Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

AN: For those of you who are wondering why I'm working on this tale instead of finishing my WIP, I offer my humblest apologies. The truth is, I've simply become bogged down in "Awakening" and have simply lost the drive to keep writing down my ideas. The story still exists fully in my head; hopefully this will spark my desire to write again and finish my swan song in the PA fandom.

For those of you who have no idea what that first paragraph meant, I also offer my humblest apologies; all you really need to know is that I'm a sucker for strong yet vulnerable and flawed female characters and the tall, dark, and handsome men who love them and leave it at that;). The idea for this story came when I was watching the excellent '69 version of "The Haunting," which is based on Shirley Jackson's book, The Haunting of Hill House, which is also excellent. A thought went through my mind that Eleanor Lance reminded me a bit of Jane Bennet, and the rest is history.

This is going to be 28-30 chapters long, and I will be posting two shortish chapters a day until Halloween. I've already written half of the story, so you at least won't have to worry about me abandoning this one. I've tried to combine elements of both stories, but this is primarily a P&P story. There will be HEAs for E&D and J&B, but everyone else is fair game. I hope I do a good enough job laying the ground rules; if I don't, please feel free to ask questions that I might even answer;).

Content warnings: Anyone who knows about "The Haunting" knows that it features some suicides, and this story references such subjects as well. Nobody will commit suicide on-screen, so to speak, but there will be references to suicides the house has had a hand in causing. There will also be character deaths as one would expect in a story like this; after all, we wouldn't want to paint Netherfield's ghostly inhabitants as incompetent, now, would we? I should also warn you that I'm going to mangle medicine in this story. This is a proud tradition of mine, however, so be advised that nothing medical that happens in this tale is likely accurate. Speaking of accuracy, I'm probably going to get Regency details wrong, too—and probably canon as well. I've done some research, but different sites say different things, so in the end, I'm just going to do what I want. Perhaps I should also offer a content warning for long, rambly ANs, although there hopefully won't be a need for ones quite this long going forward.

Netherfield, being a house, had no idea how long it had stood or how long it would stand. The house cared not for such trivialities any more than it understood the reasons behind its own nature. It did not understand why its influence could extend a certain distance beyond its own property and no farther. It did not understand why integrating new spirits into the harmonious whole was such a long, arduous process. It did not even understand why it felt compelled to kill at all. A lack of understanding, however, did not diminish the house's hunger to claim a new addition to its ghostly gestalt.

The house had long ago given up on trying to differentiate between one spirit and another. Whatever had been responsible for driving the original owners mad untold years ago had absorbed every personality and nature of every victim. Brave and timid, good and evil, wise and foolish, and many other opposite characteristics all combined to form a powerful presence that could destroy a person's mind and heart in a variety of different ways.

Nothing bothered Netherfield more than a strong mind. Strong minds were resistant. Strong minds were persistent. Strong minds were stubborn. Strong minds were almost incorruptible.

Elizabeth Bennet had a strong mind, so the house hated her. It hated her for her curiosity. It hated her for her tenacity. It hated her for her impertinence. It hated her for her defiance. It hated her because, now that it had settled on Jane Bennet as its next victim, it knew that Elizabeth would likely be a formidable protector of the body and spirit of her sister.

While the house had had multiple opportunities over the years to take Jane, it had learned the hard way that absorbing children into the gestalt was difficult enough for Netherfield to refrain from their taking. As Netherfield had waited for Jane to grow up, the house had focused on more mature, delectable targets. Netherfield had been unable to resist unseating Captain Haversham from his horse outside the stables, desiring his keen military mind. It had been unable to resist luring that Carver girl into the depths of the pond near the house, wanting her sweetness that reminded it of Jane. It had been unable to resist enhancing the hidden depression of that pert, young cook who had resembled Elizabeth Bennet, compelling her to put her sharpest kitchen knife to good use. That had been a most satisfying kill, indeed.

Not that Netherfield had ever actually killed anyone; it was neither as strong nor as gauche as that. No, the house had to use cunning and suggestion in order to accomplish its ends. Powerful emotions were ripe for amplification from Netherfield. Animals were easily spooked. Insidious suggestions could easily be whispered into the figurative ears of the weak-willed. Half-formed feelings could be squelched before they could mature. Powerful illusions could disorient and deceive. Only certain minds were liable to be touched at any given moment—especially if said minds were more lively and interesting than most of those around Meryton.

The house was familiar with the mind of each and every person who lived within a mile or two of Meryton, but most of the village's inhabitants and neighbors received only indifference and low-level manipulation from Netherfield. While the house had at times lamented its inability to know people's inmost thoughts, it had to admit that most of the citizens of Meryton did not have minds worth influencing, much less reading. Their drabness was their salvation—especially once the house had learned that it had to keep the spirit of anyone it killed, and that absorbing the nature of a dullard did no favors to its effectiveness in the hunt.

Perhaps previous experience explained Netherfield's desire to acquire Jane: Her mind was quick enough to be an asset yet pliant enough to be blended into the whole. To Netherfield, Jane's worth rested not in her intelligence or wit but in her ability to produce a welcome and harmonious environment for all. The house had learned that few hunting methods were more effective than presenting a false front of warmth and safety to unwary inhabitants and visitors, and Jane Bennet could only help the house to improve its methods.

Were the house being honest with itself, it would have to admit that taking Elizabeth Bennet's treasured sister away from her would be a significant bonus. Her strong mind had long stymied the house; in fact, she was the only one who had ever managed to send feelings of loathing and defiance back at Netherfield. The house had tried to present itself as non-threatening and comfortable to Elizabeth Bennet in the distant past, but the headstrong chit of a girl had somehow learned to see through the illusion at an early age.

Netherfield had come to take a perverse satisfaction in the girl's knowledge of its true nature because no others believed her descriptions of the impact of the house on her mind. While most local people steered clear of Netherfield because of the number of deaths that had occurred on its premises, their primitive beliefs mostly centered around superstition and conjecture. Many of them enjoyed telling lurid ghost stories at the Red Lion or gossiping about the most recent deaths at assemblies, but few of them had the ability to sense the myriad ways that the house preyed on their minds.

The Bennet family in particular was fun to manipulate. Mrs. Bennet was delightfully amusing—especially when the house amplified her fear of the future and natural anxiety. The two youngest daughters were likewise simple creatures whose silliness was easy to enhance. Mr. Bennet was tougher to influence as his mind was still quite keen; however, his love of the absurd and tendency to indolence presented themselves as manageable targets for Netherfield's skills. Even Elizabeth Bennet's mind was not too strong for the house to influence—especially whenever she was in great emotional turmoil. She was also quite proud of her discernment and perspicacity, and the house made sure to encourage her constant certainty in her judgments in hopes that her strong will and overconfidence would someday be her undoing.

And Jane...Darling Jane. Netherfield and Jane had always been drawn to one another, although time, circumstances, and Elizabeth Bennet had usually succeeded in keeping Jane away from Netherfield. At times, the house had been tempted to break its own rule about taking children, but it had ultimately decided to wait until the time was right to help Jane come home.

The first time that Charles Bingley had come bounding through Netherfield's doors full of enthusiasm and exuberance, the house had known that the right bait for its trap had finally come. Bingley was, in every respect, a perfect match for Jane Bennet. He was wealthy, handsome, amiable, and winsome, capable of charming everyone from babes in arms to elderly matriarchs. His casual interest in the supernatural amused the house but didn't concern it. After all, if Netherfield were welcoming to all until the time to strike came, then what could the man hope to learn that could stop the house from acquiring Jane?

Thanks to the voluble natures of the Bingleys, Netherfield learned that its man bait had been taken and that getting Jane on the grounds without her troublesome sister would be a simple matter. Part of the house wanted to simply wait until Bingley inevitably proposed to Jane and brought her to Netherfield as a bride who would never survive her wedding night, but the rest of it was all too aware of the potential cost of enjoying a hunt too much.

After all, Bingley's closest friend, Darcy, was himself the strongest mind the house had ever encountered, and the sooner that man left Netherfield, the better. The house had, to its dismay, noticed a fledgling attraction to its hated nemesis forming and had done its utmost to wither such feelings on the vine. Were those two strong minds to unite...but the house saw no need to dwell on such unpleasantries as it had already worked hard to amplify Darcy's contempt of her relations and status as well as Elizabeth's dislike of his arrogant, snobbish attitude towards her home and loved ones.

The house had increased its focus on Longbourn's residents the morning of the planned attack, amplifying Mrs. Bennet's nerves and her desire to see Jane wed Bingley while decreasing Mr. Bennet's patience with his wife's loud, vulgar effusions. It had even managed to call Elizabeth out on a long walk early that morning, preying on her desire to escape her mother's flutterings.

The men were dining with the officers and so would be unable to render any assistance to Jane should she need it. Darcy had been resistant to supping with such company at first, but the house had, with great effort, been able to amplify Darcy's loyalty to his best friend and thus win his acquiescence.

All the house had had to do at that point was to impress upon the weak-minded Hursts and Miss Bingley just how bored they were, and the final piece of the trap had been set. Even the weather had appeared to be on Netherfield's side as a sizable storm seemed imminent. The house had encouraged Mrs. Bennet to scheme and Mr. Bennet to give in. Jane had obediently set out on horseback.

Netherfield had almost been disappointed with how easily the hunt had initially seemed to conclude. Everything had gone just as the house had planned. Jane Bennet had turned onto the road leading to Netherfield on her horse and had soon ridden out of sight of the main road. A single blast of strong emotion had turned a placid, well-trained mare into a panicked, mindless beast. Jane had flown through the air with a graceful arc, landing with a satisfying thud on Netherfield's path. With great triumph and anticipation, the house had waited to feel the contented, befuddled feeling that always followed a kill as the new spirit began to be absorbed into the overall consciousness, yet only boring clarity had remained as the first raindrops had fallen on Jane Bennet's motionless body.

AN: I honestly forgot that the Carver girls from TuesdayMorning423's "Given Good Principles" weren't canon, so I should probably credit her for their creation (and apologize for killing one of them).

Chapter Text

AN: Thank you for the follows, favorites, and reviews; hopefully you will enjoy this chapter, which will explain much. As for betaing/corrections, please feel free to alert me to stupid mistakes/blatant anachronisms/canon fails. If I have Lydia snapping her bubble gum and saying, "Yeah, whatever!", then that's something I can easily fix. I don't mind changing things like that, but I likely won't pay any attention to admonitions about characterization/plot (unless I have to acknowledge that I have derped significantly, in which case I might still ignore it anyway in the interest of telling the story I want to tell. Like Lizzy, I can be quite stubborn.)

For the guest reviewer who wondered about why the house would find Darcy's mind stronger than Lizzy's...the short answer is, "Read on," but the longer answer is that the house would view a person who's clearly used to being in charge, who is older, who has had more life experience, who has been formally educated, and who rarely has to bend to anyone else's will as stronger. Note that stronger does not mean better—either in general or in dealing with other people/strong emotions. In this story, the house is a character just like E&D. Sometimes it will win. Sometimes it will lose. Sometimes it will underestimate people, make mistakes, and display overconfidence. Sometimes it will neatly entrap even strong-minded victims with an ease that terrifies. Netherfield is itself, and I am not responsible for the judgments it makes—right or wrong;).

Elizabeth Bennet was soaked to the bone by the time she reached the back entrance to Longbourn, but she was no more perturbed by her state than she had ever been under numerous similar circumstances. She was no stranger to paying such a price for her rambles, and her mother knew that no amount of scolding her would change her wild, hoydenish ways. After all, if Miss Lizzy wanted to continue to behave in such a shameful manner, then her inability to attract a husband of quality and means would most certainly not be her mother's fault.

She smiled slightly as she imagined her mother's inevitable tongue-lashing. Neither of them likely expected the admonitions to bear any fruit, yet her mother could never resist making her opinion known—especially in regards to what was obviously her least favorite daughter. Not that Lizzy minded her mother's disapprobation; after all, she herself understood her mother as little as her mother seemed to understand her.

To her great surprise, her mother greeted her with a smile rather than a scowl. Elizabeth's confusion gave way to terror as she realized the reason behind her mother's jubilation. In a crass, uncouth attempt at forcing Jane and Mr. Bingley to spend time in one another's company, her mother had sent dearest Jane alone to the house that was a constant, malevolent presence in Lizzy's mind.

All thoughts of drying off and preparing for dinner fled as her mind turned instantly towards rushing to the rescue of her beloved sister. She cursed herself for falling asleep on Oakham Mount that morning, but the weather had been so nice and the crisp autumn breeze so relaxing and the colors so soothing that she had not been able to help herself. Now she had to find a way to help Jane—if Jane could be helped.

Lizzy wondered why she felt such a certain sense of doom, but was answered by a realization that brought a new wash of terror: The house was happy. She could sense that Netherfield's feelings were more complex than mere happiness, but the malicious glee that she sensed coming from the house spurred her to act with haste.

Dimly realizing that her mother was still ranting at her about the impropriety of taking breakfast from the kitchen and eating it who knew where, walking alone around the countryside, and coming back so late, Lizzy made some sort of conciliatory remarks to her mother before taking her leave. Her mother's sputtering revealed that she had failed to demonstrate enough contrition, but Lizzy could not be bothered to care about such minutiae when Jane's life could be at stake.

She pretended to go into her room to change, but instead exited through the same servants' passages that she had utilized mere hours before. Not for the first time, Elizabeth cursed the idiocy that allowed men the freedom to ride astride while forcing women to sit side-saddle. The Lucas boys had believed teaching a young Lizzy to ride astride to be quite a lark, but she knew that she could not get away with doing so in public. So she convinced those around her that she was no horsewoman, but what she really meant was that she hated the vulnerable, imbalanced feeling caused by a side saddle.

Now was not the time for propriety, however, and Lizzy had already calculated the gains she could make in terms of time compared to distance were she to ride her father's gelding to Netherfield as opposed to walking the entire way. Not that she would be foolish enough to approach the property itself on horseback; she was well aware of how Captain Haversham had passed and did not want to become another person who had died in a so-called accident on Netherfield's premises.

The young stable boy who placed a traditional saddle on the gelding for her did so with a surprising lack of shock at her request; a look around the yard showed Elizabeth that the servants grasped the potential for disaster that her own family could not comprehend. While Lizzy knew that many of her family members felt that something about Netherfield was not quite right, she knew that none of them had her awareness of the house's malevolent nature. She thanked the young man and cantered away from Longbourn, unable to care enough about being seen to moderate her plan.

Not that she was reckless; she quickly turned the gelding off onto a lesser-known road that would, along with the rain, decrease her odds of detection without adding too much time to her ride. Lizzy knew that, in one sense, she was being foolish since the rain and her lack of recent experience riding astride could combine to become her undoing. The feelings inundating her brain from Netherfield, however, spurred her on, blending with her own worries to produce a blurred ride of indeterminate time.

By the time she reached the turn-off to Netherfield, her dress was mottled with mud and soaked through. She knew that her appearance would scandalize the Superior Sisters as well as, were he by some misfortune to be present, the prim and proper Mr. Darcy. The subsequent sloppy splash she made as she dismounted her father's gelding at the entrance to Netherfield's path produced a stab of satisfaction within her as she realized that it would increase her dirtiness all the more.

Lizzy could not blame the horse ambling at her side for its obvious reluctance to walk along the path. Horses were often sensitive to things that humans could not perceive, so Lizzy could easily imagine that her father's gelding was being subjected to some measure of the malignant glee that she herself was sensing from the house. In the back of her mind resided the realization that she had never been able to feel the house so clearly, but her thoughts on the matter flew from her mind at the sight of the crumpled figure that suddenly appeared before her.

Her own legs almost gave out as the familiar flash of blond hair, her own sense of foreboding, and the house's exuberance combined to prove the validity of her fears. While she wanted to blame her weakness on her lack of recent experience riding astride, she knew that her legs may have come close to failing her regardless of their physical state. She was absently aware of her father's horse pulling its reins away from her and dashing away in a clatter of hooves and nervous screams, but the significance of such an occurrence failed to penetrate the haze that had formed in her mind.

In both an instant and an eternity, she found herself crouched at Jane's side, eagerly searching for any signs of life. Her soaked dress clung to her, providing her with little protection yet displaying by its slow yet steady movement that Jane was, against the odds, still alive. A nonsensical notion of picking her darling sister up in her arms and carrying her to Netherfield briefly crossed Lizzy's mind, but common sense prevailed as she hiked up her skirts far beyond what propriety allowed and ran for the house as quickly as she could.

Another blink of her eyes brought her outside of Netherfield, where a watchful servant intercepted her and brought her inside the blessedly warm kitchen after listening to her disjointed tale. Lizzy could sense a flurry of motion erupting as a result of her news, thinking with slight amusement that the servants resembled a flock of birds that had been disrupted by a rowdy child.

Several of these chattering birds descended on her, simultaneously pushing a warm cup of tea into her hands and pulling the rest of her towards a convenient fireplace. She began to realize just how cold and exhausted she was as the liquid traced a comforting path down her throat and into her stomach. Lizzy protested that she needed to go help Jane, but the servants forcefully assured her that the Netherfield staff would take good care of both Bennet sisters.

She had just begun to sway on her feet when she was escorted out of the kitchens through servants' passages to a simple but well-appointed guest room on the second floor. Part of her wondered at being treated in such a way, but then she admitted wryly that Caroline Bingley would never want to risk the floors of Netherfield being sullied by mud and dirty water.

Her complacency fled as an attempt to disrobe her sent a rush of energy racing through her. She stepped away from them, asserting with wide eyes that there was no reason to take her ruined clothes off before she brought Jane inside. Before they could stop her, she regained a measure of her strength and ran out into the hallway.

As she sprinted down the steps and threw open the front door, she saw a couple of strong, young lads carrying her sister on a litter towards the house as carefully as possible. She knew as well as anyone else who had grown up around horses what kinds of injuries those who fell off of them could sustain, so she felt compelled to run back out into the rain and admonish them to be gentle with her sister. The boys patiently assured her that they were doing so and did not object when she opened the door wider for them to make their entrance.

Caroline Bingley finally made an appearance, scolding "Darling Eliza" for leaving the safety of the guest room from which Miss Bingley had just returned. In the interest of keeping the peace, Lizzy kept her tongue from expressing the suspicion that Miss Bingley was more worried about the state of her floors than the state of her unwanted guest. All she cared about, after all, was Jane's well-being, and the last thing needed was petty sniping.

Instead, she settled for following the lads up the stairs and towards the room across from the one she had recently left. Her sister was placed on top of the covers and gently rolled over onto her front; after doing this, the lads ducked their heads respectfully and left with the litter. After all, Jane's inevitable disrobing was a sight that only other women should see.

Elizabeth pushed her way to Jane's bed and began undoing the buttons on the back of Jane's dress with practiced efficiency. While Jane usually received the primary share of attention from their maid, Lizzy was no stranger to helping Jane to disrobe before changing into bedclothes. The maids tried to convince her to leave, but Lizzy made a statement about the house's designs on her sister that she acknowledged likely did not help to improve the servants' opinion of her sanity.

While Lizzy wished that she could order Jane to be put in a warm bath, she knew that the extent of her sister's injuries would likely make such a decision unwise. She settled instead for ordering the fire to be built up—an order which, she was archly informed by Miss Bingley, had already been given. Miss Bingley had been as busy as Lizzy, apparently, and had ordered the same two lads that had already gotten wet bringing Jane inside to run to Meryton to fetch the apothecary as well as her brother and Mr. Darcy.

Lizzy absentmindedly thanked Miss Bingley as she looked over Jane's body, both thankful for and apprehensive about the relative lack of blood. She had heard stories about farming accidents in which men had fallen from a horse or a roof or a ladder and sustained no visible injury only to pass away due to some unseen cause from within. As Lizzy helped the maids to dry off her sister, she noted all of the bruises and scrapes that could possibly indicate worse-than-obvious problems beneath the skin. Not for the first time, Lizzy lamented that Mertyon was not large enough to have its own surgeon, much less a physician. Mr. Jones had served as the area's apothecary for a number of years, however, so Lizzy was optimistic that he would be able to take adequate care of her sister.

Without noticing, Lizzy ended up being relegated to close observer and guardian—a task which she performed with steadfast absorption. After all, who knew better than her what the house was feeling? She knew that, were she to stop standing guard for even a minute, the house would find some way to take her sister from her in the blink of an eye. The maids and Mr. Bingley's sisters all tried to convince Lizzy to leave Jane's room and get cleaned up in her own, but she refused. Nobody was going to remove her from Jane's side.

A sudden clamor downstairs made Lizzy look involuntarily towards the guest room's doorway as if she expected the newcomers to bolt through it immediately. The sound of pounding footsteps proved her initial idea correct as the doorway was suddenly filled with Mr. Bingley, who looked as pale as Jane. Miss Bingley scolded Charles for his lack of propriety, noting that Mr. Darcy knew better than to enter Miss Bennet's room when she was in such a state.

A heated argument between brother and sister ensued as Mr. Bingley stated emphatically that he would ensure that Miss Bennet received the best care possible. The passionate, terrified gaze he directed at Jane warmed Lizzy's heart while surprising her at its intensity due to the relative shortness of their acquaintance. She had known that the amiable, easy-going man had been taken with her sister from their first meeting, yet she had not expected him to display emotions more in line with a scared husband than a concerned admirer.

"Come, now, Bingley," Mr. Darcy said, his voice effectively cutting through the chaos of the guest bedroom. "Miss Bennet's care is obviously well underway, and nothing more can be achieved until the local apothecary arrives. She needs rest, not disturbance."

While Lizzy bristled at Mr. Darcy's brusque tone, she had to agree with his sentiments. As delighted as she was to see the tender regard Mr. Bingley already held for her sister, she knew that it would all come to nothing if Jane never awoke to be on the receiving end of his warm glances.

On his way out the door, Mr. Bingley looked at Lizzy quizzically as if noticing her state and presence for the first time. Mr. Darcy was also staring at her, a fierce, disapproving scowl etched onto his haughty face. Lizzy instinctively lifted her chin in defiance, her eyes flashing as she refused to display shame at her bedraggled condition.

"You need to take care of yourself as well, Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said sternly. "You will be no good to your sister if you allow yourself to become ill due to negligence."

"Thank you for your concern, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said coolly. "However, as I am unwilling to leave my sister at this point, my current state will have to suffice until I know her to be out of danger."

"Your loyalty to your sister is commendable, Miss Bennet, but your presence is unnecessary at this time."

"Have you a sister, Mr. Darcy?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

His thinned lips provided her with sufficient answer.

"Were she to end up in a situation as dire as Jane's, would you at any time consider your presence to be unnecessary?"

"I would do whatever was necessary to secure my sister's health and happiness regardless of my personal desires."

"If you felt her to be in danger, would you leave her alone, even for an instant?"

"I fail to see what further danger Miss Bennet can face lying in a warm bed in a comfortable room with multiple maids attending to her needs."

"Of course you do, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said with false brightness. "This was, of course, an unfortunate, tragic accident, and nothing can change the outcome until the apothecary arrives."

"Surely you do not believe—but I forgot, Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley said, pausing for effect. "You do believe that Netherfield is haunted."

"I believe in nothing so crude or imprecise," Lizzy said, her eyes flashing again. "'Haunted' does not begin to describe the complexities of Netherfield's problems."

"What would you consider Netherfield to be, then, Miss Bennet?" Mr. Darcy asked sarcastically.

"Diseased, perhaps. Sick. Ill. A deranged house."

"You clearly need your rest, my darling Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley cooed with false concern. "A soak in warm water and a clean change of clothes will help to chase such ideas out of your head."

Lizzy smiled grimly.

"I wish I could get this house out of my head, Miss Bingley. Nothing outside of Jane's immediate full recovery would give me greater joy and comfort."

"Would you please allow us to take care of you, Miss Elizabeth?" Mr. Bingley asked softly. "You clearly have a better grasp on what has happened than we do, but you need to rest before you can explain things to the rest of us."

Part of Lizzy wanted to be angry at the somewhat condescending content of Mr. Bingley's speech, but he delivered it with such earnestness that she could not fault him for it. Had his friend spoken to her with even half such politeness and sincerity, this argument never would have occurred. Instead of responding verbally, Lizzy pinned Mr. Bingley with a piercing gaze.

"Do not allow her to be left alone, Mr. Bingley," she warned. "Not even for a moment. This house clearly wants Jane, and it never planned on her surviving her...accident. It is confident in its eventual success, and we must not give it any opportunity to have its way."

With that pronouncement, she left the room with her heard held high, leaving Jane to the care of a couple of maids. She entered her room without sparing the incredulous people now standing out in the hall a second glance. Allowing the maids to begin removing her sodden, filthy clothing, she could not help but overhear a conversation between Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy occurring right outside her door. They clearly believed the door to be closed, but an inattentive maid had left it open just enough for their low voices to drift into her guest room. When one moved to remedy the mistake, Lizzy stopped her with a short shake of her head.

"Well, Mr. Darcy! Have you ever been treated to such a spectacle? Did you see the state of her clothing? She really looked almost wild—especially given her wide-eyed, melodramatic pronouncements of doom and gloom. You observed, it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure."

"I did, indeed."

"Surely you must agree that her demonstration shows an abominable sort of conceited independence. I am certain that you would never wish to see your own sister make such a display."

