s jaw dropped.

Elizabeth blushed hotly. “Sleep well, Brother.” She directed a pointed look at the valet.

Barnaby nodded his understanding.

Mr. Darcy stooped and turned his cheek in her general direction.

She gaped at the gentleman. Was it Georgiana Darcy’s habit of kissing her brother before she retired for the evening?

She caught the valet’s gaze and shook her head.

Barnaby narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, and tapped his employer on the cheek with two fingertips.

Elizabeth bit her bottom lip to stifle a laugh.

Satisfied with his “kiss,” Mr. Darcy entered his rooms.

Barnaby held up a finger, signaling Elizabeth should wait, and followed the gentleman into his chambers.

A minute or two later, Barnaby returned to the corridor. With a sigh, he declared, “He is abed once more.”

“Your solution to my problem was brilliant.” She giggled.

Glancing at the bloodied cloth the valet held to his forehead, Elizabeth stepped closer and motioned for him to remove it. When he did so, she winced at the severity of the gash. “Wait here. I shall acquire a basin from my sister’s room and clean the wound.”

“Thank you, but I can manage this myself in the dressing room, Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth crossed her arms. “I will tend to your injury, Mr. Barnaby.”

“Then allow me to provide the supplies, at least, Miss.” Shoulders slumping a bit, he slipped into Mr. Darcy’s rooms and returned a moment later with a basin, a handful of clean cloths, and a small pot covered with a cloth. She could smell a combination of herbs of what she concluded to be a salve.

Mr. Darcy must have repeated his earlier search for his sister, for the drawer in the little table was open, and the sofa cushions were askew once more. She straightened the cushions and patted the seat closest to the table. “Sit, please, so I may inspect the damage.”

Barnaby removed the handkerchief. Even though she knew what to expect, she could not repress her cringe. It was a nasty cut. The slowed bleeding showed the cut had occurred some time ago.

How long had Mr. Darcy been pacing the corridor before she discovered him?

She went to work removing the dried blood from his skin, beginning furthest from the gash. “Are you at liberty to explain what caused this?”

“I was awakened when the chair I slept in overturned. Apparently, I hit my head and fell unconscious. I woke up a moment before coming into the hall.”

Elizabeth dabbed closer to the wound.

He grimaced. “Please understand, Miss Elizabeth. I doubt Mr. Darcy realized I was even in the chair. He didn’t mean to injure me.”

“I do understand.” Elizabeth nodded. “It is similar to how he did not see me in his way earlier tonight. I am glad you were not injured more severely.” Distracted by her ministrations, she was silent for several minutes. “Does Mr. Darcy know that he wanders in his sleep?”

“Yes, miss, he has done so since he was a child, but only in times of great stress.” Barnaby eyed her, probably deciding what he should reveal to her. “For example, when he was a boy and his mother died and then again for quite a while after his father’s passing, and now…”

Ah! He was giving up publicly known information about his employer in order to find out how much she had learned from Mr. Darcy’s ramblings. She might as well admit what she knew. “His sister has had some trouble.”

“I wondered, Miss Elizabeth… how did it happen that you became Miss Darcy for the sake of his dream?”

“The moment I came out of my sister’s rooms, I saw Mr. Darcy was more distraught than he had been the first time. When he began calling me ‘Georgiana,’ I thought it might be better if I did not challenge his assumption.”

When she finished cleaning the wound, she uncovered the pot and used a clean cloth to scoop up some of the salve. She did not know how much Barnaby knew about what had occurred between Miss Darcy and the man her brother had named. How much should she say?

“Mr. Barnaby… Mr. Darcy mentioned something concerning a man named Wickham, though I do not know who he is.”

She believed the valet must know how Miss Darcy and Wickham were connected due to his pale response.

“Do not worry. The Darcys’ secret is safe with me.” Elizabeth smiled politely to punctuate her promise. “I hope what I said to him will be enough to allow both of you to rest for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, miss.”

She hesitated. “Mr. Barnaby, I am not one to tell others what to do, but I believe you must lock his door and hide the key from now on.” Though her own father had refused to let her brother’s door be locked, it might be necessary if Mr. Darcy did not wish his secret to be revealed. At least while he stayed at Netherfield.