"Certainly not."

"I found her devotion to her sister to be excessively pleasing," Mr. Bingley said as he joined the conversation.

"But what of her ridiculous opinions about Netherfield, Charles?" Miss Bingley asked. "I know that you have long been interested in the supernatural, but you have never before espoused such ignorant viewpoints."

A heavy pause strained Lizzy's patience.

"I have ordered Miss Bennet to be guarded by at least two maids constantly without exception," he finally stated.

"Surely that is not necessary, Charles. After all, those maids are needed elsewhere. Will Louisa and I have to wait to be made presentable each morning because our maids are guarding Miss Bennet as if we are at war?"

"Maybe we are at war," Mr. Bingley mused. "Miss Elizabeth seems to think so."

"Do not be absurd, Charles! Just because Miss Eliza shares the ignorant beliefs of the rest of these country savages does not mean that we people of good sense and breeding should embrace them as well. Would you not agree, Mr. Darcy?"

"I agree that we do not have to accept Miss Elizabeth's views solely because she holds them, yet I do believe that our time could be better spent preparing for the arrival of the apothecary and informing the necessary parties."

"Necessary parties? Whomever could you mean, Mr. Darcy?"

"The Bennets should be informed of Jane's accident and Miss Elizabeth's whereabouts."

"The Bennets! Quite right, Darcy! I wonder that I did not think on it before!"

"You were no doubt so concerned about Miss Bennet that nothing else could cross your mind."

"I am sure that you are right, Darcy. After all, Ja—Miss Bennet is an angel. How could I think of anything but her given the current circumstances?"

"Fortunately for all of us, you do not have the same problem, do you, Mr. Darcy? You are always calm and collected in a crisis, are you not?"

"I try to remain rational at all times, Miss Bingley—which is why I will ride to Longbourn without delay to relay the particulars of Miss Bennet's situation."

"Nonsense, Mr. Darcy! I will not hear of your sacrificing yourself in such a way. We have servants who can easily take care of that duty."

"Nevertheless, I shall perform this task myself. They may already have become worried-"

"I am sure the mother has," Miss Bingley said with an audible sneer. "And the youngest will be flitting around and laughing as if the entire affair were a great joke."

Lizzy scowled, and the maids assisting her into the bathing area averted their gazes. She walked as slowly as possible, straining to catch as much of the conversation as she could without proving to the maids that she was as ill-bred as Miss Bingley supposed her to be.

"I will impress upon them that all possible avenues of treatment for Miss Bennet are being exhausted, and that, since Miss Elizabeth is already here, nobody else needs to come to Netherfield until tomorrow morning."

"In that case, Mr. Darcy, I will not delay you any longer. After all, one hysterical, demanding Bennet woman is enough, do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?"

Lizzy fumed as she submerged herself in the warm water, not wanting to hear Mr. Darcy's reply. After all, she was sure that it would be just as proud and disagreeable as the man himself. She could imagine his fierce scowl and his contemptuous gaze as he contemplated his extreme disapproval of her decisions and her person. While she was grateful that he was personally going to warn her family, she knew that he was doing so in order to prevent them coming to Netherfield tonight rather than to provide them with any real comfort.

As she scrubbed herself clean with the provided cake of soap, she vowed that she would show every last inhabitant of Netherfield just how demanding and determined she could be.

AN: Speaking of research and such, I did not know if Meryton was large enough to have a surgeon on hand. I knew that the odds of there being a real physician around were slim, and Mr. Jones, the apothecary, is the only medical man mentioned in canon. If enough of you think that a surgeon would have been available, that's an easy fix I can make, so please feel free to weigh in.

This was the longest chapter I've written to date, and may well remain the longest since my plan is for most of these chapters to be between 1,200-2,000 words. This is supposed to be a shortish tale that won't take over my life for months, so we'll see how that goes.

Chapter Text

AN: I corrected a couple of mild errors in 2 and changed the wording of Elizabeth's morning activities to more accurately reflect what I had in mind for them. I envisioned Elizabeth either taking breakfast "on the go" or quickly bolting down something in the kitchen rather than actively sitting down at the servants' table and trying to make awkward small talk with them.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was grateful that the rain had lessened to a soft pitter-patter, but he still would have volunteered to ride to Longbourn even in a deluge. While he had been willing to accept Miss Bingley's stated excuse of keeping the rest of the Bennets away from Netherfield for the evening and night, the honest truth was that he had needed to escape his own reactions to Elizabeth Bennet.

Long gone were the days when he had been able to dismiss her as simply tolerable and not handsome enough; in fact, she tempted Darcy with frightening regularity. If Miss Elizabeth were, for some reason, worried about the presence of something untoward in Netherfield, then Darcy was worried about the presence of untoward thoughts in his own mind.

Miss Bingley had believed Elizabeth's appearance to be scandalous and appalling, but Darcy had found them quite the opposite. He had been unable to tear his eyes away from the tantalizing sight of her wet dress embracing her intimately, highlighting her light and pleasing figure with ruthless efficiency. And her eyes...her fine eyes…When she had faced them all down with the strength of her convictions, her eyes had not merely glowed as they often did after she had made yet another pert remark or witty observation. No, her eyes had burned with an intensity that warmed him even now as a bare memory.

He spurred his horse on, thankful that the foul weather had kept the citizens of Meryton in their abodes and off the roads. He was also grateful that he had this opportunity to remind himself of the myriad reasons against entertaining any thoughts of an alliance with Eliz—Miss Elizabeth. One of the main reasons, he knew, would soon be in front of him as he told the Bennets of Jane's accident and Eliz—Miss Elizabeth's sudden appearance at Netherfield.

Darcy knew the Bennets well enough to agree with Miss Bingley's prognostications about Mrs. Bennet. The young ones might at least display some proper emotions for a few moments before making inappropriate comments and giggling wildly. Miss Mary would probably make a pious but empty remark about Providence or the frailty of life. Mr. Bennet...he would likely hide his concern behind a joke or a witticism—not unlike Elizabeth, to be honest.

Her family connections are unsuitable, he thought, mentally reciting his mantra once again. Her family itself is unsuitable. Her dowry is unsuitable. Her beliefs about Netherfield are unsuitable. Her impertinence is unsuitable. Her defiance is unsuitable. She is…

The image of her standing up to all of them in her bedraggled, sodden dress with her fiery fine eyes blazing assaulted him again. Other memories of her laughing at a joke, smiling indulgently at someone else's foible, or raising an eyebrow as she ran verbal circles around the latest fool to underestimate her crossed his mind. Logic and reason faded into oblivion, leaving only Elizabeth's flashing eyes.

She is the handsomest woman of my acquaintance, he admitted to himself as Longbourn came into view. If only she had acceptable connections and a fortune, I would fear myself to be in danger.

Darcy dismounted and handed the reins to a waiting stable boy, striding towards the door with all the confidence born of years of being the master of Pemberley. As the housekeeper led him to Mr. Bennet's library, he wondered if Providence might smile on him and spare him the effusions of the Bennet women. The loud, strident wails of Mrs. Bennet reached his ears, however, depriving him of that futile hope.

"Good evening, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet said with deceptive good cheer that could not quite mask the anxiety in his bearing. "I suppose that you have come to explain to me and young Tom here why two of my horses recently arrived home without two riders—and why not one but two of my daughters are missing."

Years of training and experience kept Mr. Darcy from squirming outwardly as he was inwardly. He maintained his aloof mask and delivered the news with rational equanimity. Mr. Bennet also bore the news as well as could be expected, paling considerably and bidding Darcy to continue. His narrative of Miss Elizabeth's arrival produced a variety of intriguing emotions to play across Mr. Bennet's face, amusement and consternation being the primary ones. Darcy could not blame the man since Elizabeth frequently caused the same emotions to form within himself.

Not exactly the same emotions, a knowing voice taunted in his mind.

Darcy shoved such useless thoughts away and focused on the two men in the room. He had ignored Tom at first since the lad was merely a stable boy, but he noted that the young man looked more nervous than someone who had simply reported the return of a couple of horses to his master. Noticing Darcy's scrutiny, the young man stuck out his jaw slightly and looked Darcy in the eye in a motion reminiscent of Eliz—Miss Elizabeth.

"Do you have something to say for yourself, Tom?" Darcy asked firmly but politely.

"Tom was just about to confess to saddling my gelding for my most stubborn daughter, is that not so?"

"Beggin' yer pardon, Master," Tom said, looking less sure of himself, "but I know y' know who my muther were. I know you know how she...went. I know y' know how much she loved yer daughter—since they looked so alike an' all. I saddled Miss Bennet's horse on Mrs. Bennet's orders, but I knew...we all knew...Me an' the lads….We were afeared that Miss Bennet would come to harm, and that Miss Elizabeth would go to 'er, help or no, and we...that is, I wanted t' give 'er the safest, fastest way of gettin' where she needed t' go."

Mr. Bennet stared at Tom for a few moments before waving his hand dismissively.

"That was quite a speech, Tom, but we have more important matters to attend to, do we not? I believe there are some wet, exhausted horses in need of care—and some gossip in need of spreading. Perhaps you should get to it."

Tom bobbed his head up and down and promised to tell the rest of the servants about Miss Bennet's misfortunes and Miss Elizabeth's location so the master would not have to worry about doing so.

"Yes, thank you, Tom," Mr. Bennet replied, waving his hand again. "Now off with you—unless you want to accompany Mr. Darcy and I while we inform my wife and daughters of the details. I am certain that Mrs. Bennet would love to have your contribution as well."

Darcy was torn between disgust at Mr. Bennet's lack of respect and care for his wife and amusement at the level of paleness that young Tom's face achieved. He stammered a polite refusal that was almost coherent as he rushed out the door with repeated assurances of good work and diligence.

"Shall we, Mr. Darcy? The drawing room awaits."

"Mr. Bennet, are you certain that you want me to be present for what will surely be a trying conversation for your family even without my attendance? Would your wife not benefit from being told the particulars of Miss Bennet's accident with delicacy?"

Mr. Bennet gave Darcy a wry grin and a knowing look.

"Come, come, Mr. Darcy," he said, bowing and gesturing extravagantly at the now-open door. "Surely a great man such as yourself is not scared of a roomful of admittedly silly girls."

Darcy was highly affronted and was unable to prevent a fierce scowl from marring his face.

"I assure you, Sir, that I thought only of the well-being of your family in this time of grief and worry. I also thought to return to Netherfield as quickly as possible in order to be of assistance should the need arise."

"Ah, yes," Mr. Bennet said, still grinning impudently, "Netherfield. I am all amazement that you managed to tear yourself away from such pressing duties. Pray, Mr. Darcy, tell me how you managed to do so."

"While Mr. Bingley may be an impulsive man, he can be quite serious when necessary and can be trusted to oversee Netherfield's affairs without me. Miss Bingley is also capable of running a household—including caring for a wounded guest and directing the apothecary to Miss Bennet's side once he arrives. Miss Elizabeth is certainly more qualified than anyone to provide constant, attentive care for Miss Bennet."

"I am certain that you shall find my daughter to be tolerable, I suppose," Mr. Bennet said, giving Darcy a knowing look before finally ushering them through the library door.

Darcy's scowl deepened as the import of the maddening man's words washed over him, producing the no-doubt deliberate effect of discomposing him at the beginning of a situation that would likely require all of his wits. He marveled at Mr. Bennet's cavalier attitude towards his family and briefly wondered if Miss Elizabeth had her father's capacity for capricious cruelty.

Mr. Bennet gave Darcy an inappropriately amusing introduction, making his news about Jane's fall from her horse and Miss Elizabeth's sudden appearance at Netherfield all the more shocking to the inhabitants of the drawing room. Mrs. Bennet's effusions were as loud and strident as he had expected them to be, although he could hardly fault her for reacting without poise after receiving terrible news about a beloved daughter. After all, Darcy remembered some of his actions after Georgiana's almost-elopement with a reluctant acknowledgment of culpability. Much of his sympathy fled in the wake of Mrs. Bennet's subsequent remarks, however.

"Oh, what is to become of us, Mr. Bennet?" she wailed, feebly waving her handkerchief in the air. "My dear, sweet Jane will die, and then which one of our daughters will marry well? Certainly not headstrong, foolish Lizzy with her wild ways and stubborn impertinence. Maybe my dearest Lydia can save us all from the hedgerows! After all, she is the prettiest of my girls after Jane, and the liveliest."

"My dear, let us not give way to such gloomy thoughts," Mr. Bennet said in a falsely conciliatory tone. "Let us hope for better things. Let us flatter ourselves that I may be the survivor."

Darcy's arrogant mask grew harder still in the face of such behavior. He brusquely asked the Bennets if they had any questions about Jane's circumstances and, as he had promised Miss Bingley, reiterated that tomorrow would be a better time to call than tonight.

"Will Mr. Bingley make sure that Jane is well, Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Bennet asked with wide eyes. "She has, without exception, the sweetest temper I have ever met with, and I am certain that time passed in Mr. Bingley's company would be just the thing to improve her health."

"All of us will ensure that Miss Bennet receives the best possible care," he said coldly. "I pray you would excuse me, Madam, as I must now return to Netherfield. I bid you all good evening."

He gave a small bow and left the drawing room without a backward glance. Exclamations of his proud, disagreeable nature and his rudeness followed him out, but he cared not. The youngest girls were giggling insipidly, and the middle daughter was moralizing about the evils of thinking oneself to be better than others.

The last words Darcy heard from the drawing room caused his respect for Mr. Bennet to slip even further: "Well, my dear, if your daughter should die from her injuries, it would be a comfort to know that it was all in pursuit of Mr. Bingley, and under your orders."

The housekeeper—Hill, her name appeared to be, given that Mrs. Bennet was yelling it repeatedly—prudently ignored her mistress's distressed calls in order to escort Darcy out. He gave her a more courteous farewell, not being willing to cast aspersions on her character based on the manners of the family she served. The irony of him leaving Longbourn thinking better of the servants than the masters was not lost on him.

Miss Elizabeth's complete and utter unsuitability as anything more than an amusing acquaintance had been made clearer than ever to Darcy, and he spent the duration of the ride to Netherfield mentally repeating his mantra of her numerous flaws. He idly noticed that the closer he drew to Netherfield, the stronger his feelings on the subject became until he had, once again, firmed his resolve to spend as little time with Miss Elizabeth Bennet and her uncouth, disgraceful family as possible.

Chapter Text

Charles Bingley savored the potent burn of the brandy as it slid down his throat and mimicked the effects of the dimming fire he and Darcy were currently sitting near. Knowing that they would both soon be retiring from his study, Bingley had not bothered to have the fire built up. His bed beckoned, but he still felt compelled to end this harrowing day relaxing before a fire with a drink in his hand and his closest friend seated nearby.

Not that their conversation had been particularly agreeable; talk of Jane's serious injuries and the uncertain prognostication of recovery made by the apothecary had depressed the mood in the room and caused him to refill his glass from the decanter. Despite only being an apothecary, Mr. Jones had set the breaks in her arm and leg, bandaged some wounds, and warned them of the potential problems that could arise internally—especially from the large bump on Jane's head. Once the two men had exhausted that cheery topic, Charles had progressed to confessing an inconvenient truth to Darcy: He was in love with Jane, and he would marry her as soon as she was well enough to entertain his suit.

Darcy's reaction had been everything Bingley had expected and feared. His friend had railed against the evils of such an alliance, reciting a list of problems with the match in an insultingly smooth and rehearsed manner. That Darcy had already managed to identify and label all of the faults of the Bennets did him no credit and reinforced Bingley's frustrations with his friend's behavior in Hertfordshire.

He glanced at his friend, who appeared to be brooding over their problems with his taciturn mask firmly in place. Bingley had, of course, seen his friend exhibit more relaxed, amiable behavior, but such moments had been few and far between since their arrival at Netherfield several weeks ago. In fact, Bingley did not know if his friend could have appeared to be more proud and disagreeable had he tried to do so deliberately.

He took another sip of his drink, feeling the brandy putting a pleasing haze between his mind and the wretched reality of the day's events. To have both his angel and his love for her ridiculed and despised by his best friend had been the perfect ending to one of the longest, most unpleasant days of his life. His mind replayed Darcy's list of the ways Jane was unsuitable for him, and his ire mounted anew at the hypocrisy displayed by the man whose judgment was usually significantly better than Bingley's own.

"You are one to talk," Bingley muttered, jolting in shock when Darcy's questioning look made him realize that he had spoken aloud.

For a moment, Bingley considered ending the conversation and excusing himself. The brandy, however, seemed to have freed his tongue considerably and was currently preventing him from maintaining his typical amiable, pleasant manner.

"I said, 'You are one to talk,'" he said boldly, looking Darcy in the eyes.

"I gathered as much, Bingley," Darcy said with a slight twitch of his lips. "I assume that you want to tell me the subject on which I am supposed to have been speaking."

"You claim that Jane's family is unsuitable, yet you—and I, for that matter—are one to talk."

Darcy's mouth thinned in a satisfying manner, and Bingley gladly released some of today's pressure onto the man who had scoffed at his dreams.

"I am not blind to the flaws of the Bennet family, Darcy, yet how many of our relatives could we present to the Bennets without blushing in mortification? Perhaps you would be proud to have them experience the particular condescension of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I myself have only had the pleasure of savoring her presence once, but once was most definitely enough to produce in me a profound appreciation for the inferiority of my rank. Or maybe you would love to introduce them to the Earl and Countess of Matlock, who you claim would scorn me merely for marrying the woman I love—a woman who was born higher than me as a gentleman's daughter, no less. You must be exceedingly proud of such exalted connections."

"You know the realities of our world as well as I do, Bingley," Darcy said in what he clearly believed to be a conciliatory tone. "Marrying a poor gentlewoman with no connections to recommend her would have repercussions not only for you but for the rest of your family."

"Ah, yes, my family," Bingley said with an uncharacteristic sneer on his face. "My oldest sister and her husband are leeches and Caroline manages to drive away everyone with basic good taste or without commendable yet questionable loyalty, yet Jane's family is unsuitable."

"Miss Bennet is everything good and respectable," Darcy said in that grating tone. "Yet you cannot deny that the want of propriety frequently displayed by her mother, her sisters, and even her father would make an alliance with her a disgrace."

"A disgrace," Bingley repeated with mock gravity. "Many of the men condemning holy matrimony to a righteous yet impoverished woman a disgrace would not understand the concepts of fidelity and honor were they explained to them by a parson. They can gallivant around town with their mistresses and gamble away fortunes in gaming hells yet be excused from censure because they are nobles married to other nobles. The more I learn of your world, Darcy, the less I want to live in it."

"But you do live in it, Charles," Darcy said with more genuine sentiment than Bingley had seen him display since arriving in Hertfordshire. "We both live in it. Your sisters live in it. What choice do you have?"

"I can stay here at Netherfield with Jane," he stated with defiance. "I can stay here with Jane and whatever children Providence chooses to give us. I can run the estate and live a peaceful, quiet life. You and the rest of my family can leave us here in peace and go find another group of people to alienate with your superior manners and demonstrations of arrogant conceit."

Part of Charles knew that he needed to stop, but regaining control over his mouth seemed to be more difficult than usual. He set his drink resolutely on the side table, but the action did not help to clear his head. Darcy's face had grown hard and closed, and Bingley knew that he was in grave danger of damaging his truest friendship. Only this realization gave him the mental strength to change tacks.

"I tried to help you, Darcy," he murmured, staring into the fire. "At that first assembly, I tried to help you. I tried to keep you from continuing to make such a negative impression by getting you to dance with one of the most admired young women in Meryton. I saw how people were looking at you, so I tried to introduce you to Miss Elizabeth, and you reacted by insulting not just her but all of the women present. Did you even care that she overheard you? She did, you know; I saw her face right afterwards. Did you ever apologize? Do you ever apologize? Can the great Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley apologize?"

"We both need to retire," Darcy muttered, finishing off his brandy and setting the glass down harder than necessary. "Further conversation will do neither of us any credit. Maybe we can talk more tomorrow when our heads are clearer."

In typical Darcy fashion, his friend dismissed him and his opinions as neatly as ever. Whether he was downplaying Bingley's interest in the supernatural or in an unsuitable woman, Fitzwilliam Darcy was always right—and he always got the last word. Resentment welled up in Bingley's breast and caused him to make a parting shot as Darcy stood up and strode towards the door to the study.

"When Jane and I marry, the Bennets will become my family. I will tolerate no disrespect of them—from my family or my friends."

Bingley could tell that Darcy wanted to reply, but his friend held his tongue, merely nodding curtly in understanding as he walked out the door. The promise of oblivion that sleep could bring suddenly seemed immensely appealing to the physically and emotionally exhausted young man.

Chapter Text

Lizzy wished that whoever was riding his horse in the hallway would have a care for those who were trying to sleep. The absurdity of that thought jolted her awake, although her mind remained hazy and dazed. Her current position added to her confusion; after all, why would she be lying in bed beside Jane when the last thing she remembered was reading a Psalm to her from the chaise while a maid who had been assigned to attend them listened with interest from a chair near the window?

The unmistakable sound of a horse clopping up and down the hall continued unabated, and Elizabeth could not for the life of her understand why someone had not put a stop to it. Surely the other inhabitants of Netherfield could hear the animal; neither horse nor rider was trying to be quiet. Could she really be the only one who could hear what was happening in the hall?

Certainty flooded her mind as she realized that, in all likelihood, she was the only person to whom Netherfield was performing tonight. Not even Millie had awakened; part of Lizzy was glad that the maid was sleeping through this incident in her comfortable wingback chair. She wished that she were as fortunate, but at least she had the comforting, warm presence of Jane at her side. Not that she could understand how or why she was now in bed with Jane, but the reality of what she assumed to be Captain Haversham's horse roaming Netherfield's halls seemed like a bigger issue.

A sudden equine scream rent the air, followed quickly by a hoarse masculine shout. The horse continued to whinny frantically right outside Lizzy's door, and the ghostly remnants of Captain Haversham cursed and swore at the poor beast as it thrashed around. Finally, the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor sounded on the other side of the door. All was silent once again in Netherfield, and Lizzy grasped Jane's limp hand in her own for comfort.

Elizabeth realized with a start that she was immensely cold. Without the distraction of any unnatural noises coming from the hall, she noticed that what had been a steadily burning fire when she had last been conscious was now stone cold. No candles were lit, either, but given the unreliability of tallow candles, the explanation for such an unfortunate lack of light might be less than supernatural.

To Lizzy's immense relief, the sound of a light, feminine tread in the hallway reached her ears. Maybe one of Mr. Bingley's sisters had heard the commotion outside and had finally grown courageous enough to investigate. Maybe a brave maid had decided to venture into the unknown. Either way, Elizabeth immensely anticipated the unknown woman's arrival at her door.

Just as Elizabeth decided that she should get out of bed and greet her unknown would-be rescuer, an intense feeling of wrongness overtook her and advised caution. She snuggled down deeper into the covers, dismayed that not even Jane's solid presence could chase the intense cold away.

The footsteps stopped directly outside of Lizzy's door, and she suddenly wished that she had thought to lock it before she and Millie had settled down to guard Jane. Not that such an action would have been rational, but Lizzy knew with a bone-deep certainty that she did not want to meet whatever was currently standing on the other side of the door.

Lizzy could not even see the door since the only light to be had came courtesy of the pale trickle of moonlight shining faintly through the window. Millie's huddled form was vaguely visible, but the door was completely shrouded in darkness. Elizabeth's ears, however, were in full working order, and they easily detected the sound of the doorknob twisting back and forth.

She braced herself for the necessity of jumping out of bed to face down whatever came through the door; come what may, nothing in Netherfield was going to be allowed to lay so much as a spectral finger on Jane. Lizzy remained stubbornly under the covers, unwilling to give this foul house what it obviously wanted. Netherfield would receive no screams, no tears, no hysterical ranting, and no confrontation—unless it initiated one, of course.

The doorknob continued to twist ineffectually, and Lizzy realized with irritation that the spirit on the other side was simply playing with her. Her courage rose as she reached the understanding that, so far, all that the house had done tonight had been to make noise and douse some lights. She drew closer to Jane's warmth and mentally stuck her tongue out at the house. Let it keep conjuring up eerie sounds. Lizzy would not gratify them with any response other than indifference.

As if sensing her defiance, the feminine footsteps resumed their ghostly walk down the hall. A somewhat familiar voice called out an indecipherable question, repeating it over and over after apparently receiving no answer. Lizzy knew who the voice belonged to, of course; she knew that one of the Miss Carvers had drowned in the pond on the side of the property a few years after Captain Haversham had met his fate.

The improbable sound of rippling water outside her door affirmed her assumption, as did the girl's repeated cries for her sister. Miss Carver seemed to think that her younger sister had gone into the lake and was thus thrashing about trying to locate her. Eventually, the frequency and intensity of the ghostly girl's movements changed as she herself began to drown. Her helpless cries tore at Elizabeth's composure, but she clutched Jane's arm with both hands and held fast to both her sister and her vow of silence.

As the poor Carver girl's final feeble pleas faded away, Lizzy braced herself anew for what she knew was coming. She now understood the utter depravity of Netherfield and knew that her resolve was going to be tested to its limits. The house was surely going to treat Lizzy to the final earthly moments of Mrs. Browning, the cook who had resembled Lizzy so much that many had wondered at the possibility of a common ancestor lost to the haze of history. Despite the differences in their stations, she had treated Lizzy like a daughter, too—sometimes more than her own mother had, although Lizzy never would have said so.

Mrs. Browning's death had been shocking, and Lizzy had felt copious amounts of guilt and rage since she had known that the house had only killed the woman as a message to the insolent, headstrong girl who insisted on defying it from Longbourn. Just like Lizzy, Mrs. Browning had been generally optimistic and resilient. Nothing had kept her down for long, so to have her slit her wrists with her own kitchen knife had been a tragic surprise.

"Eliiiiza!" a ghostly voice called from the hallway.

Lizzy flinched as she realized what horror awaited her.

"Eliiiiza!" the older woman's voice echoed for her alone.

"Eliiiza is the fairest queeeeen that ever troood upon the greeeen!" the voice sang in a haunting soprano.

Mrs. Browning had delighted in singing the old medieval tune about Queen Elizabeth I to Lizzy when she had been a child, firing her imagination about what being royalty would have been like. She would pretend to be the queen, and Mrs. Browning would play a different role to suit the occasion. Sometimes she would be a most royal advisor; at others, a lady in waiting; or, perhaps, a loyal subject seeking a boon. Such playtimes were always fanciful, and each new version of their game became more and more ridiculous.

"Eliiiza! Eliiiza! Eliza's eyyyess are blessed staaaarrrs, inducing peeeacccce, subduing waaarrss."

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to allow them to fall. Mrs. Browning had had a beautiful voice that had been far superior to Lizzy's solid but unspectacular one. Sometimes Mrs. Browning had pretended to be a minstrel, singing tunes to the queen with great gusto. Her boys had joined in the revelry at times, pretending to be knights and soldiers and courtiers and bards and other similar figures. Mrs. Browning had not been able to get away from her duties often, but Elizabeth still cherished those recollections from long ago before her mother had stopped allowing her wayward daughter play with a servant and her wild sons.

"O blessed beeee each day and hoooouuuurrr where sweet Eliiiiizaaaa builds her booowwwwerrr."

The voice was familiar but not familiar, a warped twisting of the beautiful into the obscene. Mrs. Browning had always sung the song with great affection, yet this voice had an air of menace and malevolence in it that made a mockery of some of Lizzy's most treasured memories. Fury began to build within her as she considered voicing her defiance of the house's foulness.

As the haunting opening of the song began again, Lizzy wondered if the house meant for her to listen to it all night long. She knew that the tune had another verse besides the first, yet Mrs. Browning had felt that the depictions of walking outdoors and having starry eyes had described Lizzy so perfectly that she had often repeated the first stanza twice. Lizzy had only been Lydia's age when Mrs. Browning had supposedly killed herself, and as the voice dared to sing about Eliza's eyes being blessed stars, she finally gave vent to five years of grief and hatred.

"Stop it!" she yelled at the top of her lungs.

The singing ceased immediately, but Lizzy heard an exaggeratedly loud sound of a knife rending flesh followed by a pitiful whimper before Netherfield was once again quiet for a few moments.

"What?! What, ma'am? What?" Millie shouted as she was startled awake.

Lizzy could see the outline of the maid fumbling for a new light source while questioning why the room was so dark and cold. She watched the maid as if in a trance, knowing that she should get out of bed and investigate the hallway—or at least help Millie to light a candle and get the fire going again—but she felt almost as incapable of movement as Jane currently was.

In a moment, the maid had lit a new tallow candle and had drawn near to the bedside. Millie's eyes grew wide as she took in Lizzy's terrified expression—a face that was mirrored by the maid as her eyes glanced behind Lizzy.

"Where is Miss Bennet, ma'am?" Millie whispered.

"What do you mean, Millie? Jane is right h-."

Lizzy's voice died suddenly as she realized with utter terror that the warm presence she had drawn comfort from earlier was no longer in the bed with her. She was huddled under the covers alone. The bed was stone cold. Jane was nowhere to be found.

"Jane!" Lizzy yelled fearfully as she suddenly regained control over her body and bolted out of bed. "Jane!"

Multiple sets of footsteps sounded in the hall after doors were thrown open. Lizzy sincerely hoped that these sounds were being made by actual people, but her whole focus was on finding her sister. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on one's perspective—she did not have to look too far.

"But, ma'am, how…?" Millie murmured in confusion at the sight that met their eyes.

Lizzy could only shake her head in incomprehension as she beheld her peacefully-sleeping sister, who was currently curled up safely on the chaise that Lizzy had occupied a few hours ago. A shaking hand rose to cover her gaping mouth as she fought the urge to scream again. The realization of all that the house had done to her and Jane this night made Lizzy feel violated in a visceral way.

"I...I don't..."

Fortunately, Lizzy was spared the need to answer the maid as the door flew open seconds before Mr. Bingley bounded into the room with his own candle in hand. It lit up his face, which was every bit as terrified as Lizzy's. Mr. Darcy was only a few steps behind him, wearing a scowl that immediately raised Lizzy's hackles. She glared back defiantly, knowing that this exasperating, arrogant man was going to disbelieve her entire account of this cursed event. Apparently, tonight's ordeal was not yet over.

AN: Now we're getting somewhere. Those familiar with "The Haunting" will recognize elements from the hauntings in the movie, but I hope I have changed them up enough to make the scene interesting. When I went looking for the song I wanted Mrs. Browning to sing, I knew I had found the right one as soon as I came across "Eliza is the Fairest Queen." The song was written by Edward Johnson and is easy to find via Google.

Some have wondered about how much of Bingley's words to Darcy were his own and how much was influenced by the house. That's a question that will likely pop up multiple times before the story is finished since the house is an experienced manipulator that is good at subtly amplifying feelings. As for what the house wants from Bingley, without giving away future chapters, I'll simply say that Netherfield has killed many people over the years and has had to absorb every consciousness into the whole, so motivations can get blurry in the gestalt sometimes.

Chapter Text

Over the past several weeks, Darcy had seen many different expressions on Elizabeth's face. He had seen her raise an eyebrow and flash a wry grin after making a pert observation. He had seen her laugh softly with good humor while chatting with her sisters or Miss Lucas. He had seen her stand her ground with defiance and persistence, her eyes blazing like fire. He had never seen Elizabeth scared, however, and he hoped that he never again had to do so.

Darcy tried to convince himself that he had not meant to imply even mentally that he would have many reasons to see Miss Elizabeth's face once he left Netherfield, but his lack of success caused him to push the idea to the back of his mind. Instead, he focused on discovering the reason for the obvious terror that she was currently experiencing. Bingley was asking Miss Elizabeth quick, clipped questions, but Darcy only partly listened to them in the interest of evaluating the situation himself.

He was astonished to see Miss Bennet laid out on a chaise instead of in her bed; from Eliz...Miss Elizabeth's expression, she was equally surprised by such a development. Darcy also noted the dead fire and the extinguished candles with trepidation, remembering the different state of those in his room. While he was not prepared to ascribe any events that had happened in the night to the supernatural, he had to admit that something unusual had likely occurred in this room.

"My dear Miss Eliiiza!" Miss Bingley trilled as she strolled into the room with her own candle. Darcy determined Miss Elizabeth's flinch to be a normal reaction to Miss Bingley's appearance. "Whatever has happened to cause you to shout so?"

"I am sorry to have disturbed your rest, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth said with false sincerity. "Netherfield decided to treat me to a special performance tonight; you should be thankful that I am apparently the only one who heard it."

"Whatever can you mean?"

"As I was telling Mr. Bingley, I awakened in bed beside what I believed to be Jane to hear the sound of hooves in the hallway. Then I heard Captain Haversham fall to his death. Then I heard Miss Carver drown. Then I heard...it is of no import. None of you will believe me anyway, so I will just say that I have no memory of how I got in bed or how Jane ended up on the chaise and leave the rest to the imagination."

"Are you seriously trying to make me believed that some sort of ghost was responsible for moving our dear Jane to that chaise?"

"I would not dream of trying to perform such an impossible feat, Miss Bingley."

"Moving Jane, you mean?"

"Getting you to believe the truth."

Darcy felt his eyes warm with amusement at Elizabeth's jab, but he felt the sting of it himself as her account was too fantastical to believe. He found himself in the unfortunate predicament of agreeing with Miss Bingley's assessment of the events of the night.

"Surely you simply fell asleep and had a nightmare, Miss Eliza."

"A nightmare in which I moved Jane by myself in my sleep? What else could I accomplish were I to discover how to voluntarily enter such a state?"

"Are you certain that you and that maid did not move Jane yourselves so that you could take advantage of that warm bed on a cold night?"

The coldness in the room seemed insignificant next to the chill that overtook Miss Bennet's visage. Her eyes burned with fury in her frozen face, a perfect balance of fire and ice. Highlighted as she was by the candlelight, Darcy thought she had never looked more beautiful. He had to remind himself again that she was unsuitable to be his wife, Bingley's earlier words aside.

"Do you really think I would be capable of doing something that could cause Jane harm?"

"I believe that people can do things when tired that they normally would not do while well-rested, Miss Eliza."

"Considering that none of us is well-rested, perhaps we should all return to our rooms and try to make the most of the few remaining hours of the night," Darcy said, his desire to protect Elizabeth from Miss Bingley's slings and arrows rising up inside of him with surprising strength.

"Miss Eliza should be well-rested," Miss Bingley said sweetly. "After all, she clearly got plenty of sleep."

Darcy scowled at her, but Bingley unexpectedly took control of the situation.

"Yes, Caroline, I feel like we should all go back to bed. You are closest to the door, so you should leave first."

His sister stared him down but seemed to decide that fighting over something so trivial was not worth the effort. She left without another word; Darcy noticed the Hursts head back towards their room as well. He watched Bingley dismiss the maid—Millie, he believed her to be called—with kindness, instructing her to send a replacement to sit with Miss Elizabeth and a footman to lay a new fire.

"Have the maid bring up some tea for Miss Elizabeth as well," Darcy heard himself say with a shock which was mirrored on Eliz—Miss Elizabeth's face. "She looks very ill and in need of warming up."

He felt himself flush as the alternate meaning of his words penetrated his consciousness; he instinctively lowered his candle in order to hide the physical evidence of his embarrassment. Bingley cheerfully agreed with Darcy's request and blithely ignored Elizabeth's protestations of such a fuss being unnecessary. In the past, Darcy would have seen Bingley's behavior as simple gallantry, yet he detected a hardness in his friend that he had only seen during their earlier meeting—a hardness that made Darcy feel both wary and hopeful.

Darcy knew that his own presence was unnecessary and that Miss Elizabeth had long been desiring his absence. Still, he had seen the spark ignite in her eyes when she had first seen him enter the room and could not help but wonder if she had derived some strength from his presence. The thought both elated and dismayed him. He knew that he could not afford to give rise to expectations that could never be met.

Nevertheless, he could not make himself leave the room even when the maid and footman entered through the servants' entrance bearing their burdens. Millie had thoughtfully sent up a couple of other maids behind them that could help Miss Elizabeth to move Miss Bennet back into the bed. He knew that he should cede such an intimate scene to the women, but he could not walk away before seeing Elizabeth strain her muscles as she tucked her sister into bed. While this dress did not reveal as much as had her sodden one, her figure was still on fine display before him.

She looked up and caught him staring at her, causing him to frown at her again. Elizabeth raised her chin defiantly again, staring him down for a reason he could not quite grasp. Had she noticed him looking at her figure and was now expressing her disapproval? Did she feel that he had overstepped his bounds by ordering tea for her? Was she upset that he had not professed to believe her account of the night's events?

He was momentarily distracted by Bingley ordering the footman to stand outside of the door and give Miss Elizabeth any aid she might need. Both Darcy and the footman were startled, but the young man simply bowed slightly and took his post to the side of the door with a vigilant expression on his face.

While he could not believe that Bingley was taking the situation so seriously, he could not help but remember his friend's earlier words. Bingley seemed determined to take care of both the woman he claimed to love and the woman he viewed as a future sister. The thought made Darcy scowl again but also brought his mind back to the conundrum that was Miss Elizabeth. He noticed she was giving him that confusing glare again, so he decided to retire.

Darcy bade Miss Elizabeth goodnight and gave her a small bow before exiting the room. He vowed to take his own excellent advice about attempting to reenter the realm of Morpheus, yet his mind stymied his efforts by showing him repeated scenes highlighting Elizabeth's pleasing figure and fine eyes contrasted with Bingley's drunken accusations of Darcy's arrogance and conceit.

AN: Some have asked about what the house wants, which is good because you're going to be asking that throughout the story. You should never stop asking what the house wants, how much it's contributing to each situation, what its ultimate goal is, etc. Netherfield will get to have its say tomorrow, though, so hopefully, more questions will be answered. So if you have more questions about Netherfield, now would be a good time to ask them so that I can make sure they're answered in the house's chapter. (Or I may ignore them if answering them will give too much away.)

Chapter Text

While much of the history of Netherfield had faded from the house's consciousness with the passage of time, the house could honestly say that it could not remember the last time it had enjoyed a hunt so thoroughly. The initial burst of displeasure Netherfield had experienced upon realizing that Jane had somehow survived her fall from horseback had quickly given way to malicious glee as the possibilities unfolded before the house one by one.

Tormenting Elizabeth Bennet in multiple ways had been a decadent pleasure, as had been ruining any chance of a relationship forming between said stubborn woman and Darcy. His immensely conflicted feelings for Elizabeth had proven themselves to be his downfall since they discomposed his strong mind so thoroughly. The house enjoyed amplifying his attraction for her one moment before enhancing his perception of her flaws the next. Netherfield's favorite course of action had been to amplify both feelings at once, resulting in a delicious cacophony of agony that had been a feast for its senses.

Since Elizabeth had not yet acknowledged any attraction to Darcy even in her own mind, the house had contented itself with enhancing her feelings of dislike for the man. This was so easy to do that the house almost began to tire of the diversion, but Netherfield knew that it must keep those two apart at all costs—at least for the next few days.

The house had taken a number of people over the years, so the gestalt was filled with different types of individuals. Some of these were more learned than others, but none of them had been particularly medical. The apothecary's impromptu lecture on the results of a fall from a horse had been fascinating, helping the house to chart its course. If the bump on her head killed her as the apothecary seemed to think it might, then all the house had to do was to torment and distract Elizabeth Bennet until it had what it wanted. Should the bump not do its job, Netherfield had another plan to obtain Jane that it was already beginning to implement.

Netherfield knew that leaving behind physical evidence of its late-night performance for Elizabeth had been risky, but the forthright tacticians had carried the day against the more meek-minded in the gestalt. The house had to agree that the entertainment had been delicious and that they had ultimately lost nothing of value. Jane was still dying and would soon become part of the whole. Everyone but Bingley—who was inclined to believe in supernatural occurrences anyway-still found Elizabeth's claims about Netherfield to be ridiculous. Elizabeth maintained a facade of control over her emotions, but the house knew better than most just how little she could do to stop it from achieving its desires.

After all, could the house have been able to physically pick Jane up were she not already becoming part of Netherfield? Elizabeth had been easily coaxed into climbing in Jane's bed once the house had lulled her to sleep, but Jane, of course, had required a gentler touch. Elizabeth Bennet's mind was gratifyingly easy to manipulate when unconscious, and even stubborn, strong-minded people had to sleep sometimes.

Over the past few days since that first night, the house had not strayed beyond mental manipulation; no physical evidence of its activities had been left behind. After all, there was no good reason to alarm the rest of the inhabitants, and Netherfield could content itself by providing Elizabeth Bennet with vivid, exhausting nightmares during the few hours she slept. Many of these terrible dreams involved Mrs. Browning, but others involved Jane dying in a variety of brutal ways. As a result, Elizabeth had grown even more snappish and short-tempered, lashing out at Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy—whenever she allowed herself to leave Jane alone, of course. Not that her diligence in regards to Jane mattered, but Netherfield could respect it to a degree.

Much to Netherfield's delight, another nightmare of sorts was about to descend on the house. This unknown mental presence had registered with the house a few days ago—especially given that it was staying at Longbourn. While the house could not see anything beyond its own property and could not read minds, it could intercept and enhance strong emotions—and this particular Bennet guest had both produced and harbored strong emotions.

Gaining information from a bit of idle servant gossip as it so often did, Netherfield knew precisely which feelings to enhance in the Longbourn inhabitants. Mrs. Bennet's hopes and fears for the future received an increase, as did Mr. Bennet's desires for peace and amusement. The house encouraged Kitty and Lydia in their foolishness and Mary in her irritation and resentment. As for the ridiculous oddity that had paid Longbourn a visit, the house enhanced his own sense of importance, his desire to find a wife among his cousins, and his reliance on the advice of Mrs. Bennet, who would surely know her own daughters better than everyone.

In order for this man to achieve his desires, however, he would have to come to Netherfield in order to pursue the oldest daughter who was currently conscious. The house heartily approved of this idea as it could not imagine a sweeter vengeance against its arch-nemesis than to cause her to have to submit to such an obsequious dullard as a husband. Perhaps the house could even provide her with graphic illustrations of what such submission would look like in her nightmares once she had met the man.

Were a house capable of shaking with anticipation and rubbing its hands with glee, then Netherfield could have been said to be doing those very things as it eagerly awaited the arrival of Mr. Collins and the Bennet women within its walls. After all, Elizabeth Bennet would never leave her beloved sister at Netherfield of her own free will in spite of her fears, but the house knew from experience and observation just how effective maternal machinations could be.

AN: Hopefully this has answered some questions and produced some others. Netherfield is neither omniscient nor omnipotent, but it is still a formidable enemy.

Some have continued to ask about how much of Bingley's spine is his own and how much is Netherfield's. The house is a gifted enhancer, but it cannot manufacture opinions from thin air and force people to believe them. In other words, Bingley's resentment is real and his sentiments are his own. Now, whether the phrasing of his resentment was caused by the house, the brandy, or his own will...that is a more difficult question. Many people have difficulty understanding their own motives even without the influence of alcohol, much less a deranged house.

Bingley's mind is not strong in the sense that it is easily swayed and distracted, yet he can be single-minded once he commits to a course of action. Will the house be able to keep Bingley distracted enough to keep his mind off of the most important thing? As Mr. Bennet would say, "Read on."

Chapter Text

"Who would have thought that I would meet with a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh while searching for a wife amongst my cousins?" Mr. Collins emoted rapturously, causing Darcy to stare at him with unrestrained wonder. The man mistook the meaning behind his wide eyes and said, "How wonderfully these things occur! I am most thankful to be able to pay my respects—and to report that, as of only a few days ago, Lady Catherine and her daughter, the incomparable Lady Anne de Bourgh, are both in good health."

Darcy stammered out his appreciation of such a positive report of his relations while still reeling from the shock of Mr. Collins's enthusiastic response to his introduction in Netherfield's parlor. The oily little man seemed torn between continuing his raptures about Darcy's relatives and getting acquainted with Miss Elizabeth, who looked less than enraptured by the idea. Mrs. Bennet's hopeful, avaricious face and pointed hints about a future match between Elizabeth and the toad-eating parson filled Darcy with disgust and rage.

The idea of his passionate, intelligent, witty, lively Elizabeth being forever tied intimately to that obsequious dullard made Darcy's scowl deepen and his hands tighten in their clasp behind his rigid back. His possessive feelings for Elizabeth—Miss Elizabeth—caught him off-guard and caused his frown to become even more pronounced. Darcy justified his anger by mentally opining that just because Miss Elizabeth was unsuitable for him did not change the fact that Mr. Collins was even more unsuitable for her.

"Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?" Mr. Collins asked, intruding on his thoughts.

"I apologize, Mr. Collins," Darcy replied tersely. "I was not attending."

"I understand completely, good sir!" he cried. "After all, what man, once he begins contemplating the condescension and beneficence of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, can cease doing so in a timely manner?"

"What man, indeed," Darcy said gravely, his aloof mask firmly in place.

"I merely said, Mr. Darcy, that Miss de Bourgh is far superior to the handsomest of her sex because there is that in her features which marks her as a young lady of distinguished birth. Do you not agree, Mr. Darcy?"

"I esteem my cousin highly and am looking forward to seeing her in the spring."

"Of course you are, Mr. Darcy. How could you feel otherwise? We have both been exceedingly blessed by Providence in regards to cousins, have we not?"

Mr. Collins's leer at Elizabeth made his meaning quite clear. Miss Bingley did not even try to hide her mirth, and Darcy clenched his teeth at the thought of having to enjoy her sly witticisms about Elizabeth marrying her odious cousin.

"I am pleased that Providence has blessed me with the friendship of Miss de Bourgh and the Miss Bennets," Darcy affirmed.

"I speak of a certain desirous event—although I daresay that another even more desirous to me shall precede it—at which time the de Bough and Darcy heirs shall be united in holy matrimony."

Darcy at least had the satisfaction of seeing Miss Bingley gape in astonishment at such a pronouncement. To his dismay, Miss Elizabeth merely looked amused rather than upset at the prospect of him being betrothed to another.

"As to your own desirous event, I cannot speculate," he said, his face hard. "However, I can firmly assert that I am not engaged to my cousin or any other woman. I have never been engaged to Miss de Bourgh. I am never going to be engaged to Miss de Bourgh. Surely you as a clergyman can appreciate the necessity of not spreading incorrect information and will thus cease with such speculations immediately."

He sensed everyone in the room looking at him in astonishment, but he did not care. The last thing Darcy wanted was for Eliz...anyone to mistakenly believe him to be engaged to another.

"But...but...but Lady Catherine is so certain, Mr. Darcy. Surely you are not willing to go against the wishes and wisdom of my most benevolent patroness and her lovely daughter."

"I have informed my aunt multiple times of my feelings on the matter; if she has not taken them to heart, then I can do no more than to continue to refute such assertions wherever I encounter them."

"But, Sir! Lady Catherine has assured me that, though you are clearly enjoying your freedom as a bachelor now, you will soon do your duty by fulfilling the dearest wishes of both your mother and my noble patroness."

"Neither of my parents mentioned this match of destiny to me while they were alive. Even if they had done so—even if my dear mother had spoken it as her dying wish—I would still not feel honor-bound to marry my cousin. Marriage is between a man, a woman, and God—nobody else. No man should be forced to marry solely for financial or political gain."

"No, that's a woman's lot," Elizabeth muttered before raising her face in that familiar defiant posture. She said more loudly, "Men may marry whom they will when they will; women must marry whom their parents will when their parents will."

Mrs. Bennet might have been a foolish woman, but Darcy could tell that she took Elizabeth's meaning quite clearly.

"How can you speak so, Miss Lizzy! What can you know of marriage? What can you know of what I suffer! With dear Jane's future so uncertain, you must marry well-and as soon as possible!"

Darcy was appalled at her vulgar bearing, but a disturbingly large part of him wanted to aid Mrs. Bennet in her cause—albeit not in the way she would imagine. The thought set his teeth on edge.

"Perhaps now is not the best time to speak of marriage, Mrs. Bennet," Darcy said as politely as possible. "Miss Elizabeth has been most distressed over Miss Bennet's health, so another day might be more appropriate for such a discussion to take place."

"Another day? What if we do not have another day? What if the worst happens and we are all, all ruined? You must save our family, Lizzy—and you must do it soon!"

"Please calm yourself, Mrs. Bennet," Collins said in a greasy tone. "There is no need to be so upset. Cousin Elizabeth is, as Lady Catherine de Bourgh's most distinguished, intelligent nephew just said, worried about her sister—a concern for family that does her much credit in my eyes, I assure you. Lady Catherine herself has at times nursed her own dearest Anne back to health—or, at least, her servants have; I would never imply that Lady Catherine de Bourgh would engage in common, base activities-so she can well understand the immense pressure that can accompany such trials. Perhaps in a few days when Miss Bennet is better-"

"Of course Lizzy will return home soon, Mr. Collins! I can promise you that! You will soon have plenty of time to get to know her."

"Indeed you shall, Mr. Collins," cooed Miss Bingley with a smirk. "I am certain that you will find our darling Miss Eliza all that is temperate and good."

Darcy wondered if Bingley would mind if he were to strangle his sister. Perhaps Darcy should broach the subject with him later.

Or maybe Collins is actually one of Elizabeth's ghosts come to life. He is certainly a nightmare…

"Well, well, this has all been quite entertaining," Mr. Bennet said from his corner chair. "As an old man, I have forgotten the societal rules of this sort of gathering, but I believe that our allotted time has passed. We appreciate your hospitality, but we must be getting back to Longbourn now."

"But what can you mean, Mr. Bennet! I have not even gotten to see Jane yet today!"

"Indeed. Well. That is most unfortunate. You seemed to be quite absorbed with making sure that Lizzy spent time with Mr. Collins, so I assumed that visiting your injured daughter was of secondary importance."

"Mr. Bennet! How can you say such things?! You know the state of my nerves..."

Darcy tuned out the woman's ranting out of necessity, but he could not but help to agree with her question. Although Darcy privately acknowledged that managing to be otherwise occupied the few other times this week that the Bennet family had come to call could be considered rude, he had, at least, never goaded them into ridiculousness and absurdity the way that Mr. Bennet seemed to enjoy doing. The man had let his wife ramble on in truly appalling fashion, not stopping her from insulting his supposedly favorite daughter or presenting his deathly injured daughter as no more than a marital pawn.