He shook his head. “I would never do so. Several years ago, Mr. Darcy’s father died in a fire at an inn whilst he traveled. By the time the innkeeper broke down his locked door, the senior Mr. Darcy had already succumbed to the smoke.”

A shiver passed up Elizabeth’s spine. It seemed both the Darcy and Bennet families had their share of sorrows.

“I am very sorry to hear it,” breathed Elizabeth, “and appreciate your reluctance. I am sure you have taken stock of the dangers he might face in roaming this house while asleep.” She raised her eyebrows. “I can think of several.”

Barnaby looked about the corridor. “That staircase, for example.”

Elizabeth felt the blood drain from her face. I will not think of it! repeated in her mind, but she could not stop another shudder from passing through her.

She inhaled a long breath to keep her respiration from accelerating.

“I will bandage this in the dressing room.” Barnaby gestured towards the gash and then rose from the sofa. “Thank you again.”

“You are welcome.”

She retreated across the hall to Jane’s door and paused before entering. “Mr. Barnaby, do you plan to tell Mr. Darcy about what happened this evening… about what I learned?”

“I’m not sure if I should, miss.” He shook his head. “What is your opinion?”

“You would know how the gentleman would react to such news better than I.” She shrugged. “I will not bring it up with him in case you do not.” She paused. “I hope your wound heals quickly, Mr. Barnaby, and the remainder of the night is uneventful for you both.”

She had almost stepped through the doorway when she stopped once again. “Can you tell me… what does Miss Darcy call Mr. Darcy? I was calling him Brother. I hope his sister calls him that. If something similar should ever happen again…”

“Miss Darcy calls him Fitzwilliam most of the time, miss, though I have heard her refer to him as Brother from time to time.”

Ah, yes… Fitzwilliam Darcy. At least she had put the nagging question to rest.

“Good. I am glad I chose something familiar to him.” She entered Jane’s chambers, wondering whether she might meet Mr. Darcy and Barnaby on another unplanned outing this night.

~ Z Z Z Z ~

~ Friday, 15 November 1811

Elizabeth squinted in response to an assault of light even through closed eyes. She shifted in her chair to escape it and then blinked away the remnants of slumber.

The first rays of sunlight had found a slit between the heavy draperies.

A glance at the clock on the mantel proved she had dozed off for several hours since her last adventure in the corridor. While she always craved more sleep, meeting that need was not the reason she was here at Netherfield.

Elizabeth stiffened when she noticed the rhythm of Jane’s breaths had changed. Pushing herself up from the wingchair, Elizabeth rubbed her hands together and then laid one across her sister’s forehead.

Thank heavens! The fever had eased a bit.

Jane opened her eyes. “Good morning, Lizzy.” Her voice was barely audible.

“How are you feeling, dearest?”

“A little better, I think—” A fit of coughing interrupted Jane’s raspy speech.

Elizabeth’s throat tightened with compassion. The cough was new.

Once the bout finally subsided, Elizabeth supported Jane whilst Sarah placed a few pillows behind the invalid’s back so she could sit upright. Elizabeth handed her a glass of water. With a furrowed brow, Jane swallowed a few sips.

The cough decided it. Elizabeth would write a note to her parents directly, telling them Jane’s illness was much worse than the “trifling cold” Jane had written about the previous morning, which had prompted Elizabeth to venture out in all that mud to come to Netherfield. Certainly, their mother would visit and determine what to do for her eldest daughter.

Elizabeth wrote her note, and Sarah brought it below stairs to be delivered. She returned with a light meal for Elizabeth and more broth for Jane. Elizabeth broke her fast only after helping Jane sip her soup.

The tea was especially delicious but different from any she had ever tasted. “What is this, Sarah?”

“Mista Darcy’s valet gave it to me, miss. Mr. Barnaby said Miss Bennet should drink this with honey three times a day, and so should you and me and anyone else who takes care of Miss Bennet, like Betsy, who’ll be comin’ in soon. It’s a special blend he brought with him in case Mista Darcy needed it. He says it’ll lower the fever and help keep the rest of us from catching her illness, too. He wrote out the recipe for Cook so she can make more.”

The tea the apothecary, Mr. Jones, usually gave them was as disagreeable as the illness itself. A restorative tea that was pleasant to drink was an amazing feat.