Elizabeth's words about a woman's lot in regards to marriage returned to him, and he had to agree with her—at least in part. Women often were forced into alliances that benefited their fathers more than themselves, but men—especially men of his station—were not free to marry at will, either. As Elizabeth bade her parents farewell with as much dignity as she could muster, Darcy was all too aware of the fact that a single man in possession of a good fortune must marry a single woman who was also in possession of a good fortune.

She is unsuitable, he reminded himself wearily once again. He knew he would be repeating that mantra many more times over the next few days.

Chapter Text

AN: Sorry this is late, but Sundays are hectic. I'll post another chapter in the wee hours, then we'll resume normal posting times. (Assuming, of course, that I can get my head screwed on right and actually write the rest of the story.)

Elizabeth perused the titles on the shelf in front of her, eventually realizing with a start that she had read the same spines three times. Her mind was, as always, on the second floor in the first room on the left near the top of the staircase, yet she had agreed with Mr. Bingley that she needed to get up, move around, and gain some distance from her duties sometimes. She had been loathe to accept his suggestion of taking these short breaks at first, but she had eventually seen the sense in them and had taken to walking to and from other rooms a few times a day.

The last several days had been the most trying of her life to date, but they had, nevertheless, settled down into something resembling a routine. She had spent the vast majority of her time on the chaise reading to Jane; watching Jane; talking to the maids while watching Jane; listening to the maids read while watching Jane; singing to Jane; listening to the maids sing to Jane; singing with the maids to Jane; scandalizing the rest of the household with her improper informality with the maids while watching Jane…

Everything had revolved around Jane, and everything would continue to do so for the foreseeable future. The few times Elizabeth had attempted to sleep, the house had sent her vivid, graphic nightmares about a variety of subjects. Some had been what she assumed to be the final moments of the people it had killed, while others featured terrible things happening to her family. Her personal favorite was either the one about Mrs. Browning killing herself or the one in which she took over the perspective of Miss Carver as she followed Jane into the pond to their mutual deaths.

"That dream about Jane and I drowning in the pond was truly spectacular," Lizzy said aloud, indulging herself as she knew that nobody would likely venture near the library at this time of day. "The colors were so vivid. My horror was so all-encompassing. Jane's image was rendered so faithfully. The storyline was demented. I congratulate you, Netherfield, on a job well-done. Bravo!"

Lizzy knew that taunting the house was foolish even as she clapped mockingly at the ceiling, yet she felt an undeniable surge of defiant pride as she did so. The house had taken so much from her that to give back even a small amount of disrespect was empowering. She knew that she would probably pay for her cheek later, but she recklessly shrugged and thought, What does it matter? The house is going to plague me with nightmares no matter what I say or do.

A certain title caught her eye on a spine and her finger stopped on it. Coming to the library at this time had not been strictly necessary since her father had thought to bring her a small chest full of her favorite books with him to Netherfield. Her father might not always display a proper amount of regard for his family, but he had always bestowed more favor on Lizzy than on the others. Elizabeth knew that the books would provide her and the maids with ample reading time for the next several days, but she had still wanted to see if any books in Bingley's library struck her fancy regardless.

With much curiosity, Lizzy took the book off of the shelf and opened it to the table of contents. A list of the estates of Hertfordshire greeted her, as did the respective beginning page numbers of their chapters. She quickly turned to Longbourn's chapter and smiled softly as she read the house's history that she already knew so well. Her pleased expression disappeared, however, as she turned to the chapter about Netherfield.

Without looking away from the book, Lizzy navigated to a chair in front of the fire and sat down. She became engrossed in reading about the history of Netherfield's construction and original owners. To her horror, she learned that the man who had Netherfield built eventually went insane and murdered his wife and two daughters with an ax. Elizabeth shuddered as she realized that, since the house could probably tell what she was reading, she would likely be treated to a graphic depiction of that event the next time she tried to sleep.

"I cannot wait to see this wonderful play unfold on the vibrant stage of my mind," Lizzy said, talking to the ceiling again. "I am sure that you will depict the full measure of your depravity with skill and enthusiasm."

She dipped her head to resume her reading, feeling the house's disapproval weighing on her heavily. Elizabeth idly realized that she had become used to the heightened level of constant hostility and malice and mentally shrugged at an internal question that had arisen in her mind. Did the house really need a reason to direct such ill will in her direction beyond their mutual history and Jane's current situation?

"This really is personal to you, is it not?" she asked the ceiling. "I know not why I am surprised; after all, this is quite personal for me as well. You may have experience, greed, and pride on your side, but I have love and determination and stubbornness. My courage rises with every attempt to intimidate me, and I shall not be moved."

"That was a rousing speech, Miss Elizabeth," the last voice she wanted to hear said from the now-open door. "I pity the person who will be on the receiving end of it whenever you decide to give it."

Lizzy stared at him in confusion for a few moments before realizing that he had not understood the true meaning of her words. Part of her argued in favor of discretion, but the part of her that always reacted strongly to Mr. Darcy got the better of her tongue. The man disdained and despised her anyway, so why should she not have a bit of enjoyment at his expense by telling him the truth?

"That was not a rehearsal, Mr. Darcy," she said. "I was simply addressing Netherfield and its invisible inhabitants. The house seems to believe that I will cave under its barrage of nightmares and performances, but I was just informing it that I would prevail in the end."

"Did the house respond, Miss Bennet?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"What did it say?"

"Oh, Netherfield never communicates verbally," she said as if explaining a concept to a pupil. "It sends me feelings, emotions, gruesome nightmares, and the like. I reciprocate—except for the nightmares. Alas, I have yet to figure out how to send the house nightmares. I would, of course, do so if I could."

Mr. Darcy's perplexed expression made her decision to speak honestly to him worthwhile. Although Mr. Darcy was by no means the worst person of her acquaintance, something about his arrogance, his pride, and his disdain of all she held dear brought out the worst in her. Given the circumstances, she found herself unable to care that this wealthy, powerful man clearly thought her fit for nowhere but Bedlam. As she had done before, she stared him down defiantly, unwilling to back down in the face of his dark scowl and mocking bearing.

AN: Okay, so I gave Netherfield's original owners "The Shining" deaths. Considering the similarity in plots between "The Shining" and "The Haunting," I couldn't resist. In all honesty, there's a bit of the Overlook Hotel in Netherfield, so such a tribute seems fitting.

Chapter Text

As hard as Darcy had worked over the past couple of weeks to convince himself of Elizabeth Bennet's unsuitability as anything more than a casual acquaintance, few visuals could have shredded his carefully-constructed arguments like the sight he had seen as he had quietly opened the library door. Elizabeth had sat curled up in a comfortable chair before the fire, book in hand and a look of concentration on her face. He could all too easily visualize Elizabeth sitting in a similar chair with an identical expression at Pemberley or his London townhouse.

Envisioning Elizabeth at his homes naturally led to other more intimate thoughts, which were thankfully interrupted when she started talking to thin air. The things she had said had been strange, so he had assumed that she had been crafting an argument to use against someone or, perhaps, interacting with a story by addressing an aspect of the work aloud. He had not been prepared for her response, but considering that he was hardly ever prepared for Elizabeth's words or actions, he felt silly for being surprised at how easily she had discomposed him.

Did she really believe that Netherfield was haunted—and, more specifically, that it was haunting her? She seemed sincere; that twinkle that was often present in her eyes when she was making a witty observation or expressing an opinion that was not her own was absent. How was he supposed to respond to such an absurd assertion from a woman who, in most other respects, had demonstrated herself to have good sense? How did she expect him to respond to her accusations against Netherfield?

"What sort of nightmares does the house send you?"

Her widened eyes told him that he had chosen his words wisely as they were clearly not the ones she had expected. She regarded him cautiously, her eyes narrowing as suspicion of his motives obviously set in.

"Do you really want to know or do you simply want to have another reason to think meanly of me?"

His own eyes widened slightly in surprise.

"I do not think meanly of you, Miss Elizabeth. In fact, I find your devotion to your sister praise-worthy."

"So all of those scowls and glares you have directed my way have been born of admiration? Come, now, Mr. Darcy; there is no need for us to be dishonest with each other. There is enough deception present in Netherfield without our adding to it."

A part of his mind pointed out how unseemly her bluntness was, but another part asked whether he would be bothered by such honesty were she a man. After all, had Bingley not said much worse earlier with no real censure from him?

"I was not aware of scowling while looking at you," Darcy lied, feeling as if he deserved the arched eyebrow Elizabeth gave him but not wanting to reveal his true feelings.

"How could the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley be unaware of his facial expressions at all times? Members of the Ton have been cast out for smaller flaws-as you surely are aware."

"Are you always aware of your own expressions, Miss Elizabeth?" Darcy asked, strangely relishing this odd conversation.

"Of course I am," Elizabeth asserted, that tell-tale twinkle present in her eyes. "I spend at least one hour a day practicing them so that I can present myself just so to everyone around me. Have I succeeded, Mr. Darcy? Or do you have yet more censures to level against me?"

How does this woman befuddle me so? he wondered in frustration as he struggled for the right words.

"I would never suspend any pleasure of yours, madam."

"And yet you have delayed me from returning to Jane. How ungallant of you, Mr. Darcy."

"I was unaware of your desire to return to your sister's room. If you are finished with your reading, I will do my duty and escort you back."

"I applaud you for your commitment to duty, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said with a look of mock sincerity on her face. "Escorting a woman back to her sister's room is serious business, after all. I, a helpless woman, could never brave the wilds of Netherfield alone."

"But I thought you believed Netherfield to be dangerous, Miss Elizabeth."

"Oh, I do. It is. And yet, there is a sort of method to its madness. I do not believe it will attack either Jane or me right now. I will, of course, be plagued with nightmares tonight. Jane will continue to be watched over closely, but the house will continue to wait for the right opportunity."

"Bingley has been quite adamant about having two maids and a footman guard Miss Bennet at all times—much to Miss Bingley's chagrin."

"I can imagine that she does not place my sister's safety over the completion of her toilette."

"I believe her issue to be more a lack of perception of real danger to Miss Bennet rather than overall indifference."

"Do you see a danger to Jane, Mr. Darcy? Do you believe my account of the events of several nights ago?"

Once again, Darcy was at a loss for words. He did not want to tell her that he did not believe that Netherfield was haunting her and Miss Bennet, but he also did not want to see disappointment and hurt and anger form in those fine eyes of hers.

"You do not have to answer that question, Mr. Darcy," she said flatly. "Your silence speaks loudly enough."

Not wanting to make her even more frustrated with him, he remained silent.

"Now there is the aloof, taciturn Mr. Darcy of Pemberley with which I am most familiar. For a few minutes, you almost seemed...but I shall say no more. There have been enough flights of fancy at Netherfield today for me to add one more."

"Like your marrying Mr. Collins?" he said with a slight smirk.

The glare she leveled at him told him too late of his misstep.

"That you can find such amusement in the desperation of my circumstances warms my heart no end, Mr. Darcy. But of course, one such as yourself could never understand such desperation in the first place. Someday, you will marry a beautiful, wealthy daughter of an earl or a duke who will swell your coffers with wealth and your family reputation with connections. You will, of course, not be labeled as a mercenary or fortune-hunter due to your social status even though you will be marrying her solely for her fortune, her social standing, and—if you are particularly fortunate-her looks. You will produce at least one heir and, preferably, a spare. As to your ultimate happiness, I can only guess, but as a man, if you become unhappy with your choice of a wife, you can still have a satisfying life outside of your home."

"I thank you for such a perfectly accurate sketch of my future—not to mention my character."

"What did I say that was dishonest, Mr. Darcy?"

"You insinuated that I could look elsewhere for...satisfaction should I become unhappy with my wife."

"I merely meant that you could throw yourself into rigorous estate management or glamorous Town living, Mr. Darcy. That you read more into my statement is to say more about your mind than my own."

He clenched his teeth in irritation.

"I meant no insult to you when I mentioned Mr. Collins, Miss Elizabeth. I merely wanted to convey that a woman like you would be wasted on a man like him."

"A woman like me? Ah, yes. I suppose those of us who are tolerable can aspire to much loftier heights than marriage to heirs of our fathers' estates."

Darcy ran a hand through his hair, stopping midway through it in irritation as he realized how much she had shaken him.

"Please allow me to apologize for that rude, unfortunate remark, Miss Elizabeth. I never meant for anyone other than Bingley to hear it."

"I must forgive you, then, good sir. After all, a rude, ungentlemanly remark that is only meant to be overheard by a single person cannot possibly be as bad as one meant to be overheard by many."

"I am trying to apologize, Miss Bennet."

"Yes, I can see that an attempt at an apology is being made. Since you seem to be genuinely bewildered about the source of my ire and I am feeling charitable at the moment, I will enlighten you. The fact that I overheard the remark is not the reason you should be apologizing. The fact that you insulted not only me but my entire town is the reason I am upset. I accept your apology for speaking too loudly, but I have yet to receive an apology for speaking wrongly."

"I did speak wrongly, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, dearly wanting to remove those negative emotions from those eyes that sparkled in the firelight. "I never should have said such a thing in public."

"Quite right, Mr. Darcy. Insults as comprehensive as that one should always be shared in private."

Frustration and desire led him to uncharacteristically lose control of his tongue.

"I lied that night, Miss Elizabeth, for I have since come to view you as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance."

He felt immense satisfaction at the look of confusion on her face, but the disillusionment and cynicism that replaced it were less pleasing.

"I suppose a sarcastic apology will have to do, Mr. Darcy. Besides, were I to try to continue this conversation, then you might come to believe that I was trying to get you to compliment me, and then where would we be?"

Darcy's arrogant mask dropped into place out of mortification and irritation.

"There, now; that is much better, Mr. Darcy. That is the face I most associate with you. The one you were wearing before seemed almost sincere, and honesty would add a degree of oddness to this scene that I simply could not abide. You do not have to pretend to find me some great beauty worthy of the great Mr. Darcy of Pemberley's hand in dancing or in marriage—especially since he is related to the condescending and benevolent Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

He could not stop the small smile that flexed the corners of his mouth in spite of the harsh words that preceded her mockery of his aunt; Elizabeth was an excellent mimic. The idea of her imitating him behind his back stole his enjoyment of the moment and erased the previous expression of amusement.

"As enjoyable as this conversation has been, Mr. Darcy, I need to return to Jane's side. Dinnertime is fast approaching, and you would not want to disappoint Miss Bingley by wearing anything other than your best attire."

Darcy awkwardly nodded and started towards the door. He heard Elizabeth stand up and pace after him.

"Mr. Darcy, please take this if you genuinely want to know the answer to your first question," she said, holding out the modest volume she had been reading.

He once again looked at her with confusion.

"You asked what kind of nightmares the house sends me," she replied matter-of-factly. "If you read the Netherfield chapter, you will be able to know the contents of at least some of them and the nature of the others. Now I really must return; I promised Millie that I would read some Shakespearian sonnets next, and she responded with much enthusiasm."

With nothing more than a small curtsy and a muttered "Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth swept out of the room, leaving him in a muddle of puzzlement. How had the entire conversation gone so awry? He had tried to learn more about her beliefs in the hopes of understanding them better, but she had diverted his attention from that line of questioning only to give him a cryptic answer at the end of their encounter. He had tried to compliment her multiple times, yet each one had been received as if she had believed them to have been given in jest. He had tried to apologize for that unfortunate remark he had made at the assembly, but his words had-as so often happened where she was concerned-not come out right.

Even when he had practically voiced his true feelings for her, she had responded as if she had believed him to have been sporting with her. Did she think so meanly of him? Did she think so meanly of herself? Did she want him to find her handsome or not? Did she not have any positive feelings for him at all or was her aggression a form of flirtation? Was she trying to engage his feelings through dishonest humility? Had he somehow managed to foster expectations in her against his attempts to do otherwise? Had she noticed the multiple ways he had been unable to prevent himself from showing his regard for her and was now scheming her way to force him into an offer of marriage?

Not that I could blame her for being willing to do anything to avoid marriage to Collins, he thought with a shudder. After all, what would I do if I were forced to marry Cousin Anne?

His confused musings had already distracted him from his aim of escorting Miss Elizabeth back to Jane's room, so he decided to do as she had directed. Darcy sat down in the chair she had just vacated and began to read of Netherfield's history, wanting to gain insight into both the house and the woman who continued to captivate and befuddle him.

Chapter Text

Caroline Bingley looked down at the pale, fragile figure of Jane Bennet with genuine pity, pleased that she and Louisa could do their duty of caring for her without having to spend time with her shrew of a sister. Contrary to what darling Eliza might think, Caroline was not without a heart. She freely acknowledged Jane to be a sweet girl worth knowing—at least in the wilds of Hertfordshire. Her company was pleasant enough, and there were worse ways to pass an evening than socializing with her.

However, just because she found the girl to be an acceptable diversion did not mean that she believed her to be a suitable wife for her brother. Fortunately, dear Mr. Darcy felt the same way and would be a powerful ally in keeping Charles from making the worst mistake of his life. Both of them agreed that, while Miss Bennet's manners were all that was pleasing, the rest of her family's were less so. When one factored in the connections to trade and low dowry…

"What is on your mind, Sister?" Louisa asked pensively from her seat by the window.

"I was just thinking about dear Jane—and our brother, of course."

"Of course. One cannot help but think of Charles in this trying time."

"And beyond."

"Beyond?"

"Yes. We must look to the future, Louisa. Should Jane recover and awaken, our brother will surely do something foolish and throw himself away on her. If she never wakes up, he may insist on pining away for her, paying for her continued care, and not focusing on the important decisions in life. And if she passes away..."

"He may pine away for her anyway," Louisa finished.

"Exactly. We need to begin persuading Charles to withdraw his affections from her before anything else comes to pass. That way, he will be able to do what is necessary when the time comes."

"What do you have in mind, Sister?"

"Mr. Darcy and I are in accord: We are going to try our hardest to make Charles believe that Jane is not in love with him. Were he to be persuaded of her indifference, perhaps he could also be convinced to be reasonable himself."

"Are you sure that would work? How do you know he would not simply insist on staying at Netherfield as long as necessary to win Jane's regard and hand?"

"Since when has Charles ever been able to stand up to Mr. Darcy and me? No, Louisa, I am quite certain that, if we do our level best to dig the claws of the Bennets out of Charles, we will soon prevail—and be rid of these superstitious, backwards savages for good."

"I do so long to return to Town," Louisa agreed.

A sudden longing welled up within Caroline as she imagined participating in the myriad diversions London had to offer. Although Town was only 20 or so miles from Meryton, she lamented that it may as well have been 200 for all that they were free to go there.

"Were it not for darling Jane, perhaps we would have already been able to convince Charles to abandon this unsuitable county for one much more appealing," she complained.

"Like Derbyshire?" Louisa asked with a knowing smirk.

"Derbyshire is lovely, and I do hope to spend the rest of my life there, as you well know."

"Have you made any progress on that front?"

Caroline seethed inwardly as she remembered some of the potent stares she had noticed Mr. Darcy casting towards the most unworthy Eliza Bennet. Were she not certain of Mr. Darcy's regard for herself, she would have been concerned that the man was in danger of falling prey to Eliza's arts and allurements.

"Well, we did have quite a lovely talk earlier today after the Bennets had left. We found much common ground and a shared sense of purpose."

Malicious glee caused her to grin most unpleasantly at Louisa as she began to relate—and, of course, embellish—some of the details of their discussion. She had never felt closer to Mr. Darcy than she had earlier today, and she looked forward to having many more intimate interludes with him once she became Mistress of Pemberley. Soon, Eliza Bennet and the rest of these country bumpkins would be nothing but unpleasant memories and subjects of occasional jokes.

AN: Thanks for all the reviews, faves, follows, kudos, etc. I enjoy reading your takes, hopes, and predictions, some of which have made me laugh while imagining reactions to future occurrences. Speaking of future occurrences, I'm off to write the proposal/Hunsford moment scenes; what could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Text

"We found much common ground and a shared sense of purpose."

Elizabeth's eyes flashed as she listened to Caroline Bingley begin to give intimate details of her earlier meeting with Mr. Darcy. She berated herself for her recent foolishness and vowed to maintain her resolve of hating Mr. Darcy forever. To her disgrace, the conversation with him in the library—and the time she had taken to review the discussion as she had slowly walked back to Jane's room—had resulted in a slight softening towards him.

Never again, she swore as Miss Bingley talked about the specific reasons she and Mr. Darcy had listed about Jane's unsuitability to be Mr. Bingley's wife.

She had always regarded Mr. Darcy as an infuriating man, but after thinking about their recent discussion, Elizabeth had come to believe that there had been some sincerity and genuine curiosity involved in their exchange. Although she did not feel that Mr. Darcy believed her about Netherfield's danger, she had almost begun to think that Mr. Darcy had at least been willing to listen to her side of the story.

He had also, she admitted, done his best to assist Mr. Bingley in taking care of both Jane and herself. While he had not believed Elizabeth's account of several nights ago, he had seemed to be genuinely concerned about their well-being. His apology for his words at the assembly may not have been polished or comprehensive, but she had been able to sense genuine distress and embarrassment from him. Part of her had wanted to believe that Mr. Darcy was someone strong and capable who could be trusted to help them to weather this difficult situation, but now she knew her most recent conclusions to have all been wrong. She would not be taken in so easily again.

"Oh, yes, Louisa," Caroline said, tittering. "We had a lengthy discussion about darling Miss Eliza and her mud-spattered, indecent dress. And her scandalous method of arrival! Did she ride properly or did she, perhaps, ride astride! I do not care what Charles says: I shall never believe her to be in any way appealing."

I feel exactly the same way about you, Caro, she thought savagely, mentally giving her a nickname she knew the woman would despise were she ever to hear it. Maybe she would accidentally slip and say it one day.

Louisa murmured her agreement, and Caro continued her abuse. Elizabeth considered barging in and acting as if she had overheard nothing, but since she had not done so when she had first reached the door, discarding such a good opportunity to gather information on the enemy seemed foolish.

And they are the enemy, she admitted to herself as she listened to dearest Caro continue to slander her to Louisa. Netherfield might have its supernatural inhabitants, but the Superior Sisters are monsters, too. And Mr. Darcy...

"...Mr. Darcy said about Eliza, do you not, Louisa?" Caro said, bringing Elizabeth back to the conversation as it mirrored her own thoughts.

Louisa tittered again, apparently remembering something satisfactory.

"I remarked that some had called her a beauty, and do you remember what he said?"

"Her? A beauty?" Louisa said in a poor imitation of Mr. Darcy's deep tone.

"I would sooner call her mother a wit!" Caro said with Louisa.

Both women dissolved into laughter as Elizabeth's cheeks burned with embarrassment and anger. Any fondness she may have harbored for the dark, arrogant man dissipated like early-morning mist in the harsh light of the sun. Fierce resentment built up within her, and she recalled numerous instances when Mr. Darcy had stared at her with disapproval and disdain. She remembered the mocking way he had referred to her beliefs about Netherfield, her potential match with Mr. Collins, and now, apparently, Jane and Bingley's love for one another.

Mr. Darcy is the enemy, too, she reminded herself as she quietly opened her door across the hall and slipped inside. They are all monsters except for Mr. Bingley, and he is meager protection against the claws and fangs of the others. Jane and I are the only humans besides the servants; all the rest are monsters.

She rang the bell for a maid, figuring that she would make her excuses and dine in her room today. Elizabeth also wanted to make sure that some maids would be ready to watch over Jane as soon as the Superior Sisters left her room. The sisters had, of course, presumably dismissed the maids who had been standing guard over Jane in Elizabeth's stead; why would they want to spend any more time with the hired help than necessary?

Although Elizabeth knew that most people of her station felt the servants to be far beneath them in status, intelligence, and worth, she had had the opposite experience. Getting to know the maids of Netherfield had been enjoyable—and not just because she knew that such familiarity was deemed scandalous by the rest of Netherfield's human inhabitants.

All of the maids had contributed to passing the time in Jane's sick room according to their skills. She had early settled into a routine of reading to Jane almost constantly, but her voice had eventually wearied from the effort. One of the maids had demonstrated the surprising ability to read well, and others had shyly admitted to having at least some skill in that regard.

Even the maids who could not read had memorized something in their youths, so hearing a young, feminine voice reciting a Psalm or a poem was not an unusual occurrence for someone walking down the hallway. Occasionally, some would even sing for Jane. One girl—Lucy, Lizzy thought her name to be—could not read a single word but could sing hymns with a lovely contralto voice.

On occasion, Lizzy herself even sang. Unfortunately, Mr. Darcy had caught her doing so once and had, apparently, stood outside the door staring at her for an indeterminate amount of time. She had been facing Jane, so she had only known of Mr. Darcy's presence by virtue of the sudden widening of the eyes of the maids who were facing the door. Elizabeth had turned around just in time to see Mr. Darcy displaying a fiercer scowl than usual before he had turned around and walked away without a word.

Millie entered Elizabeth's guest room through the servants' entrance, and Lizzy greeted her warmly. She decided to eat an early dinner and to try to get a few hours of sleep before darkness fell. Elizabeth talked frankly with Millie; she and the girl had formed a bond that transcended class and station due to their shared experience several nights ago. Although Millie had not experienced the bulk of Netherfield's harrowing performance, she had awoken without explanation to a cold, dark room, a terrified Elizabeth, and a missing Jane—whose location had provided no relief once discovered.

"You will wake me up a half an hour before I am to begin guarding Jane for the night," she confirmed with Millie.

The maid answered in the affirmative before leaving, and Elizabeth smiled in anticipation of food and rest. While she knew that her sleep would be plagued with nightmares, at least she would be able to lose consciousness for a time. After all, even sleeping nightmares could be preferable to waking ones under the right circumstances.

Chapter Text

"Jane!" Elizabeth called out to the figure five to six steps ahead of her on the moonlit path.

Her call had no effect on the figure, which only served to confuse Elizabeth. Why were she and Jane outside? How could Jane move so quickly when she was so severely injured? When had they come outside? The last thing she remembered was lying in her guest room bed, hoping to get a few hours of tormented sleep before beginning her nighttime vigil over Jane.

"Jane!" she cried out again, quickening her pace. "Stop! Where are you going?"

Her sister continued to stride briskly, somehow managing to keep the same five- or six-step lead on Lizzy no matter how much faster Elizabeth tried to walk. This entire situation made no sense. Why could she not remember coming downstairs, seeing Jane, opening the door, or any other logical steps that must have occurred? Was this all a dream? Was the house giving her another nightmare? Was any of this real?

"Am I even real?" she asked the night sky. "Am I really back inside the house, tucked safely into my bed?"

She stopped and briefly considered defiantly turning around, walking back into the house, and going back to bed. Jane continued to walk away from her, however, and she resumed her pursuit, unwilling to take a chance on misjudging the situation and thus allowing harm to befall her beloved sister.

That cannot be Jane, she told herself. How could Jane move so quickly with a broken leg and a swollen head? She is unable to do so much as wake up, much less run from me.

A chill trickled down her spine as she belatedly realized where Jane was heading. Had her mind not been clouded by sleep—whether due to waking or dreaming—she would have recognized the path to the pond sooner. After all, had the house not shown her Miss Carver's death multiple times? Miss Carver had thought she had seen her sister drowning in the pond and had gone out to the middle of it to save her, only to drown herself.

This is a trap, her logical mind asserted. That is not Jane. None of this is real. Do not let the house outsmart you.

Elizabeth grimly acknowledged that solving this problem was easier said than done. Believing the figure up ahead to not be her sister was one matter, but knowing beyond all doubt that Jane was safely inside the house was another. What if the house wanted her to believe that the woman steadily striding towards Netherfield's pond was not Jane? What if its plan was to trap her into watching Jane die while doing nothing out of a mistaken belief in the situation's unreality?

For all that the idea of the scene seemed unreal, she had to acknowledge that the house had never given her a nightmare that appeared so real as this one. The moonlight was bright and illuminated everything in a natural way. The air was far colder than it should have been during the middle of October, turning her exposed skin to goose-flesh and causing her exhalations to puff visibly in front of her. She pressed the tip of a thumb against the bed of a finger, acknowledging that she could feel pain. If this were a dream, then the house had outdone itself in its production.

All too quickly, the pond popped into view, filling Lizzy with dread. She could only imagine a few ways that this scene would play out; few options ended any other way but tragically. If this entire situation was a dream, then she would likely experience the twin joys of being unable to save her sister from drowning while drowning herself only to awaken in terror yet again. This was, of course, preferable to the waking alternative, which was identical except that one or both of them would die.

You could simply choose not to go into the pond, you know, her logical voice said. If this is a dream, perhaps you can stop this from happening by refusing to participate. If this is a dream, then neither you nor Jane will really drown. If this is not a dream, then you can refuse to participate—especially since the odds are good that the figure near the water's edge is not Jane.

"Jane!" she called out again, wanting to test her mind's theory.

This time, her sister turned around and faced her, setting her heels a hair's breadth from the water's edge. Jane's face was a rictus of terror, and Elizabeth felt a wave of panic rush through her. Logic fled from her mind in the presence of such great fear marring the usually serene countenance of her sister.

"Come here, Jane," Lizzy said gently before giving Jane a tremulous smile. "You should not be out here. Neither of us should be out here. Let us go back inside and return to our warm beds."

"Save me, Lizzy!" Jane whispered fiercely, holding her hands out towards Lizzy. "The house wants me. It will not let me go."

"It cannot take you if you do not let it, Jane," she said, stepping towards Jane.

To her horror, Jane took a step back into the water. Both sets of eyes widened in terror as the reality of the situation sunk in. Lizzy took another tentative step towards Jane, only to see her sister take another jerky step backward.

"Stop, Jane!" Lizzy yelled. "Do not go any farther into the water!"

"I cannot stop, Lizzy! Netherfield has already taken me! Nothing you do can bring me back!"

"That is not true!" Lizzy shouted, lunging a few steps towards the water in an effort to catch the house off-guard.

The house was clearly prepared, however, and forced Jane backward two more steps. Jane stumbled a bit on the sodden hem of her bedclothes and staggered backward, finally stopping when the water was midway up her calves. The disheveled state of Jane's bedclothes caused Lizzy to notice with a start that, instead of the similar bedclothes she herself had been wearing when she had settled in for her rest, she was now wearing a day dress. Nausea roiled her stomach at the idea of the house disrobing and then dressing her.

Netherfield was filled with a malicious glee that Lizzy could feel deep in her bones as she stared in anguish at her sister from the water's edge. A resigned sense of knowing settled over her as she realized that the house had neatly trapped her. She had underestimated it, had believed herself to have figured out its patterns and desires. Perhaps she rather than Jane had been the target all along. Perhaps the house wanted both of them. Perhaps she was always meant to die here with Jane and become part of the lore surrounding Netherfield.

As always, however, Lizzy's courage rose up, and she devised an admittedly poor plan that might be able to save both Jane and herself. Lizzy knew how to swim courtesy of the Lucas boys, but as far as she knew, Jane could not swim. The house, however, seemed determined to keep her and Jane apart, so if she could keep swimming towards Jane, then maybe the house would proper her sister backward across the deepest part of the pond and into shallower waters.

Or it could figure out what you are up to and force you both to drown, her logical voice said in a wry tone that Lizzy idly recognized as her father's.

Quickly stripping out of her dress since it would only drag her down in the water, Lizzy stood shivering at the edge of the pond wearing nothing but her undergarments. She steeled herself against the impending cold and plunged into the water, making straight for Jane. As she anticipated, the house pushed Jane farther and farther into the pond, submerging first her knees, then her thighs, then her hips as Lizzy lunged deeper into the dark, icy water.

"Stay where you are, Jane! Let me come to you!"

Her sister, of course, was incapable of obedience as the house continued to push her towards the middle of the oval-shaped pond. Lizzy slogged through water that was over her knees even as she watched Jane stumble back into chest-high water. Instinctively, Lizzy held out her hands to her sister as she stumbled towards her, but Jane continued to retreat.

"Save me, Lizzy!" Jane cried out in panic as the water reached her neck.

Part of Lizzy wanted to stop, knowing that her plan could easily go awry in the next few critical moments. She pushed on anyway, unable to think of any other scheme that could save both herself and Jane.

"I am coming, Jane!" she yelled, launching into a swim as she reached deeper water.

She considered yelling at her sister to stop, but she acknowledged that the house might do as she said for once. Jane stumbled back one last time and went under, almost stopping Lizzy's heart in terror. A few strokes brought her to the last place she had seen Jane, and she looked ahead of herself frantically in search of the flash of white or blond that would demonstrate the success of her plan.

A pale hand broke the surface of the water directly in front of her, and Lizzy realized that the house had anticipated her plan with embarrassing ease. She grabbed the hand instinctively and pulled up, knowing not what else she could do. Her muscles were cramping and her hands were numbing; she knew that she could not pull Jane's dead weight with her back to shore.

Jane's head broke the water for a moment, and Lizzy latched onto her neck with her arms. She tried to swim into Jane and push her backward rather than trying to awkwardly pull her, but her sister seemed confused and fought her. Without her dress, Lizzy was slippery, so Jane quickly slid from her grasp and sank back underwater. Lizzy let out a hoarse cry and dove under the water after her sister, able to hear nothing but the muffled beating of own her heart as her eyes saw nothing but inky blackness.

Lizzy's hands thrashed around desperately as she felt for even a bare trace of Jane. Her hands encountered nothing, however, and Lizzy could not prevent the sob that pushed the small amount of remaining air from her body. The knowledge that the house had outsmarted her so thoroughly injured her pride, but that wound was nothing compared to the raw, gaping hole left by her sister's death.

At this thought, she stopped struggling. After all, if Jane were dead, then what did Lizzy have to live for, anyway? What did she have to look forward to? Life as Mrs. Collins? A great feeling of despair welled up within her, and Lizzy let the darkness take her after a few more feeble swipes downward, hoping that when she next awoke, she and Jane would be together in Heaven.

Chapter Text

Darcy's carefully-constructed list of Elizabeth Bennet's unsuitable characteristics practically shredded itself into pieces in his mind as he topped the path leading down to the pond and saw her disappear beneath its dark surface. His feet thundered down the pathway towards the water to the beat of his heart as he mentally berated Caroline Bingley for her arrogant foolishness. Although he did not believe Elizabeth's fears about Netherfield were valid, he did believe that the master of a home should be obeyed in all things. Had Miss Bingley obeyed her brother's orders, the woman he esteemed so highly would not be drowning before his eyes.

He had been awoken from an unpleasant nightmare—probably triggered by the history book Elizabeth had given him earlier—to hear pounding on his door. Before he had been able to do more than open his eyes, Bingley had bounded in and shouted, "Get up, man! Miss Elizabeth is gone!"

Unable to understand the import of Bingley's words thanks to being roused in such a fashion, he had gaped at Bingley stupidly as he had climbed clumsily out of bed. Bingley was telling him some tale about a maid who was supposed to have woken Miss Elizabeth in time to watch Miss Bennet through the night but who had been reassigned by his sister to polish the silver all evening instead. The look of rage on Bingley's face as he had recounted discovering Miss Bennet alone in the room save for one sleeping maid and no footman standing guard outside the door would have worried Darcy had he not had more important matters on his mind.

Nothing is more important than this, he admitted as he bounded the last few steps to the water's edge. He took a moment to take off his boots and outerwear, not wanting to worry about it weighing him down during the rescue. Darcy paled as he saw Elizabeth's bedclothes not far from where he had dropped his own clothing; what had she been thinking to have discarded them? What had possessed her to go into the pond in the first place?

Instead of wasting time contemplating the unknowable, Darcy strode into the pond and quickly swam to its middle. As he dived beneath the surface, a chill that had nothing to do with the water temperature traced down his spine as he remembered Elizabeth saying matter-of-factly, "Then I watched Miss Carver drown." Had she come out here because she had wanted to kill herself in the same place as the unfortunate Miss Carver had met her own doom?

Has Elizabeth gone mad? He asked himself as he continued to sweep the pond desperately with his arms. If I rescue her and she survives, will she be fit for anywhere other than Bedlam?

The question was driven out of his mind as his hands connected with flesh and he concentrated on pulling Elizabeth to the surface. She was completely insensible and did not seem to be breathing. He pulled her to shore, swimming faster than he ever had before.

As he laid her lifeless body gently on the jacket he had stretched out beneath her and then crouched down beside her, he finally acknowledged to himself that he had somehow allowed himself to fall in love with Elizabeth Bennet. In spite of all of the lecturing he had done to Bingley, he had done precisely what he had accused the other man of doing: Fallen in love with an unsuitable woman.

My uncle and my aunts will disown me, he thought as he checked Elizabeth for any signs of life. Finding a thready pulse to his great relief, he turned her over in an attempt to get her to spit up the water she had ingested. Society at large will scoff at me. My cousins...I am not entirely certain what they will think. Anne will either be disappointed or relieved; Richard will either believe me mad or amusing. Maybe Elizabeth and I can enjoy Bedlam together.

Darcy had tried to ignore the fact that the woman he loved was all but naked in his arms and that he was not properly attired, either, but he could only ignore that truth for so long. Another truth took precedent, however: In spite of his efforts, she was still showing no signs of breathing.

He remembered a technique he had seen a surgeon do one summer day when a young lad had had an accident in the river that ran through Pemberley's grounds. The Royal Humane Society had since condemned the method, but since he had seen it work once and had no better options, he rolled Elizabeth gently on her back again and placed his lips over hers. He blew into her mouth, unsure if he was doing the right thing.

You know exactly how Elizabeth would answer that, old man, his mind wryly told him.

Elizabeth made no answer at all, so he breathed into her mouth over and over and over again until he last all track of time. Had he been blowing breath for a minute or an hour? He knew not. Just when he was about to lose hope, the woman he loved sputtered to life, choking on the water in her lungs. He quickly turned Elizabeth over, not caring in the slightest that she was likely ruining his jacket by coughing up the water that had been killing her.

Darcy tenderly rubbed her back as she continued to expel the water. He knew that her odds of becoming ill as a result of tonight's incident were high, so he understood that he had to get her back to Netherfield as quickly as possible. After she had lain panting for a few moments in obvious exhaustion, he tentatively touched her shoulder and addressed her softly.

"Eliz-Miss Elizabeth, I need to get you back into the house immediately. Can you stand?"

As he had suspected, she was unable to do so. Her face formed an endearing scowl as her eyes flickered with ire at the indignity of not being able to rise even with his assistance. Considering that he had recently feared losing her, he had never seen a more beautiful sight. His relatives and the Ton seemed further away than the Americas as he held his beloved against him. Darcy knew that his heart had to be in his eyes, but he could not make himself care if Elizabeth noticed.

"Miss Elizabeth, I am going to have to carry you. Let me help you back into your bedclothes, and then I will wrap you in my jacket—such as it is at the moment."

For some reason, the word "bedclothes" caused her to grow wide-eyed and panicked. At first, Darcy assumed that, like Eve in the Garden of Eden, she had simply become aware of her undressed state and reacted to it with embarrassment. Her eyes drifted to the ground nearby, however, and landed on the discarded bedclothes near the water's edge. A look of terror filled her face, and her eyes sparkled with tears that quickly spilled over her cheeks. She started shaking her head in denial, softly repeating a stuttered, "N-no. N-no. N-no. N-no."

"We lack any better choices, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy murmured gently yet firmly. "I know you do not want to be seen in such a state—especially in the company of a man—but we really need to-"

"I—I-I know," she whispered through chattering teeth. "Y-you d-do n-n-n-not under...under...I d-d-did n-n-not... d-d-did n-n-not w-wear...w-was w-w-wearing...dress. A-a drrress."

Darcy could not understand her ramblings, nor did he have time to do so. Elizabeth needed warmth now; she could sort out her wardrobe preferences later.

"You can put on a dress once you have had a warm bath, Miss Elizabeth. Please put on your bedclothes so that we can go up to the house."

Darcy sighed in frustration as his love prepared to argue with him. Normally he enjoyed the sight, but more important things weighed on him this night. A plausible argument occurred to him, and he used it shamelessly.

"The faster you put on your bedclothes, the sooner you can return to Jane's side."

Her reaction was not what he had expected. She crumpled in on herself and gestured out to the middle of the pond.

"J-Jane...J-Jane...D-dead. D-d-drowned."

Darcy frowned in confusion.

"I assure you, Miss Bennet is perfectly well. Bingley made certain that she was being tended to properly before we started looking for you."

Elizabeth's face looked exactly as it had when she had seen her bedclothes, and Darcy knew fear once again. He tamped down his impatience, however, not wanting to give his love any more pain than she had already experienced this night.

"I can tell that something happened tonight, Miss Elizabeth," he said in what he hoped was an encouraging tone. "We can talk about it later if you want, but for now-"

"I need to get warm again," Elizabeth said, seeming to come back into her right mind.

"Just so, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said with evident relief.

Wordlessly, she put her bedclothes back on and accepted his sodden yet conveniently opaque jacket. He regretted that he had nothing better to give his love, but at least nobody else would be able to see what the bedclothes did nothing to hide. Darcy had tried his hardest to be a gentleman, but he could not help but observe that Elizabeth would make as fine a wife physically as she would emotionally.

To his surprise, Elizabeth did not protest when he picked her up in his arms. This frightened Darcy as he had expected her to at least put up some small argument. His Elizabeth was clearly at her wits' end if she lacked the energy to spar with him over such treatment, so he walked as quickly as possible back to Netherfield.

By the time they reached the servants' entrance, she was strong enough to walk, so they were able to discreetly slip in with little notice. Fortunately, the maid who had stayed with Elizabeth that first night was nearby, and she was entrusted with escorting Elizabeth safely up the servants' staircase to her room. That way, nobody would likely see her in her current condition and make idle gossip about her appearance or her company. He would not have his beloved's good name slandered before he could make her his wife.

A harsh stab of disapproval lanced his mind as, now that the initial panic was over and his emotions were calming, his logical mind reasserted itself. All of his reasons for Elizabeth's unsuitability were still valid, feelings or no. Could he really risk harming Georgiana's marriage prospects due to his selfish desire for Elizabeth? Could he prove himself to be such a significant hypocrite before Bingley? Could he ask Elizabeth to weather the derision and mocking of the Ton just to be at his side?

You need to protect Eliz—Miss Elizabeth and yourself, Darcy admonished the emotional part of his mind that had dominated his thought processes up until that point.

A plan began forming in his mind; he decided to implement it first thing in the morning. Only heaven would be able to help him if Miss Elizabeth were to find him responsible, but he had to do the right thing for the woman he loved regardless of how difficult he found the task.

Darcy mentally squirmed as he made his way back to his room to his own quarters through the servants' stairs with his valet, not wanting anyone to see him in his current bedraggled shape. His valet informed him that he had ordered the servants to prepare a hot bath for him after Miss Elizabeth's tub had been filled. Darcy tried not to dwell on the mental image of the woman he loved but could never marry bathing at the same time as he, but not all parts of his mind seemed capable of obeying him equally.

His thoughts tormented him for the rest of the night; not even the hot bath could warm the coldness he felt within as he contemplated the bleakness of his future without Elizabeth at his side.

Chapter Text

AN: I know there were some doubts after the events of the last few chapters, but this is an HEA for ODC and J/B. We're going to have to go through some more scary twists and turns to get there, but no deranged house is capable of keeping E&D apart—at least not indefinitely. Many have questions about the house's plans; this chapter should explain at least some of them better, so read on.

As long as Netherfield could remember, the ghostly gestalt had always been unified. Although many different parts made up the whole, the house had always been able to arrive at a consensus effortlessly and enact plans with a single-minded purpose. The formation of a split in the consciousness of the house had shaken the spirits of Netherfield like nothing ever had before.

Netherfield knew the cause: Elizabeth Bennet. That mere slip of a girl had been a thorn in Netherfield's figurative flesh since childhood, and she was now causing untold amounts of havoc as a young woman. While Darcy's mind might be stronger than hers overall, Elizabeth Bennet was an agent of chaos and disharmony. The house had had little trouble distracting Darcy with his burgeoning feelings for Elizabeth, but Elizabeth's single-minded dedication to her sister and wariness of Netherfield had greatly reduced the opportunities the house had to strike.

Part of the house had grown impatient with waiting for Jane to die—especially since the apothecary had noted with some surprise that her body seemed to be healing fairly well and that the bump on her head would likely not kill her, after all. Of course, he could say nothing about the state of Jane's mind, and Netherfield planned to ensure that nobody else knew the truth.

Although the powerful illusion the house had unfolded for Elizabeth Bennet's pleasure may have been a lie, the words that its rendering of Jane had spoken had been true. The house did want Jane and would not give her back. There was nothing Elizabeth Bennet or anyone else could do to save her. Netherfield was taking Jane's mind piece by piece, and not even her devoted, disruptive sister would be able to retrieve it from the house's clutches.

Part of the house was content to allow events to continue unfolding as they had been—with some help from the gestalt, of course. Jane's mind continued to deteriorate even as her body improved. Elizabeth Bennet's mind continued to deteriorate as Netherfield kept it entertained with vivid nightmares and harrowing supernatural events. Darcy continued to view Miss Elizabeth as both immensely attractive and exceedingly unsuitable. Caroline Bingley continued to spew her venom at the most opportune times. Bingley continued to grow resentful of his sister and his closest friend, causing a delightful undercurrent of disharmony that Netherfield found most nourishing, indeed.

Another part of the house, however, had grown impatient. Some of the stronger-willed, more impulsive spirits had favored a more direct attack—one that would have not only removed Jane's chief protector but forced her to submit to the will of the whole. The idea of using Elizabeth Bennet's love for her sister to be her ultimate undoing appealed to these ghosts, who had begun to exert themselves more in the gestalt as what they saw as a tedious affair slogged on.

More prudent spirits, however, wanted no part of bringing Elizabeth Bennet into the whole. If she was causing Netherfield to splinter while alive, what trouble could she cause in the gestalt when dead? Some favored tormenting her with the illusion of Jane drowning yet not going so far as to lure her into the water. Others wanted to lure her into the water while luring someone from Netherfield to save her.

Nobody had wanted that someone to be Darcy, yet once the man heard that Elizabeth Bennet was missing and potentially in danger, his mind had focused on finding her with no room for anything else. For the first time since meeting Darcy, the house had been completely shut out of his mind.

Netherfield was also alarmed at how instinctively he had known where his precious Elizabeth would be. Darcy had reminded Bingley of Elizabeth's words after the first event and had deduced from them that she might have gone to the stables or the pond. Without waiting for any further discussion, Darcy hard curtly dismissed Bingley to the stables while running hard for the pond himself.

Even many of those who had opposed direct action against Elizabeth Bennet had enjoyed watching her drown. They had gotten so wrapped up in the unfolding drama, in fact, that they had not noticed Darcy's arrival until his strong feelings for Elizabeth had practically deafened them with their intensity. The house had reeled in dismay at the intensity and clarity of the emotions that had battered the gestalt. He loved her. He would always love her. He cared not for the world's disapprobation. He cared not for his family's censure. He would make her his wife regardless of the consequences.

The gestalt was in an uproar that was not entirely unlike that which could be caused by Mrs. Bennet when she had not gotten her way. Wiser minds prevailed eventually, however, assuring the rest that Darcy would calm down and be susceptible to Netherfield's wisdom once more. These spirits were proven right, and so the harmonious whole settled down and formulated a plan.

Darcy put his strong, keen mind to work, and the house helped him every step of the way. Netherfield could be quite encouraging under the right circumstances, after all, and the house was quite sympathetic to Darcy's desires at the time. The house was admittedly ambivalent about the person Darcy had told Bingley he wanted to bring back, but if the fetching of the man would get Darcy out of the house for at least a day, who were they to overlook such a gift? Perhaps the house could even convince him to stay away indefinitely before he left Netherfield's influence.

Even if Darcy returned, however, Elizabeth Bennet hopefully would not—except to retrieve her sister's body, were nobody else compelled to take it to Longbourn. Darcy's scheme would remove Elizabeth Bennet from Netherfield if all went according to his plan; the house would, of course, do all it could to assist the hasty departure of such a chaotic, disruptive force. Were she to learn of Darcy's involvement in her separation from Jane, the house would be all the happier. In fact, all Netherfield would need to do would be to work on a single mind...

Chapter Text

Mr. Bennet could not stop staring at the pale, wan figure that sat across from him in the carriage. He knew that his daughter held certain views about Netherfield that he had never believed, but right now, he felt that he might be able to consider the girl seated across from him to be some sort of a spirit form of his daughter. His Little Lizzy's bright eyes, sparkling wit, and ready tongue were nowhere to be found, and her entire bearing seemed worn and defeated.

This will not do, he thought as he mentally prepared his assault on his daughter's uncharacteristic lack of spirit.

"All will be well at Netherfield, My Lizzy," he said with a smirk. "After all, I plan on allowing your mother and the rest of your sisters to go visit Jane this afternoon. I dare say its current inhabitants will be gladdened by all the additional company."

His daughter's face displayed a brief amount of amusement, but nowhere near as much as normal.

"Do I have your permission to seek sanctuary in your library, Papa?" she asked with a frown. "If Mama and my sisters depart, then I will have no one but Mr. Collins to keep me company."

"Perhaps this afternoon would be a good opportunity to spend some time with Miss Lucas," Mr. Bennet said wryly. "I am certain she has missed you these last several days."

"I look forward to the exercise—and companionship," she replied with a small but genuine smile. "Perhaps you could keep Mr. Collins's attention with a question about theology or Lady Catherine as I leave Longbourn, Papa."

"I must admit to having a great desire to learn more about Rosings's third-smallest drawing room."

"Do you not mean 'third-largest,' Papa? How could anyone refer to any part of the grand estate of the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh as small?"

"You are, of course, quite right, My Lizzy. Thank you for correcting such a grievous error before I had the opportunity to utter it in Mr. Collins's presence."

Lizzy smiled at him again before lapsing into troubled silence. While he was gratified to have gotten enough of a response from her to have seen a bit of her normal spark, he knew that her mind was still at Netherfield even if her body was heading home. Smirking, Mr. Bennet brought out a folded piece of paper that he was certain would garner a strong reaction from his favorite daughter.

"Perhaps you are wondering why I came to collect you from Netherfield this morning, Lizzy," he began as he unfolded the paper.