Her aid to the haughty Mr. Darcy might have benefits after all.

“Thank Mr. Barnaby for me the next time you see him, Sarah.”

“I will, Miss Elizabeth.” Sarah smiled brightly.

Elizabeth read to Jane until she dozed off again, after which she found that being unoccupied was a dangerous thing. It only gave her time to worry—not only about all that happened with Jane but also about the gentleman across the corridor.

Mr. Darcy.

She had always disliked the gentleman’s standoffish and unreservedly arrogant disposition. Before they were introduced, he insulted her loudly enough for several people, including herself, to overhear. As it was Elizabeth’s way, she had laughed about his rudeness. Still, his statement saying she was “tolerable but not handsome enough to tempt him” had injured her more than she would like to admit. Even now, his words stung. Certainly, the statement wounded her pride, but it was more than that.

Meryton was a country village where ladies outnumbered gentlemen by at least three to one. Such a negative opinion, voiced by a wealthy gentleman who frequented London’s highest social circles, could forever damage a young lady’s prospects.

Oh, who was she fooling? It could completely obliterate her prospects.

She was not interested in marrying any of the gentlemen she already knew, but still… Mr. Darcy’s opinion would influence her neighbors.

Since that evening, Elizabeth had been in company with Mr. Darcy on several occasions. It seemed almost every time she turned around, he was there, listening in on her conversations. Whenever he was in another part of the room, she could only interpret the intense gaze he directed at her as condemnation. Judging by his appearance at these times, he took offense to everything she did or said. And no matter how often she reviewed her own behavior, she could not understand what she could have done to deserve such treatment.

After a great deal of contemplation over the past few weeks, she could only conclude that Mr. Darcy was impossible to please. Therefore, she had decided to pay him no attention whatsoever.

But no matter how much she wanted to ignore him, she could not.

In company, whenever she was thinking of something else, her gaze betrayed her by always drifting to Mr. Darcy. At home, she often caught herself thinking about him.

Why?

These habits confused her until she realized Mr. Darcy was a complicated man. Since she loved a good mystery, her mind must have labeled him an enigma she needed to study and solve.

In time, most others in the neighborhood had found his snobbish manners and haughty behavior almost as disagreeable as Elizabeth had. Even her mother decided his rumored income of ten thousand a year did not impress her since it was attached to such an unpleasant man. Which, of course, proved that miracles did indeed happen!

And yet, last night, Elizabeth had come to the aid of the very gentleman who had made every event so uncomfortable for her over the past month.

She shook her head to clear the memory.

After learning both of Mr. Darcy’s parents were dead and, taking into consideration what she had learned about the money-hungry Wickham’s attempt to lure his young sister into an elopement, she could no longer feel anything but sympathy for him. Quite understandable. But now—horror of all horrors—knowing he walked in his sleep had prompted a sense of comradery with the gentleman.

There must be something wrong. Had she contracted Jane’s illness?

Yes, her back, neck, and head did ache, but she was sure those pangs were from her spending the entire afternoon and most of the night in the chair.

Taking further stock of her physical condition, she decided she was not falling ill.

While she had always jested about sweet-hearted Jane’s ability to find something to admire in even the most ill-tempered individual, last night’s events and how she felt this morning made her question whether she had a little of that tendency herself.

Elizabeth wandered to the window and pulled back the drapes to look out. A ray of sunlight shone on her sister, and Elizabeth closed them again.

Sarah asked, “Would you like to get outdoors for a bit an’ go fer a walk, Miss Elizabeth? I promise I won’t leave Miss Bennet.”

Everyone knew how Elizabeth loved walking out into nature. Sarah knew her preferences better than most, for Elizabeth had recruited Sarah to take part in several imaginary adventures when they were both young girls.

Elizabeth glanced at Jane, who was now sleeping soundly.

“I shall remain in the garden below, near the front of the house, so I may watch for my mother’s arrival.” She gestured to the window. “But please wave me in immediately if Jane needs me.”

“Betsy’ll be here soon, but I’ll tell ‘er,” Sarah said. “I’ll see you later this evenin’.” A little fresh air and tranquil time out of doors alone could do her nothing but good. She hoped no one noticed her outdoors and decided to join her for the last thing she wished for was to be required to entertain any other occupants of the house.

 

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