"I assumed that you desired my sensible company as an antidote to the less-sensible company to which you have been subjected recently."

"And so I did, My Lizzy," he assured her, patting her knee. "I have missed you greatly; I will own that much. However, I received a most intriguing letter early this morning that led me to immediately have the carriage readied."

Lizzy smiled sardonically and said, "So Miss Bingley finally tired of my presence and sent you a missive comprised of flowery prose and false claims of friendship? Did she mention how concerned she was for my well-being and how much she wanted to give me a rest from caring for our darling Jane? Why would you believe such absurdities, Papa?"

"While such a missive would have been quite diverting, indeed, this letter I have in my hand is not from Miss Bingley—although it is from someone at Netherfield."

Mr. Bennet could see that Lizzy was intrigued—especially since she would have a target for her ire once she learned of the correspondent's identity. He could hardly wait to reveal the truth to his daughter since doing so would surely bring back her inner fire.

"I would assume, Papa, that a servant did not write the letter," she said, clearly using the process of elimination to what would surely be an amusing effect.

"You assume rightly, Lizzy."

"I would also assume that Mr. Hurst did not write the letter as he would have no food, drink, or sport to gain by doing so."

"Nor would he likely have had the energy. No, this particular piece of correspondence did not come courtesy of our avid sportsman."

"Perhaps Mr. Bingley wrote you a letter because he is genuinely concerned for my welfare. After all, he does know the truth about...Netherfield."

Mr. Bennet noticed Lizzy's hesitant pause but knew not its cause. Was she hesitant to talk about her beliefs about the house or had something else occurred altogether?

"Mr. Bingley has, I believe, been much too concerned about your sister's well-being to be concerned about yours, my dear."

"That's not true at all, Papa," Lizzy said with an earnest expression on her face. "Mr. Bingley has been kindness itself to me. He has ensured that I remember to eat, sleep, and rest. He is the only one who believes me—at least in part-about Netherfield, and the only reason I consented to leave Jane behind. I know he will make sure that she is well-guarded—especially after..."

Mr. Bennet wanted to pursue the hints his daughter was leaving about a mysterious event that must have had no little impact on her, yet he wanted his amusement first.

"While he may be an excellent gentleman, Mr. Bingley is not our letter-writer, Lizzy."

"That only leaves Mrs. Hurst and Mr. Darcy, neither of whom care about me enough to waste time writing to you to take me home. Mrs. Hurst goes along with whatever Miss Bingley wants her to do, yet I doubt that she would bother to write to me if her sister were not inclined to do so."

Mr. Bennet smirked at her, realizing that his Lizzy had finally deduced the truth but wanting her to say it aloud anyway.

"So Mr. Darcy finally tired of glaring at me and finding fault to the degree that he decided to have me removed from Netherfield," she said in a flat tone that was different from any she had used thus far. "I thought such tactics beneath him, but after last night..."

All sense of amusement faded away in Mr. Bennet's mind as one possible interpretation of that statement flashed through his mind. Although his Little Lizzy had an excellent head on her shoulders, he knew that every woman had to get crossed in love at least once during her lifetime. Had Mr. Darcy made any inappropriate advances towards Lizzy? The idea seemed preposterous given the man's arrogant bearing and his ill-concealed disdain for their family, but perhaps the man was hiding a secret nature that was less than proper.

"Yes, this letter was, indeed, written by Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet said soberly. "I had hoped that you would be diverted by that piece of information since I also was surprised to receive such a missive, but apparently, much has occurred at Netherfield of which I am unaware."

Lizzy picked up on her father's tone and turned wary, which brought Mr. Bennet no comfort at all. He might not have been as strict with his daughters as some would have felt he needed to be, but he would not allow any truly untoward conduct towards his favorite daughter to go unaddressed.

"What, precisely, did Mr. Darcy say in his letter, Papa? Did he mention any specific reason for wanting to send me away from Netherfield?"

Mr. Bennet stared wordlessly at Lizzy for a few moments, trying to gauge her mood. While she seemed nervous, she did not appear to be secretive. Either she had no accounts of misconduct to hide from him or she was a good actress.

Which I know her to be, he wryly admitted.

"The letter was most unusual—at least in terms of what I would expect a letter from such a man to contain. Not that his address was any less than gentlemanly, but he seemed to be genuinely concerned about your health and safety."

"Of course he did," Lizzy muttered. "I am certain that Mr. Darcy can seem quite sincere when he wants something badly enough—like getting me out of his sight."

"Does he really think so badly of you, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet asked, trying to decipher his daughter's mood. "I know that he is not attracted to you and carries himself in a proud and disagreeable manner, but did he truly find nothing of value in you during your stay at Netherfield?"

Lizzy smiled humorlessly.

"I believe he found value in glaring imperiously at me when I displeased him and in insulting me and our family in tete-a-tetes with Miss Bingley. He might also have found value in arguing with me, belittling my opinions, and mocking my status in life. He will probably find value in trying to dissuade Mr. Bingley from falling in love with Jane—at least if Miss Bingley is to be believed. He finds Jane unsuitable, you see."

Mr. Bennet was taken aback at his daughter's vehemence regarding the tall, distinguished gentleman from Derbyshire. While the man had never impressed him as being amiable or enjoyable company, he had certainly never before seemed to engender so much anger in his daughter, either.

"What happened last night, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet asked, trying to catch his daughter off-guard with such a sudden question.

Her eyes widened in fear; to his shock, tears began to leak from them and trail languidly down her cheeks. Lizzy seemed quite dismayed at displaying such emotions and tried to regain control of herself by closing her eyes tightly and squeezing her hands together.

"Did Mr. Darcy do something untoward to you, Lizzy?"

To his displeasure, her daughter blushed deeply. Perhaps his Lizzy was so angry at Mr. Darcy now because he had taken advantage of her in some way.

"Did he compromise you, Lizzy?" he asked softly.

Her eyes sprung open in alarm before filling with he-knew-not-what. His heart sank even further.

"Some might say so, Papa," she whispered.

Bracing himself, Mr. Bennet asked her to explain herself. As Lizzy began to unfold her tale, his own eyes widened in disbelief as he realized that he had severely misunderstood the situation. Whether or not he believed the supernatural aspects of Lizzy's story, he did believe that the proud, haughty man his daughter obviously disdained had saved her life. He knew that, insults to and about his family aside, he would never be able to repay the man for his actions last night.

"So Mr. Darcy carried your mostly-naked body out of the water, somehow restored your consciousness, covered you in his jacket, and made sure that only a trustworthy maid saw you in such a state. Do I have that right, Lizzy?"

"Yes, Papa," she said, obviously expecting him to not believe her claims of having seen Jane.

"Your mama would already be screeching about a special license and pin money were she to hear even half of those details."

A ghost of a smile flitted across Lizzy's face.

"She would, indeed, Papa."

"Would marriage to Mr. Darcy be such an undesirable outcome, Lizzy? After all, the man did save your life."

The fire in Lizzy's eyes was a welcome sight to Mr. Bennet.

"Of course I would not want to marry Mr. Darcy—especially due to the ridiculous dictates of our society about his means of saving my life! He may have been unwilling to let me drown, but I assure you that he holds me in the deepest contempt. Do you know what he said about me after the assembly, Papa? Apparently, Miss Bingley said that she had heard me referred to as a beauty, and Mr. Darcy responded, 'I would as soon call her mother a wit.' Does that sound like a man who would want to marry me—or a man you would want me to marry, Papa?"

"Indeed, not, My Lizzy," he soothed as the carriage neared Longbourn. "He does not mention any details in this missive, so he is clearly not seeking marriage from you, either. While I cannot approve of his insults, I can remind you that people can sometimes engage in raillery that they do not mean."

"Mr. Darcy always means what he says, Papa," Lizzy murmured. "He always means what he does as well. He glares at me. He stares at me with disapprobation. He mockingly apologizes to me."

"For what reason did he apologize to you, Lizzy?"

"He tried to apologize for his slight at the assembly. Apparently, Mr. Bingley noticed that I overheard him—or at least deduced as much from my rapid departure and subsequent discussion with Charlotte."

"I take it from your explanation that his apology was lacking?"

For the short duration of the carriage ride, Lizzy entertained him with mimicry of Mr. Darcy's admittedly pathetic attempts at apology. While the odds of the great man actually offering for his daughter were as poor as they themselves were, Mr. Bennet could not help but wonder if the man had formed some sort of attachment to his daughter. The tone of the note, the effort put into saving Lizzy, and the intense stares…

Mr. Bennet pretended to chuckle at his daughter's portrayal of Miss Bingley fawning over Mr. Darcy, but his mind was in the distant past remembering a time when he himself had tried to deny his love for an unsuitable woman. He had failed miserably, and his life had been miserable as a result.

As a spark of life and laughter reappeared in his daughter's bearing, he vowed that he would never allow his Lizzy to suffer through a marriage as dismal as his own had been. Even if a proud, wealthy gentleman—or an obsequious, buffoonish one, for that matter-asked for Lizzy's hand, Mr. Bennet would not let fear or indolence force him into giving it to the man without an absolute certainty of her love for him. Lizzy may have inherited her temper from her mother, yet Mr. Bennet resolved to remind her and everyone else that her stubbornness had come from both parents equally.

Should I tell her about the dinner party her mother has planned for tonight or should I allow her to learn of such a joyous event as a surprise? Mr. Bennet wondered as he and Lizzy prepared to exit the carriage.

The amusement of imagining the delectable absurdities that would be on display tonight put a smile on his face as he escorted his favorite daughter back home where she belonged.

I think I shall let tonight's entertainment be a surprise for her after all, he mused as the loud din of his family greeted his ears in a familiar cacophony. Otherwise, she might accidentally disappear into the countryside and mysteriously turn up at Netherfield again. She does come by her stubbornness honestly...

Chapter Text

"Why, the glazing alone cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh...Cousin Elizabeth? Are you well?"

"Oh!" Cousin Elizabeth blurted as if waking up suddenly. "I do apologize, Mr. Collins. I got so wrapped up in envisioning the wonders of Rosings Park that I missed your last description."

"That is quite understandable, Cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said in his most gracious tone. "After all, who could listen to my vivid, detailed descriptions of the beauties of Rosings Park and not be carried away by them?"

"Who, indeed?" Cousin Elizabeth asked with a smile that demonstrated her sincerity. "Could you tell me more of the architecture of Rosings? I have always been fascinated by such things."

"Then you will undoubtedly find Rosings Park to be a delight, Cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said, subtly insinuating that Cousin Elizabeth would soon be viewing his patroness's extraordinary abode with him.

"Perhaps I can visit Rosings Park someday, Mr. Collins," she said with a demure smile.

Mr. Collins felt that her modesty did her credit. After all, Cousin Elizabeth would have to display even more reserve before Lady Catherine de Bourgh, so he was encouraged to see her practicing now.

"Indeed, Cousin Elizabeth, I believe that you shall behold the glories of Rosings Park sooner than you may believe."

Cousin Elizabeth gave Mr. Collins another small smile, conveying her acquiescence to his future proposal with clever yet silent communication. His Elizabeth was as wise as a serpent but as innocent as a dove, indeed.

"Does that not sound fine, Miss Lizzy!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed. "Imagine dining with Lady Catherine herself!"

Cousin Elizabeth ensured her mother that she would delight in meeting such an august personage at some future date, once again keeping herself from overtly telling her mother about their mutual understanding. His precious Elizabeth was a rare jewel, indeed! How fortunate he was that Mrs. Bennet had insisted on their current seating arrangements so that he could regale the partner of his future life with details of his noble patroness and her vast holdings.

Mr. Collins launched into a description of Rosings's largest parlor, doing his best to convey its lavish opulence to his rapt audience. Mrs. Bennet's eyes glowed with a gratifying appreciation, while Cousin Elizabeth's held a more muted admiration. The young officer—Chambers? Chalmers? Chamberlayne?-sitting across from Cousin Elizabeth was not paying proper attention to Mr. Collins and had spent most of the evening conversing with the officer next to him. Considering that the young man would never see Rosings Park, Mr. Collins could not blame the lad for wanting to keep himself from slipping into the sin of covetousness.

"...and do you know how much Lady Catherine de Bourgh spent on procuring that particular painting? 'Mr. Collins,' said she one day, 'you must never concern yourself with the price of an object you truly desire. You should spare no effort or expense in order to obtain that which...Cousin Elizabeth?"

His inattentive cousin once again started in her seat.

"My dear Cousin Elizabeth, you must take care to always attend to a conversation. Why, Lady Catherine de Bourgh said only a fortnight ago that-"

"I apologize again, Mr. Collins," she said, massaging her forehead gently. "I seem to be developing a slight headache that is distracting me from our conversation. Perhaps I am simply worried about Jane."

"Of course you are, Cousin Elizabeth. How could a woman such as yourself feel otherwise? Considering all of the fear and uncertainty you have suffered on her behalf, the death of your sister would have been a blessing in comparison."

An expression that Mr. Collins could not interpret formed on Cousin Elizabeth's face. She deliberately turned her head towards him, favoring him with more overt attention than she ever had before. He preened internally as he realized that his compassionate statement about Cousin Elizabeth's unjust suffering for her sister had touched her deeply.

Her eyes really are quite fine, he reflected as they sparked with strong emotions.

"Of course we are all worried over our dearest Jane," Mrs. Bennet said loudly, ruining the powerful moment that he and Cousin Elizabeth had been sharing. "Mr. Bingley—he is deeply in love with Jane, you know, and will surely make her an offer as soon as she is able to accept one—told Mr. Bennet and my Lizzy this morning that Mr. Darcy has gone to London to bring back a physician. Can you imagine the like? My Jane will be treated by one of the most respected Town physicians."

"That will certainly almost make up for the severity of Jane's injuries, Mama," Cousin Elizabeth agreed. "In fact, I would not be surprised to learn that Jane deliberately injured herself in order to be examined by a genuine Town physician."

"Deliberately injured?! What are you speaking of, child? My dearest Jane would never...Oh, Miss Lizzy, there you go again. Pray forgive my daughter, Mr. Collins. She sometimes uses jests to handle the difficulties of life."

"A cheerful heart is good medicine, Mrs. Bennet."

"But a crushed spirit dries up the bones."

"Do be serious, Miss Lizzy, and mind your manners for Mr. Collins."

"I was simply finishing the verse, Mama. Surely Mr. Collins cannot be offended by my quotation of scripture considering his profession."

"Indeed, not, Cousin Elizabeth. Your knowledge of scripture does you credit. However-"

"I should, perhaps, refrain from using scripture to vex my mother. Yes, you are quite right, Mr. Collins. Consider me properly chastised. I shall try to do better in the future."

You will have to do better once you are my wife, Elizabeth, for Lady Catherine de Bourgh will not tolerate such cheek. I, on the other hand, will tolerate it under certain circumstances—in our marriage bed, for instance…

This time, Mr. Collins was the one who got scolded for inattentiveness as his mind drifted off into pleasurable imaginings of what making Elizabeth his wife would be like. Not that he knew much about the temptations of the flesh, but he was a man, after all, and had a passable idea of such things.

"I do apologize, Mrs. Bennet," he said, smiling broadly at her before turning his head pointedly towards his delectable cousin. "I was thinking on particularly weighty matters—matters that I hope to resolve first thing on the morrow."

His hostess reacted with all of the appropriate—and even, perhaps, a bit of inappropriate—enthusiasm that his declaration warranted. Cousin Elizabeth, as usual, was much more circumspect in her approbation. Outside of these few hints of childishness that she would certainly outgrow, Cousin Elizabeth would make him a fine wife, indeed.

I will ask her first thing in the morning, he vowed. After all, Lady Catherine de Bourgh admonished me to obtain a wife as quickly as possible, and she does not wish to be kept waiting. Of course, considering my Elizabeth's numerous charms, I do not particularly care to wait, either…

AN: I apologize to anyone who feels the need to shower after reading that chapter; I fear that there is more sleaziness ahead for our intrepid heroine, so more bathing might become necessary.

Chapter Text

AN: We're going to start getting into some longer chapters now as we get closer to the end of the story. So much still has to happen, and I have never been known for my brevity as a writer. I'll try to keep these chapters sharp and focused, but I'll probably get distracted by some OOH SHINY diversion I have to chase. Back to the action; as some of you guessed, Elizabeth is about to make a new friend.

Elizabeth stared into the fire as Mary played a melody in the background that helped to soothe her raw nerves and relax her exhausted body. Mama had given her a short respite from Mr. Collins by allowing the separation of the sexes for a few minutes after dinner, so Elizabeth was enjoying her reprieve. Of course, Mama had not been subtle about her reasons for allowing Elizabeth this break; she was supposed to get rid of her headache in order to be suitable entertainment for Mr. Collins once the men joined the women in the drawing room.

Since she knew that no amount of preparation could enable her to be a better conversational partner for Mr. Collins, she allowed her mind to revisit the conversation that had contributed to her inattentiveness to her cousin during dinner. While part of her inability concentrate had been caused by the banal, ridiculous nature of the discussion itself, her fatigue from almost drowning the night before, and, of course, her fear for Jane, the rest could be blamed on the conversation she had had with Charlotte Lucas that afternoon.

As a dutiful, obedient daughter should, Elizabeth had heeded Papa's wishes and had slipped out of the house to pay a call on Charlotte while Papa had distracted Mr. Collins with a question about the construction and composition of Rosings's chimneys. Elizabeth had left Longbourn with a smile on her face, feeling guiltily light-hearted as she had headed for her closest friend's home. While she had known that she should have been back at Netherfield keeping Jane from its clutches, she had grudgingly admitted that having a day of rest had done her heart and body some good.

At first, the conversation had gone exactly as Elizabeth had anticipated. Greetings had been exchanged. Questions about Jane had been asked and answered. Mocking mimicries of the Bingley sisters had been performed with much enthusiasm on both sides. Tears of laughter had almost turned to tears of relief as Elizabeth had exulted in the satisfying sensation of being in the presence of someone who loved and understood her.

Charlotte had asked about Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth had found herself pouring her heart out to her confidante. All of the pain and the pressure and the peevishness had erupted from her in an explosion of impassioned ranting as she had railed against such a future for herself. Only in retrospect could Elizabeth realize that Charlotte had not been nearly as sympathetic an ear as Elizabeth had thought her to be at the time.

Once Elizabeth had finished verbally abusing Mr. Collins, Charlotte had asked her about Mr. Bingley's interest in Jane. This had served as a neat distraction as this was a topic about which Elizabeth could wax eloquently. Inevitably, talk of Mr. Bingley had led to more abuse being heaped on his sisters—and Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth had unleashed all of her frustrations about the arrogant, high-handed man who had cast her out of Netherfield and left her dearest sister vulnerable on her dearest friend, who had listened in silence outside of a few prompts to continue speaking. She had even told Charlotte the truth about the pond incident in spite of knowing her closest friend would not believe all of her account.

Elizabeth sighed as she gazed at the dancing flames, part of her wishing that her mind could stay on those happier times. She knew, however, that she had to try to deal with these vexatious memories before her irritating cousin returned to her side.

Charlotte had listened to all of Elizabeth's complaints, fears, and frustrations before giving her the most serious look she had ever leveled on Elizabeth.

"Eliza, in all of our years of friendship, have I ever asked you for anything outside of returned affection?"

"I assume that you are not referring to simple requests for daily assistance or accompaniment to Meryton."

"No, I am not. We have been friends for many years, so in that spirit, I ask you to listen carefully to me."

Elizabeth had nodded reluctantly and bidden her friend to continue.

"While I know that your mother has likely made some...questionable comments since Jane's accident, I believe that she has probably stated some unfortunate truths—albeit in unfortunate ways."

Elizabeth had given Charlotte some particularly colorful examples of Mama's discourse, mimicking her mother uncannily well. To her dismay, her attempt at humor had not distracted her friend from her mission.

"Eliza, if Jane never recovers-"

She had held up her hand as Elizabeth had sputtered indignantly.

"You have to accept that Jane, dear to us though she may be, may never return to us. If Jane can no longer marry well, then to whom will that lot fall?"

Protestations about only marrying for love, being unable to marry a buffoon, and Papa having many good years left in him had fallen on deaf ears.

"I understand all of that, Eliza, yet tell me: How much preparation did you have for Jane's accident? None. It just happened with no warning. Your father could pass away just as suddenly, and then where would you be?"

"But Jane and Mr. Bingley-"

"May never get married for a variety of reasons. Were Jane and your father to pass away, would you really discard the opportunity to marry the heir of your family home?"

The idea of marriage to Mr. Collins turned Elizabeth's stomach, and she had told her friend so. To Elizabeth's shock, Charlotte had turned the line of questioning in a different direction altogether.

"Were you not to marry Mr. Collins, to whom would you turn? Is there another man who could save your family? Have you another source of hope and succor? Has another man—perhaps a certain tall, rich, and handsome gentleman farmer from Derbyshire—caught your eye?"

For the first time, Elizabeth had realized herself to be talking to a total stranger. Part of her had wondered if Netherfield had somehow taken over Charlotte's mind and caused her to speak such nonsense. Her friend had seemed to be in earnest, however, so Elizabeth had decided to return the favor of honesty with some unfortunate truths of her own.

She had listed all of her reasons for believing Mr. Darcy to be a cold, arrogant man who thought meanly of her. She had reminded Charlotte about his conduct and insults at the assembly and the dinner party that had been held at Lucas Lodge. She had revisited the conversation between Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst she had overheard from the hallway.

"How could I ever marry a man who desires to ruin—perhaps forever—the happiness of my most beloved sister?" she had asked.

Charlotte had ruthlessly pulled her arguments to pieces like a dissatisfied knitter unraveling a project that had turned out poorly. She had reminded Elizabeth of a time or two when her own conduct had been lacking. She had pointed out the unreliability of anything coming from the Bingley sisters' mouths. She had expounded for a particularly lengthy period about the unlikelihood of Mr. Darcy staring at her so intensely in order to find fault.

"Eliza, I know how a man looks when he gazes at a woman and finds her wanting," she had said with a touch of bitterness. "I know how a man looks when he finds a woman not even worth noticing. And, Eliza, I definitely know how a man looks when he finds a woman attractive. How can I not know? After all, at assemblies, I do not dance: I observe. I watch. I learn. And I have learned."

"Charlotte, I never-"

"I know, Eliza. You cannot help being handsomer than me. You cannot help that men are frequently drawn to your liveliness and enthusiasm. You can help, however, taking a nonsensically negative view of a man solely because he slighted your appearance at an assembly."

This accusation had wounded Elizabeth deeply because she had known it to be completely untrue, and she had told her friend as much.

"I disliked Mr. Darcy even before he said such unkind things about the women of Meryton—all of the women of Meryton. He said that there was not a single one of us worth dancing with, if you will recall. Before that happened, however, he conveyed with word and deed his disdain for all of us. His manners did not improve at your dinner party, either. How could I not hate a man who derides everything I hold dear?"

"Did his manners improve after he saved your life, Eliza?"

Elizabeth now bitterly regretted telling her friend about the pond incident. She had gotten so wrapped up in the feeling of euphoria that had come over her through the power of confession that she had not stopped to think that her friend would not view the events of that night in the same way she did.

"I do not remember much about last night," she had hedged. "I do remember him sending me up the servants' stairs like Miss Bingley did on the first day, however. Perhaps he did not want Netherfield's floors to get dirty."

"Or perhaps he was thinking of your reputation, Eliza," Charlotte had said impatiently.

"Perhaps he did not want me to contemplate claiming a compromise."

Charlotte had stared at Elizabeth with disapproval.

"Do you honestly believe Mr. Darcy to be so devoid of honor? Given the way he looks at you—which, from your own description, seems to be with even more intensity than I observed a couple of weeks ago—I am not so certain that Mr. Darcy would object to wedding you, Eliza."

No protestations had held any sway over Charlotte's mad opinions.

"All I ask, Eliza, is that if Mr. Darcy ever does declare himself to you, that you do not refuse him out of hand. A man of his consequence could save your entire family and make dependence on Mr. Collins unnecessary."

"Objections to the rest of your points aside, what makes you think Mr. Darcy would support my family if he married me?"

"As conscientious as he is by your own description, do you really believe him to be the type of man who would turn his back on people he considers to be his responsibility?"

"Why would you think me to have the answer to such a question?"

Charlotte had stared at her wordlessly.

"Just because he saved my life does not mean he values me more than anyone else. Surely he would have saved anyone in need."

Charlotte had smiled mischievously.

"Any decent man would save another person so near death."

Charlotte's grin had widened.

"I have never claimed him to be indecent; arrogant, conceited, high-handed, snobbish, and proud, however..."

"So you admit that he's a decent man who is otherwise like every other member of his sex. Why should you not marry him, Eliza?"

The mean-spirited retort Elizabeth had been preparing to unleash on her friend had died on her lips as her shoulders had slumped.

"I do not want to quarrel with you, Charlotte—not after the week I have had. I still find both Mr. Collins and Mr. Darcy to be men I could never marry, and I sincerely doubt that Mr. Darcy feels anything for me but disdain. I will, however, take to heart your admonition to consider my future so that I will be able to make a rational, informed decision should the worst happen."

"That is all I ask, Eliza," Charlotte had said before drawing Elizabeth into a hug.

The sound of the door opening brought Elizabeth back to the present and caused her to stiffen in her chair before the fire. She looked despairingly at the chair positioned beside her that her mother had deliberately placed there, giving Elizabeth a suggestive look all the while. A figure sat down beside her and she looked up, accepting her fate.

To her surprise, she saw not the form of her cousin but the handsome new militia recruit who had been invited to tonight's dinner at the last moment by her younger sisters. They had been formally introduced at the beginning of the evening but had not had any opportunities for interaction given her mother's…

Elizabeth stood to her feet and curtsied, ignoring the man's gallant protest that such a nicety was unnecessary. She surreptitiously darted her gaze around the room, noting that her mother and youngest sisters had been engaged by the rest of the officers. Mr. Collins had been waylaid by Mary, who was obviously trying to attract him to herself by speaking piously of the sermons of Rev. Fordyce. Mr. Wickham chuckled knowingly as she took her seat, confiding that the rest of his new friends had agreed to give him a chance to talk to the charming young lady he had only just met that night.

"Unless you would like me to call your cousin over, Miss Elizabeth," he said with a grin. "I am certain that Miss Mary would not object too strenuously to the loss of his company."

Part of Elizabeth was uneasy about the cavalier manner in which this stranger was speaking of her family, but the rest of her was won over by his charming demeanor and wry expression. Besides, she wanted to seize her only chance to have an enjoyable discussion with someone who did not want something from her that she could not give.

"I do not believe that will be necessary, Mr. Wickham," she said with sparkling eyes. "I feel that we will be able to entertain ourselves admirably on our own."

The handsome young man gave her an easy grin to which she could not help but respond with one of her own. They began an intelligent, witty conversation that started with small talk and culminated in him asking about Jane. Elizabeth saw no reason to hide the basic truth from Mr. Wickham, so she told him a general version of events—without the supernatural occurrences, of course.

Mr. Wickham's mood had shifted slightly by the time she had finished telling her latest story about Jane. He confirmed that she had spent time with Mr. Darcy at Netherfield and asked Elizabeth for her opinion of the gentleman.

"Mr. Darcy is a complex man," she said after a pause.

"In other words, you discovered that his faults can sometimes overcome his virtues but are too well-mannered to say otherwise."

"I meant precisely what I said, Mr. Wickham," Elizabeth said with mock dignity, her smirk belying her words.

"I quite understand you, Miss Elizabeth."

"I do not know the gentleman particularly well, Mr. Wickham," Elizabeth explained. "I only met him at a few social engagements before Jane's accident and spent most of my time at Netherfield caring for her."

"Such care of your sister is commendable, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Wickham said with a sympathetic expression. "Mr. Darcy has a young sister, you know."

"I know," she said. "Miss Bingley sings her praises, and Mr. Darcy has expressed his fondness for her."

"She used to be quite amiable, but I fear that she has grown proud and disagreeable."

"So you know her, then?"

"Of course, I do, Miss Elizabeth. After all, I did grow up at Pemberley."

Elizabeth could not contain her gasp, and Mr. Wickham needed no further prodding to spur him into telling a captivating tale of life as a steward's son growing up with the future heir of Pemberley. Mr. Wickham told his stories with such life-like vibrancy; Elizabeth could not remember a more enjoyable conversation held with a single, good-looking gentleman.

His mood shifted again, and he began telling her a tale of woe with such an earnest countenance that her eyes almost filled with tears. The image of a younger Mr. Wickham being cheated out of his inheritance by a younger Mr. Darcy was a vivid one that upset her on multiple levels. She asked him a few questions about legalities and family honor, but he assured her that he had pursued all avenues available to him.

"I, too, know how being discarded by Mr. Darcy feels," Elizabeth said with feeling, proceeding to detail the high-handed manner in which he had arranged for her father to bring her home.

"Such is Mr. Darcy's way," Mr. Wickham said in resignation. "He tired of your presence before dismissing you like the underling you are to him. Mr. Darcy truly is a simpleton for sending a woman such as yourself away. I would never be so foolish, I assure you."

Elizabeth smiled wistfully at Mr. Wickham, wishing that the situation were different so that she would have more time to get to know this intriguing man. She had already resolved to return to Netherfield as soon as possible regardless of Mr. Darcy's machinations, however, and would thus not have any time to devote to gentleman callers.

All too soon, her mother approached the fire, causing Mr. Wickham to immediately begin telling an amusing tale of his first night in the barracks as an officer. Elizabeth marveled at the ease with which he changed his addresses, and she could not help but wonder at the expert way he dealt with Mama.

She espied Mr. Collins waddling towards her at great speed, but she pretended not to notice his approach as she asserted that her headache had returned once more. Considering that the officers were ready to leave and the hour was growing late, Mama reluctantly acquiesced to her request to retire. Elizabeth bade the room farewell and exited the drawing room as quickly as good manners allowed.

As she prepared for bed, a whirlpool of thoughts and feelings swirled within her. Papa had hoped that bringing her home would help her to relax, yet her day at Longbourn had produced more complications than remedies. What was she going to do about Mr. Collins? He had practically confessed that he was going to propose in the morning, which would surely result in a terrible scene. And what of Mr. Wickham? Could she contrive to spend more time with that handsome gentleman? Should she spend more time with him?

Why would I not want to spend more time with Mr. Wickham? she asked herself as she crawled into bed. After all, he is amiable, pleasing, clever, intelligent, and resilient. He also understands Mr. Darcy better than anyone; we both know how unkind and illiberal that gentleman can be.

A great feeling of resentment towards Mr. Darcy welled up in Elizabeth as she pulled the covers up under her chin. Every unkind word, every arrogant stare, and every mocking statement he had ever given her ran through her mind. An image of Jane being swallowed up by Netherfield as Mr. Darcy watched with haughty indifference flashed through her mind. How Charlotte could believe that the man could feel anything positive for Elizabeth was beyond her.

As Elizabeth started to relax into sleep, her mind continued to work on this tangle. Unconsciousness eluded her as her mind attempted to craft a decent plan. Hopefully, she would escape Longbourn early in the morning before Mr. Collins proposed, return to Netherfield and Jane as quickly as possible, and, perhaps, confront Mr. Darcy if he had bothered to come back from London.

Where he has been busy convincing his family's physician to return with him to Netherfield to care for Jane, a voice that sounded disturbingly like Charlotte whispered in her mind. Elizabeth mentally retorted that Mr. Darcy should have allowed her to stay if he truly cared for Jane, but the voice was relentless.

That Charlotte-like voice also had a few questions for Elizabeth about Mr. Wickham that she could not answer with satisfaction.

I will ask Mr. Darcy about Mr. Wickham myself when next I see him—if he ever returns from London, that is, she assured the voice, feeling silly as she did so. As for Mr. Wickham, I simply cannot add his problems to my lengthy list. After all, he is a man, meaning he is free to make his own way in the world. As a woman, I do not even have that level of freedom. Would my own fate be worse than his were I to be forced to marry Mr. Collins in order to inherit my family estate? His position is pitiable, and were my circumstances different...But they are not different. I have nothing to offer Mr. Wickham but lively conversation and ready wit. There can never be anything serious between us. Tomorrow, I shall return to Netherfield, and that shall be the end of the matter one way or another.

Just before Elizabeth fell asleep but before the nightmares took her, she thought she heard her mind say that Mr. Wickham reminded it of Netherfield, but she could not be certain.

AN: I never know what reactions/questions I'm going to get to my stories, so I'm always interested to see what people are going to say. Some of you wondered why Elizabeth wasn't more overtly angry over essentially being manipulated into going home, which is a fair question. One point I would like to make is that we don't get to see Elizabeth's initial reaction to the news; we pick up the tale in the carriage when she's already resigned to going home. Another point: Elizabeth's anger often comes out as sarcasm, impertinence, mockery, etc. Wouldn't it be a shame if she were to get a night of nightmare-infested sleep, go walking early in the morning, and run into a certain gentleman in the process? What unfortunate things might happen then? Perhaps her fear and anger could find a suitable outlet...

Chapter Text

Darcy rode along the lanes of Hertfordshire, wrestling with the moral dilemma that had consumed him since he had returned to Netherfield with his physician late last evening. In London, his mind had seemed so clear—as had his affections for Elizabeth Bennet. So many of the objections that had filled his mind in Meryton had evaporated as if they had never been.

Not that the facts had changed; Darcy knew that there would be some repercussions were he to marry Elizabeth. He understood that some people in the Ton might shun him and his new bride; he also accepted that some men of quality might not want to wed Georgiana because of his marriage. Few of his remaining family members would accept her; Lady Catherine would be livid.

As Darcy remembered his somewhat unorthodox method of working through his objections about Elizabeth, a small smile twitched his lips. He knew that, were he to confess the details to Elizabeth, she would raise an eyebrow and smile in that piquant way he loved so much. Part of him was hoping to encounter his future wife walking in the early morning mist, but the rest of him was glad to have time to reflect on the "conversation" he had held with his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam.

Not that Darcy had had the privilege of his cousin's company; Richard was, after all, currently fighting on the Continent. While in his London townhome, Darcy had indulged in a tradition that he occasionally utilized to work through his problems without actually having to unburden himself to another.

He had entered his study and closed the door before pouring two small portions of brandy. One glass, he had kept in his hand, while the other he had placed on his desk before the chair on the other side. Darcy had sat down in his own chair, taking a sip of his drink before silently toasting the air in front of himself.

Nobody knew of his strange habit, and nobody ever would. "Richard" had, however, been a sympathetic ear as he had launched directly into his tale without making any small talk. The imaginary form of Richard had teased him about his linguistic ineptitude, but he had borne Darcy's detailed descriptions of Elizabeth Bennet's virtues with equanimity.

"So your lady love is beautiful, intelligent, witty, and everything that is good. Why, then, are you talking to me in the first place? Are there objections to the young lady? What cards are you hiding in your hands, Old Man?"

Darcy had not hesitated to launch into the litany of faults he had been repeating ad nauseam since meeting Elizabeth. Richard had smirked at some of them, rolled his eyes at others, and occasionally given a grudging nod at the more serious ones. He had then proceeded to demolish all of Darcy's arguments one by one.

"Tell me, Darcy," Richard had boomed across the desk after taking a swig of brandy, "how many of these Ton events do you attend anyway? Are you a frequent guest at Almack's? Do you routinely seek out invitations to Lord Arsyvarsey's balls or Lady Crosspatch's soirees? Do you enjoy attending these social functions with regularity?"

While Darcy had pointed out that he did attend such events occasionally out of necessity, Richard had merely looked at him knowingly and continued.

"You have never been a social creature, Darcy," Richard had said with a small shake of his head. "You go to a couple of balls a year so as not to offend my parents, but other than that, you mostly keep to yourself. Besides, is not one of the main reasons to go to such a gathering at our age to obtain a wife? If you find a wife elsewhere, why bother wasting your time with such unpleasant pursuits?"

"Surely my wife and I will be expected to socialize after our marriage."

"Not directly after, surely, Darcy."

Darcy had leveled a look at Richard that had, of course, done nothing to affect a man who had not been truly present. His mind had presented him with multiple images relating to what Darcy would be doing with his bride directly after their marriage, distracting him most agreeably for a few minutes. He had imagined what Richard would have said to such obvious daydreaming but could not bring himself to scowl.

"The issue of Georgiana's future weighs most heavily on you, does it not, Old Chap?"

Darcy had merely nodded.

"You would withstand any amount of scorn and ridicule from people you dislike and disdain in order to wed your lady love. From your description, your fair lady would also be content to socialize in your smaller, more hospitable Derbyshire society than the first circles. Georgiana, though, you fear might not be able to find a suitable husband if too many fops and dandies—and their parents, of course-object to your marriage. Is that right?"

Darcy had nodded again, sipping his brandy.

"Tell me, Darcy: Would you really want our Georgiana to marry a man who was unwilling to wed her solely because you married a poor gentlewoman several years ago? Remember, Georgiana will not be coming out for a few years, which is quite long enough for any scandal to die down. Besides, the Ton has both long and short memories. Grudges can be held eternally and juicy scandals can be remembered indefinitely, but such a tame scandal will surely blow over in a year or two. Lord Huggermugger will elope with his chambermaid; Lady Wildgoose will get caught in a compromising position with Lord Wildgoose's steward; and nobody will speak of much else for months."

Part of Darcy had worried that he was excusing all of his reasons against marriage to Elizabeth too easily, but these objections had sounded so reasonable when they had been coming from his cousin's mouth. Of course, he had known that Richard was not really there and that all of his words had been coming from Darcy's mind, but that had not prevented the fictitious conversation from being comforting to Darcy.

His horse snorted and shook its head slightly, bringing Darcy back to the present. Perhaps a horsefly had flown too closely to the stallion's head—or perhaps he sensed another presence in the mist. Darcy wanted to believe that Elizabeth would appear soon, but he also dreaded such a meeting due to the conflict raging in his mind.

While in London, he had decided to return to Netherfield immediately and to ask for Elizabeth's hand regardless of the consequences. His mind had been clearer than it had been in weeks, and he had been resolved. Once he had returned to Netherfield, however, all of those old doubts had come rushing back just as strongly as before. Darcy had found such a high level of trepidation odd considering how certain of his feelings he had been in London. Perhaps he had simply fallen into the trap while in London of dismissing inconvenient truths when their source was far away.

A slim, feminine figure swirled in the mists before finally breaking free of them before him. She looked up at Darcy with a guarded look that confused him, but he was too busy contemplating her beauty in the early morning light to try to understand her expression.

"Miss Bennet is as well as can be expected," Darcy told Elizabeth as soon as he dismounted from his horse lest she worry that he was the bearer of bad news.

She greeted him with a reserved curtsy and a bit of idle chatter before inviting him to walk the rest of the way to Oakham Mount with her. He readily agreed, his heart bursting at the realization that his beloved desired his presence as much as he did hers.

"I have been meaning to visit Oakham Mount but have never managed to do so," Darcy said.

"You have been busy since coming to Hertfordshire, have you not?"

"Indeed."

"Have you been to any other well-known locations in Hertfordshire?"

"I have not."

"Perhaps once Jane has recovered, we can all go to a few of our local haunts."

"I would be delighted, I am sure."

Darcy berated himself for his lack of eloquence, but Elizabeth had always confounded his body and his mind.

Would that I could express myself as well as I did to my illusory cousin yesterday, he lamented.

They lapsed into silence, but Elizabeth seemed not to mind. She looked around her with pleasure, seeming to brighten with the morning sun. Darcy enjoyed gazing at Elizabeth more than the surroundings—which he honestly could not have described to anyone in detail had they asked about them.

I could speak of the way the sun gilds Elizabeth's face and brings out the copper in her hair. I could speak of her sparkling eyes and contented expression and barely-contained vitality. I could speak of my deep love for her.

Without warning, waves of reproach and doubt assailed him as they often did when his feelings for Elizabeth became particularly strong. He frowned as he tried to account for such a sudden shift in his feelings, but he could not do so. Was his rational mind truly so opposed to the emotions he held for this incredible woman walking at his side? Feelings of disdain and pride and superiority rose up in him also, causing his spine to straighten and his face to close off and grow hard.

They approached a crossroads, and Darcy stopped, uncertain of which way to go. Elizabeth confidently strode through the center and continued to walk straight ahead, so Darcy did the same after a few moments of hesitation. As he strode through the crossroads, all of those negative feelings suddenly lifted off of him as if he had been bearing the weight of the world but had surrendered the burden to another unfortunate.

The sun rose high enough to break through the trees, bathing Elizabeth in brighter light. He continued to walk slightly behind her, completely enraptured by the sight before him and the clear mind within him. She turned around and smiled at him, clearly feeling as euphoric as he himself did.

"Oakham Mount is at the top of that rise, Mr. Darcy," she said, indicating a sloping path rising up before them. "We shall be at the summit in a few minutes."

After tying his horse's reins to a convenient post, Darcy offered his arm to her before he could rein in such an impulse.

"The incline is fairly steep, Miss Elizabeth," he explained. "To not offer you my assistance would be impolite."

"I thank you for your offer, Mr. Darcy, but I do not believe I could walk sedately on any man's arm on such a lovely morning."

Part of him was disappointed that she did not want to hold on to him, but the rest of him delighted in the carefree yet determined way she strode up the path towards the top of Oakham Mount. He privately agreed with Elizabeth that the walk up the path was beautiful, but he doubted that she would have taken his meaning.

As Elizabeth had predicted, they reached the top of Oakham Mount fairly quickly. Darcy tried to pay attention to Elizabeth's words as she pointed out various landmarks and estates around Hertfordshire, but all he could see was her. Perhaps when they were married, they would be able to return here and he would be able to appreciate the autumn colors and the bucolic countryside with his wife at his side.

That thought coupled with his heightened emotions caused Darcy to pull even with Elizabeth and gaze at her more intensely than ever before. She looked up at him questioningly, seeming to have no idea of the emotions within him. Did she really not understand the effect she had on him?

"In vain have I struggled," he finally blurted out. "My feelings will no longer be suppressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

The obvious shock on Elizabeth's face confirmed the rightness of his decision.

She is no fortune-hunter expecting my addresses; her mother's ways have not corrupted her.

Before the woman he loved could reply to his declaration of affection, Darcy began pouring out his heart to her, telling her of all of his struggles between his reason and his emotions. Her paleness had given way to a becoming blush that only heightened his ardor as he confessed everything. After all, he wanted to make sure he managed to say all that was on his heart before another of those odd pulses of negative feelings ruined his concentration.

All that was left for him to do was to officially ask her for her hand, which he did with considerably more brevity than he had spent detailing his inner conflicts. Darcy waited expectantly as has beloved opened her mouth before hopefully making him the happiest of men.

Chapter Text

Once the initial shock of Mr. Darcy's declaration of love had started to lessen, Elizabeth had felt a stab of irritated amusement at the idea of having to confess the failure of her normally keen observational powers to Charlotte. All thoughts of her best friend fled from her mind, however, as Mr. Darcy proceeded to insult everything that Elizabeth held dear. He seemed to be framing this part of what she assumed would eventually become a marriage proposal as a recounting of his struggles, but what resonated the most with Elizabeth was his obvious disdain for not only her family but herself.

After an almost indecent amount of time spent wallowing in his immense personal conflicts, Mr. Darcy finally came to the point of asking her for her hand in marriage. Part of her felt dismayed at the thought of the pain she was soon to inflict on him, but his proud, scornful words about her family bolstered her resolve.

"In such cases as this, it is, I believe, tradition for the woman to either accept or refuse the man with whatever level of enthusiasm suits her feelings. You, sir, have expended much energy on the topic of your struggles with my inferiority and the degradation that marriage to me would bring, so I do not feel compelled to exert myself overmuch in the declining of your offer. I will only say that I am sorry if my refusal has caused you pain, but that I am certain your considerable doubts and questions about my character and suitability will help you to overcome any disappointment quickly."

"Is this all the reply I am to have the honor of receiving? I might, perhaps, ask you to explain why you have rejected me with so little civility, but I would not want to force you to exert yourself on my behalf."

"If you really wish to know the reasons behind my refusal, I suppose I could give them to you. I am not certain if I can condense them into as convenient a list as your own collection of my faults, but I shall do my best. In all honesty, I might have considered accepting your proposal—surprising though it was—had you not insulted everything I love during its lengthy, wandering course. I must credit you, Mr. Darcy, with managing to deride almost all of my family members before asking for my hand. That shows an immense degree of forethought."

"And what did I say that was untrue?" he asked, his anger clearly starting to get the better of him. Elizabeth welcomed the approach of the upcoming fight as a means to release some of the pressure built up within her.

"There are many unpleasant truths that I could have told you in my refusal, Mr. Darcy, but I withheld them in the name of courtesy. Had you behaved in a more gentleman-like manner, you would not have voiced every flaw of my loved ones that came to your mind. How would you feel if I had denigrated your overbearing aunt, your noble but snobbish relatives, and your proud and disagreeable sister?"

Mr. Darcy's face registered a mixture of profound hurt and anger as her jab about his sister found its mark. Elizabeth tried not to feel sorry for making such a statement, remembering his condemnation of her own sisters.

"So you do not care for harsh words to be uttered against your own blood, do you, Mr. Darcy? You reacted especially violently to my evaluation of your sister. While I do not know her, Mr. George Wickham assures me that, while she was once amiable and sweet, she has grown as proud as the rest of her family. Perhaps I should not have mentioned her as I do not know her personally, but considering that you have only been in company with my sisters a few times yet have judged them so harshly, I cannot feel ashamed."

"How do you know George Wickham?" Mr. Darcy asked in bewilderment.

"He recently joined the militia regiment that is quartered in Meryton. He told me much of his misfortunes."

"His misfortunes have been very great, indeed," Mr. Darcy rasped, his face harder than she had ever seen it.

"I can well believe that you cast him off when he became an inconvenience to you. After all, did you not do the same to me, Mr. Darcy?"

"I sent you home for your own protection, Eliz—Miss Bennet," he said, stepping closer to her. "Being at Netherfield brought out the worst in you, and I did not want to wake up to find you floating face-down in the pond one morning. Perhaps I should have allowed your mental state to continue to deteriorate."

"My mental state is as well as can be expected under the current circumstances, Mr. Darcy. Yours seems to have been much more troubled given your detailed accounting of your struggles. Perhaps you should have spent a bit more time reminding yourself of all of my family's flaws. Maybe another conversation with Miss Bingley would have prevented you from falling for my arts and allurements."

His face hardened further, which Elizabeth would not have believed possible.

"Yes, I know about your scheme with Miss Bingley to discourage Mr. Bingley from deepening his relationship with Jane. I have already heard your impressive list of Bennet family faults; were you, perhaps, planning to lie to your closest friend about my sister's affections?"

"Perhaps you believe I should have deceived you about my own struggles, Miss Bennet. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your connections or revel in the vulgarity and lack of propriety displayed so frequently by your mother, your sisters, and even your father?"

"Your own conduct has, of course, been above reproach, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said sweetly. "If you feel compelled to condemn my family for frivolity and impropriety, Mr. Darcy, then you must allow me to condemn you for arrogance, conceit, and disdain while in company. How can you condemn my family for not behaving properly in public when you spent every moment in our company as if our presence were a personal affront to you? You refused to stand up with any Meryton woman while consenting to dance with the most ill-bred woman in the entire room solely so you could appease the supposedly close friend you are now willing to deceive in order to get your way!"

Silence reigned at the top of Oakham Mount as the sun climbed higher, illuminating the two fighters who were practically panting with emotional exhaustion. Elizabeth thought that she would feel better after finally confronting Mr. Darcy about his myriad wrongs, but she felt no sense of victory.

"So this is your opinion of me," Mr. Darcy finally murmured, his bearing suggesting that he felt no sense of triumph, either. "Had I concealed the truth of my struggles, perhaps you would have...No, no matter what you may say, Miss Bennet, you would not have accepted me. After all, you would not accept the apology I gave you in the library, so why would you accept my words now?"

Elizabeth opened her mouth to explain the shortcomings of his apology once again, but he continued before she had the chance.

"I should have listened to those heavy waves of doubt that have been assailing me since I returned to Meryton. When I was in London, my mind seemed so clear, and I knew I loved you and wanted to make you my wife. But then I returned here—as did my rationality. My emotions would get the better of me and I would tell myself I loved you. Then the logical part of me would attack me with questions and refutations. Those feelings would subside, and I would remember how much I loved you again—and then the negative feelings would return. Had we stopped at that crossroads, Miss Elizabeth, I likely would not have proposed this morning. Reminders of your unsuitability were crushing me as I approached that juncture, but then I followed you through its middle, and all of those thoughts just faded away."

Elizabeth paled as the import of Mr. Darcy's words penetrated her mind. She felt her entire world shift as a single chilling realization made her question all of her dealings with this man. With a start, she realized that he had said some courteous words and was taking his leave, but she could not allow him to do so—not now. She reached out and grabbed his arm, doing her best to stop him from walking away.

"You have said quite enough, Miss Bennet," he said stiffly. "I perfectly comprehend your feelings."

"No, you do not, Mr. Darcy," she said with a huff. "You do not comprehend my feelings. Neither do I at the moment, so I cannot blame you for failing to do so—this time, at any rate."

"Please continue to illuminate me on all of my flaws, Miss Elizabeth," he said, giving her a slight, sarcastic bow and pulling out of her grasp. "I am quite at my leisure."

"Could you please repeat what you said about your feelings?"

He looked at her with an insulted gaze, so she hastily corrected herself.

"Could you please repeat what you said about the feelings you experienced near the crossroads, Mr. Darcy?"

He stared at her in incomprehension. She sighed impatiently, realizing she would have to lead him.

"You said that you felt strong feelings of dislike towards me once you returned to Meryton, correct?"

"Correct."

"You said that these were interspersed with...more positive feelings."

"Feelings of love, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth nodded wordlessly before awkwardly continuing.

"But that once you felt these feelings of...affection, you would almost instantly feel the negative emotions again."

"Much to my dismay."

"I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Darcy."

"Do you really, Miss Bennet? I sincerely doubt you have been in my current situation."

"Actually, I would have had I stayed at home this morning so that Mr. Collins—but that is another discussion altogether. Now, you said that you felt intense negative feelings towards me as you approached the crossroads, but these immediately went away as soon as you crossed through the middle."

"Yes."

Elizabeth slumped bonelessly against her favorite tree, her eyes for once not taking in the view.

"Miss Bennet? Are you unwell? Perhaps we should return."

"We most definitely should not return, Mr. Darcy—at least, not yet."

"Miss Bennet-"

"I know you think I am fit for Bedlam given my beliefs about Netherfield, but I ask you to listen to me, Mr. Darcy. If you want to leave given the words we have exchanged here, I understand, but I want you to know the truth about these radical swings of emotion you have been experiencing."

"I am listening, Miss Bennet."

"You were right to say that your mind was clear in London," Elizabeth began tentatively. "It was. You were completely free of Netherfield's influence there. Then you returned to Meryton—to Netherfield. The house had access to your mind again, and it exploited your...feelings for me. I, too, have felt those waves of negativity. They have always been a part of my life; to me, they are normal. I have done my best to recognize and then ignore them, but I have obviously failed utterly and completely where you are concerned."

He stared at her with open skepticism, but she forged on anyway.

"Mr. Darcy, the house does not want us to get to know each other. I have discovered through personal experience that, if the house wants something for me, I should strive against it. If, however, the house does not want something for me, I have learned that I should strive for it."

"What are you saying, Miss Bennet?"

Elizabeth took a steadying breath, fearing his inevitable rejection.

"I am saying, Mr. Darcy, that I would like to get to know you better since I clearly do not know you at all. If Netherfield thinks that you are a person I should not esteem, then I know that the reverse is likely true."

Silence stretched out between them as Mr. Darcy stared into her eyes for an indefinite amount of time.

"Would you say, Miss Bennet, that the same principle should hold true for me?" he murmured, giving her a look that she could not mistake for disapprobation. "Do you believe that I should also strive to conduct my affairs in the opposite manner Netherfield desires?"

The implication of his question robbed her of her breath. She tried to convince herself that the goose-flesh forming on her arms was the result of the morning chill.

"I have found Netherfield's feelings about any given subject a useful shorthand, Mr. Darcy."

"Well, then, I suppose I should take your advice, Miss Bennet. How should we proceed?"

"I believe our first strategy should be to blame Netherf...Mr. Darcy, do you truly believe me about Netherfield or is this just your way of getting what you want?"

"Yes," he murmured.

"Yes?"

"Yes, I believe you about Netherfield. How could I not after experiencing what you described for myself?"

Tears formed in Elizabeth's eyes, and she worked hard to keep them from falling. Mr. Darcy looked at her in questioning concern.

"Nobody has ever believed me about Netherfield's ability to influence the mind," Elizabeth whispered. "I finally got Papa to believe that an isolated incident occurred at the pond the night before he took me home, but even now, I do not think that he accepts my general experiences with the house. You are the only one..."

Mr. Darcy stepped closer and carefully reclined against the trunk of the large tree next to Elizabeth, just far enough away from her to uphold propriety—as much as one could uphold propriety while reclining against a tree alone with a member of the opposite sex, of course. Somehow, the thought of being caught alone with Mr. Darcy was not nearly as troubling as it would have been mere minutes ago. He leaned closer and whispered a single word in her ear.

"Yes."

She raised an eyebrow at him and was stunned to receive a tentative smile in return.

"Yes, I believe you about Netherfield. And, yes, this is my way of getting what I want."

Elizabeth pushed off from the tree and stood up, setting her shoulders in determination.

"As I was saying earlier, Mr. Darcy, our first step should be to blame Netherfield for everything we said here this morning. I know that that is neither honest nor just and that we need to discuss many subjects, but do you really want to spend all of our time clearing up our many misunderstandings when so many more important subjects must take precedence?"

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. There is nothing I would rather do, Miss Bennet, than stand here with you and answer all of your questions."

"Nothing?"

"Well, I suppose I would like to invite a few people to our discussion."

"Who would you want to share our private conversation, Mr. Darcy?"

"Miss Bingley, for one," he mused. "I believe that such a discussion would prove enlightening for us all. I would also like to have a talk with Mr. Collins considering your implications earlier. You intimated that he was going to propose marriage, did you not?"

"I did," Elizabeth said with a sigh. "In fact, I have probably been missed by now. I would not be surprised if Mama has sent out servants to find me and summon me back on her behalf so that Mr. Collins can ask for my hand."

The possessive look on Mr. Darcy's face robbed her of her breath once again. How had her perceptions and feelings undergone such a radical shift in such a short amount of time? She pertly rambled on with her explanation, wanting to keep the moment lighthearted.

"Why do you think I walked to Oakham Mount rather than directly to Netherfield? Mama will surely assume that her 'foolish, headstrong girl' has gone directly back to Jane and will thus send the servants towards Netherfield. By time they report back to her that I am not there and she decides to have them look for me here, I will have left here and will be on my way there."

"Quite devious of you, Miss Elizabeth. What would your father say about your deception?"

"He would probably smirk, ask Mama what she wanted him to do about the affair since it seemed a hopeless business, and return to reading Twelfth Night."

"In that case, I would definitely like to invite your father to our private discussion."

"Why, Mr. Darcy? So you can ask him about the merits of Shakespeare's tragedies versus his comedies?"

"So that I can be certain that he understands that you will never marry Mr. Collins—under any circumstances."

"Have no fear on that front, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said with a smile. "My father would never force me to wed such a buffoon."

Her smile slipped away as she remembered Charlotte's questions and advice. Elizabeth blushed in mortification as she imagined the verbal lashing she would receive from her friend for breaking her promise.

"Miss Elizabeth, should Jane not recover-"

"She will!"

"I pray she does, Miss Elizabeth, but she may not. That is reality. She may never awaken. She may awaken as a different person than she was when she lost consciousness. She may never fully recover. You must face that possibility."

"Now you sound like Charlotte—Miss Lucas."

"I do not wish to bring you pain, Miss Elizabeth—although I seem to be all too skilled at doing so."

"I do believe I should make a similar statement to you, Mr. Darcy. Why are you still standing here talking to me after all of the things I said to you earlier?"

"Would walking away from each other benefit anyone?"

"Netherfield, perhaps," Elizabeth said archly.

"Precisely. I believe that, as soon as we walk back through those crossroads, we are both going to be besieged with enough recriminations to make up for any we do not make here. Perhaps we should make the most of our time away from Netherfield, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth stood in stunned silence.

"Miss Bennet?"

"You not only believe me about Netherfield, but you are actually planning to fight it. I have never..."

She trailed off, unable to order her thoughts for a few moments.

"So we will not let the house turn us against each other and will ignore any sudden increases in intense feelings," she finally managed to say.

"I will make no such promise, Miss Bennet."

"What sort of promise?"

"To ignore any sudden increases in intense feelings—especially feelings that involve you."

"I see your point, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, trying to turn the situation into a jest. "I will probably also experience sudden increases in intense feelings in regards to Miss Bingley and Mr. Collins that will not be related to Netherfield."

Mr. Darcy's face darkened as he once again reacted differently than she expected.

"Miss Bingley, I can deal with," he said with determination. "Mr. Collins..."

"...is probably dancing from foot to foot in anxious anticipation of delivering what will certainly be my worst marriage proposal today."

"So you believe that Mr. Collins's proposal will be presented even more poorly than my own? I thank you for such consideration, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth could not help but grin at him.

"You just jested with me, Mr. Darcy—at your own expense, no less. This morning has been full of surprises."

Mr. Darcy nodded in agreement before his face turned serious again.

"Miss Bennet, I have a suggestion about how you might be able to prevent your parents from forcing you to marry Collins. Please listen before refusing."

She sheepishly nodded for him to continue, not wanting to repeat the mistakes of the recent past.

"If Mr. Collins proposes to you, then you can simply turn him down, unpleasant though such a scene will inevitably be. If he or your parents try to force the issue, you can tell them that you cannot accept his marriage proposal because you have already accepted an offer of courtship from me."

"Mr. Darcy! Why would I? Why would you?"

"To give you time, Miss Elizabeth. You believe that your father would never insist you marry Collins if Miss Bennet were well."

"I still do not believe that Papa would make me marry Mr. Collins under any circumstances."

"But if he were to do so, such an act would likely be in response to fear for the future of your family."

"Or a desire to put an end to Mama's protests."

"Would your mother really insist on your accepting a proposal from Mr. Collins over an offer of courtship from me?"

"Have a care, Mr. Darcy," Lizzy said with a small smirk. "Your arrogance is rearing its head yet again."

Mr. Darcy had the grace to look abashed.

"I apologize, Miss Bennet. I merely meant-"

"I know what you meant, Mr. Darcy. Once Mama finishes expressing doubts about how a girl like me could have attracted the attention of a gentleman like you—doubts which I find perfectly reasonable, by the way—she will degenerate into rhapsodies about pin money and Pemberley and the avoidance of the hedgerows. But when we break the courtship..."

"Should you desire to break the courtship, I would neither stand in your way nor blacken your reputation," Mr. Darcy assured her stiffly.

Elizabeth was puzzled by his sudden change in manner, and she realized with a start that she had already begun to think of him as a man who could be charming and pleasant company.

"Have I said something else to anger you, Mr. Darcy? It was most unconsciously done, I can assure you. I was not trying to be offensive this time."

Mr. Darcy sighed.

"My attempts at conveying my feelings to you have been decidedly lacking this day, Miss Bennet. Nevertheless, I will attempt to be clear. While you are perfectly free to end our courtship when Mr. Collins leaves Meryton, you are not obligated to do so. This courtship may be a show to save you from an undesirable marriage, it is also—on my part, at least—sincere. When I inevitably talk to your father about our understanding, I will tell him that my intentions are honorable and that I ultimately want to make you my wife. Do you understand me, Miss Bennet?"

"No, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth murmured. "I do not believe I understand you at all. I would like to change that, however. In fact, if we turn right at the crossroads instead of going straight, we will eventually reach Netherfield by traveling on a few other lanes that I know as well as the back of my own hand. Perhaps we could speak more during those times when we are outside of the house's influence. Would you escort me back to Jane, Mr. Darcy? I do believe that Netherfield has gone without my presence long enough."

Instead of answering, Mr. Darcy held out his arm. This time, Elizabeth took it with minimal hesitation. They walked together in companionable silence until they reached the edge of the crossroads. They looked at each other, and Elizabeth arched her eyebrow in challenge. Darcy's face steeled in resolve, and they both stepped back under the house's influence. His eyes widened in wonder as he experienced the sensations Elizabeth had told him to expect. That he believed her wholeheartedly about Netherfield was obvious; her heart swelled in spite of the house's efforts.

A cacophony of negative emotions assailed Elizabeth, but she sent back a stronger wave of defiance than she had in years. The house responded with stunned silence, and Elizabeth grinned fiercely. She looked up at Mr. Darcy to see him studying her with a familiar expression that she now recognized as admiration. Her chin came up in its traditional defiant pose, and Mr. Darcy smiled in approval as they briskly made their way towards Netherfield.

"Tell me about Mr. Wickham, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth requested softly with a tentative squeeze on his arm.

And he did.

AN: Whew. Hopefully no other chapter I write for this fic will be this long, but so much had to go in it...Thanks to Ms. Pimprenelle, who asked me a question while reviewing the last chapter that I had forgotten to answer in this chapter. Asking why Elizabeth would walk out to Oakham mount rather than directly to Netherfield was fair; I already knew the answer, of course, but had forgotten that minor detail of, you know, writing it in the story. Well, she gives Darcy a partial answer, anyway; there is a longer answer I plan to explore during the chapter I'll be writing shortly (the beginning of the end, btw). The subject of care-taking is a prominent one in "The Haunting," so I find it appropriate that Elizabeth has struggled with it to an extent in this story. Thank you for all of you who continue to review; I enjoy reading everything from the more in-depth analyses to the one-line witticisms. Your support means a lot; I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.

Chapter Text

Bingley sipped his tea and gazed morosely into nothingness, ignoring the jam-covered roll on his plate. His typical good humor seemed to have deserted him, and he was disinterested in recovering it. After all, what had it ever given him? Two snobby sisters who thought more of themselves than they ought? A best friend whose arrogant conceit apparently gave him the right to dictate the lives of all he deemed worthy of his guidance? A woman he loved but who may or may not love him in return? What did Jane's love or lack thereof matter if she were not even capable of waking?

The physician that Darcy had brought back from London had spoken myriad large words and recommended a few more advanced concoctions for Jane to drink, but his diagnosis had been similar to the local apothecary's: Jane's body continued to recover while her mind showed no improvement. He could offer no more hope than the apothecary that Jane would ever awaken; all he could say was that the mind could be unpredictable and that she would hopefully regain consciousness soon.

The sound of the door opening had never been more unwelcome. His youngest sister was also unwelcome, but she did not appear to notice his black humor as she breezed into the room and greeted him with a condescending smile. Bingley gave her a sullen greeting and ignored her as she procured her morning repast. He braced himself for what would surely be more attempts at dissuading him from wedding Jane.

"I just came from darling Jane's room, the poor dear," she said with faux sympathy as she took a dainty nibble of her toast. "That physician says he sees no material change from her condition last night and cannot assure us that she will recover in the near future."

Bingley grunted at Caroline, whose eyes narrowed at his less-than-civil response. He could not force himself to care. Both of them sipped their tea, eyeing each other with wariness.

"My dearest brother," Caroline began with that sickeningly sweet tone of voice, "we need to make some plans and preparations for the future."

"Are you planning to visit our aunt in Scarborough, perhaps? I believe that we could all easily spare the carriage for such an endeavor."

"Your sense of humor has become darker of late, Charles," Caroline said with an unconvincing smile. "I shall not return your raillery with jests of my own. No, Brother, my plans center around leaving this place forever and resuming the lives we were meant to lead."

Bingley refused to give her the satisfaction of a response. They had already had multiple versions of this discussion before, and he had no intention of encouraging her.

"As much as I care for our darling Jane, we must accept that she is getting no better. In fact, she has not improved measurably in the last few days. As far as I am concerned, Charles, we have done our duty to precious Jane. Who else could have done more? We must look to the future, Charles."

"So you have said—multiple times," he muttered.

"And I will continue to mention this unpleasant truth until you understand the situation, Charles."

"I understand the situation perfectly well, Caroline," he said coldly. "I comprehend your meaning quite fully."

"If you truly meant those words, we would have already taken Jane to Longbourn in our carriage, loaded up our own belongings immediately upon our return, and left for Town."

A spike of rage lanced through Bingley's brain, angering him more than anything else ever had. He stood to his feet, his face harder than he had ever felt it. Caroline's eyes widened, her expression one of confusion and fear.

"Of course we would have done those things, Caroline," he said in a deceptively low voice. "As you are a thoroughly selfish creature, I have no doubt that you would have unceremoniously dumped Jane at Longbourn and then ridden away to satisfy your self-serving pleasures."

Her indignant squawk fanned the flames of his anger and stoked his temper.

"Have you ever—even once—thought of anyone or anything other than yourself? Do you even know how to place another's needs over your own? Can you even comprehend what self-denial would feel like? Can you? Of course, you cannot!"

"How dare you speak to me that way, Charles?"

"How dare I?! How dare I?! How dare you?! How dare you sit there before me with that smugly superior look on your face and exhort me to abandon the woman I love so that you can return to Town and bring shame to our family through your conduct there rather than here?"

"How can you speak to me of shame when you are planning to marry some country nobody with a bunch of bumpkins for connections?"

"Not that status matters to me, Caroline, but that 'country nobody' is gentle-born—which is something that you will never be, in case you have forgotten that little detail. We might have more money than the Bennets, but we do not have a gentleman's blood running in our veins. The Bennets may not be wealthy, but they have been making a living off of the land here for generations. I care not what all the fops and debs in ballrooms think of my choice of a wife. If Jane awakens and consents to have me, I will gladly live anywhere in order to please her."

"Will you really throw yourself away on that chit, Charles?"

"Like you are throwing yourself away on Darcy?" he shouted, not caring that the entire house could likely hear him. "How many years have you pursued him, only to have him continue to spurn you? He is not interested, Caroline! Why would he be? He is the great Fitzwilliam Darcy, the master of Pemberley and the grandson of an earl. He can certainly do much better than marriage to a tradesman's daughter."

"Mr. Darcy loves me, Charles!" Caroline yelled back. "He may have other affairs to attend to since he is a busy man, but in time, he will realize that I would be the ideal mistress of Pemberley and will make me an offer of marriage."

"The ideal mistress of Pemberley?" Bingley scoffed. "You despise country living, Caroline! How will you manage to live in relative isolation at Pemberley when you cannot even manage to reside on an estate that is 20 miles from Town? You need to marry a man who enjoys the pleasures of London, Caroline. Mr. Darcy is not such a man, and you would do well to realize that now before you end up on the shelf."

"Your darling Jane is nearly a spinster herself, and her hoyden of a sister is not far behind. And that middle one—will we be responsible for introducing her to society, Charles? And what of the youngest and the mother? Will you host a ball in their honor?"

"How like you to change the subject with insults. Your inability to grasp Mr. Darcy's complete and utter contempt for you will be your undoing. How much time must elapse before you acknowledge the truth of my words, Sister? What will you do when you realize that Darcy is never going to marry you? Will you try to compromise him? Would you slip into his room—and his bed—one night and then shriek loudly for a maid that is conveniently nearby? Or would you just be honest about the entire affair and strip off your clothes before throwing yourself-"

Before Bingley could complete his accusation, an embarrassed Darcy strode through the door. Bingley idly wondered why the man had not broken his fast in his own room given the shouting coming from this one. He mentally shrugged, once again not caring about the discomfort of another person who was supposedly close to him.

Darcy greeted them awkwardly before attacking his breakfast with uncharacteristic vigor. Bingley mused that at least he was not the only person behaving unusually as of late. The man was as silent as ever—especially in Caroline's presence. His sister's reluctance to do any more than a cursory bit of fawning over Darcy gratified him; perhaps some good could come from their row after all.

"Mr. Darcy, as you no doubt overheard, dear Charles is being quite unreasonable this morning," Caroline said with a simper.

Bingley was silent, warily curious to see how his friend would reply. To his surprise, Darcy scowled at Caroline. He was normally more circumspect, but perhaps his friend had finally reached the end of his patience with his sister.

"I do not eavesdrop by habit, Miss Bingley," he informed her coldly. "I would never discuss a private conversation for which I was not present."

"Well, then, I can certainly give you a summary, Mr. Darcy. My darling brother has not yet learned to see reason about our dearest Jane. Perhaps you could assist me in changing his mind, Mr. Darcy."

"Why would I endeavor to do so?" Mr. Darcy said with a blandness that amused Bingley.

"Why?! Well...because...I thought we already discussed this, Mr. Darcy."

"Please tell me just what you and Mr. Darcy said about my personal business behind my back, Caroline."

"Now, Charles, we said nothing that was untrue. Our only goal is to help you, Brother."

"Is that correct, Darcy?" Bingley challenged his friend. "Are you and Caroline interested in...helping me?"

"I am at your disposal, Bingley; you know that," Darcy said. "However, I am no longer interested in advising you on the matter of your personal affairs. I have had the opportunity to engage in much introspection of late and have arrived at the conclusion that I may have been mistaken about multiple judgments I have made in the recent past."

Bingley stared at the man in confusion, wondering what could have possessed his friend to say such things. He would have been less shocked had Darcy told him that he had fallen in love with Anne de Bourgh and was going to Rosings in order to wed her as soon as may be.

"Surely you cannot mean that, Mr. Darcy. After all, this business with Jane-"

"Are we speaking of Jane?" a feminine voice said from the door with a playful edge. "If so, then I have apparently arrived just in time, for Jane is my favorite subject. I am, of course, most eager to return to her side, but I do not think she would begrudge my taking a moment to break my fast in such agreeable company."

Although Bingley had been wrapped up in his own problems, he was not obtuse enough to miss the look of blatant admiration that Darcy bestowed on Miss Elizabeth. His sister noticed as well, causing Bingley to smirk at her. He knew that such a development might cause trouble later, but he could not help but revel in his sister's disappointment.

The hypocrisy of Darcy's behavior galled Bingley, and resentment welled up within him. A more logical part of himself wanted to give Darcy the benefit of the doubt, however, by conceding that Miss Elizabeth might be at least partially responsible for the change in his friend's demeanor. In fact, Bingley would not be surprised to learn that the two of them had, perhaps, met in the countryside and conspired to arrive here at different times.

"I also enjoy speaking of Miss Bennet," Bingley said, flashing his cheerful grin for the first time that day. "Please join us, Miss Elizabeth, so we may explore this topic further."

Bingley deliberately gestured to a chair directly across from Darcy, savoring his sister's resentment. His amusement increased when Darcy actually smiled at Miss Elizabeth with a tentative expression on his face that Bingley had never seen him display. Part of him tried to feel resentful over this development, but Bingley could sense the entire air of the room shifting. He could feel his gloom lifting even as he could sense more negativity attempting to rise up within him.

Squelching such unpleasant feelings, he took a bite of his roll and savored it. When had food lost its flavor? Why had his appetite now returned? Bingley stopped asking himself useless questions and turned his attention to Miss Elizabeth instead. After all, she was more his sister than the shrew who was even now trying to surreptitiously scoot her chair towards Darcy, and the future suddenly seemed brighter.

Chapter Text

To any interested party who happened to peek inside the door of Netherfield's library, Mr. Darcy looked like nothing more than a gentleman who was raptly wrapped up in the work of literature currently resting in his hands. Such an onlooker would likely conclude that Pemberley's master was deeply pondering the contents of a finely-bound leather tome of some decent size, and, no doubt, weighty subject matter. As the book's cover and spine were concealed behind Mr. Darcy's hands, the observer would not be able to identify the title or the author of the work. What the onlooker would not be able to discern was that Mr. Darcy would not have been capable of providing such information, either.

Darcy's eyes may have been focused on the book before him, but his mind was still wandering the Hertfordshire countryside with his beloved on his arm. He relived the salient moments of their lengthy conversation, reveling in the knowledge that they had cleared up the misunderstandings between them. The look of anger that had appeared on Elizabeth's face as he had told her about Wickham's perfidies had touched him as deeply as his belief in Netherfield's nature had seemed to affect Elizabeth.

She had apologized for believing Wickham in the first place, but Darcy had simply laughed humorously and told her that many more worldly-wise people than she had been taken in by his smooth, calculating nature. He had then reminded her of their resolution to blame the house for every misunderstanding, and she had laughingly acquiesced.

Surprisingly, they had also been in accord about Jane and Bingley. He had first apologized for his part in having Elizabeth removed from Netherfield, but she had forgiven him since she had realized that his actions had been due to ignorance of the house's nature and concern for her own well-being. Elizabeth had admitted to being angry at him about her banishment, but he had brought tears to her eyes again by promising to uphold Bingley's promise to make sure that Jane was amply guarded at all times whether she was present or not.

They had also discussed Jane and Bingley's relationship. Elizabeth had agreed that both her sister and his friend needed to spend more time together—which they would have in abundance since Jane would likely be recuperating for quite some time once she awakened. When Darcy had presented Elizabeth with his concerns about the relatively short duration of Jane and Bingley's acquaintance, she had archly reminded him that Darcy had known her for the same amount of time.

He had indignantly declared their situation to be different, but Elizabeth had given him that impertinent expression he loved so much. Darcy had conceded that, given the strength of his own feelings for Elizabeth, perhaps Bingley was capable of knowing his own heart after all. Elizabeth had blushed and fallen silent, but she had not removed her hand from his arm. In fact, Darcy remembered with fondness the way that she had moved closer to his side during their walk. Not that he believed her to have done so consciously; she had seemed to be compelled more by instinct than by design.

Darcy's mind was pulled away from the pleasurable memory of Elizabeth laughing at his exaggerated impression of himself at the assembly by the much-less-enjoyable sound of Mrs. Bennet's shrill voice. He shot to his feet and dropped the book on a nearby table, an expression on his face that likely resembled that of a deer that has been startled by a hunter.

Creeping out into the hall as if he were, indeed, being stalked, Darcy resolved to take a turn about the gardens as had been his wont whenever the Bennets had come to call. From the sounds emanating from the drawing room down the hall, the entire family had arrived, inspiring Darcy to move with greater rapidity. While he and his beloved had made peace about their feelings for their respective families, Darcy knew that he would never desire to spend any more time in the Bennets' company than necessary. Elizabeth had forgiven him not only for his feelings but for the inevitable insults his family would likely hurl her way should they wed.

He had almost reached the door to the gardens when he heard Mrs. Bennet's voice say, "And, of course, my darling Lizzy must come down and join us! After all, Mr. Collins has been looking forward to speaking with her all day since she left Longbourn so early."

Like a hound scenting quarry, Darcy stopped suddenly before turning around and retracing his steps with determination. He was confident in his love's ability to handle the odious parson, but he could not bring himself to allow her to face the situation without him. After all, what kind of man would he be were he to allow another man to pay court to the woman he hoped to make his future wife?

While he did not believe that Elizabeth loved him yet, he felt that they had come close to reaching an understanding during their walk to Netherfield. What else but the promise of spending time with his precious Elizabeth once she arrived at Netherfield could have compelled him to interrupt the shouting match that had been taking place over the breakfast table and subjecting himself to Miss Bingley's company?

Darcy composed himself before entering the drawing room, displaying his impassive, aloof mask to the room's inhabitants. His plan was to take his typical place before one of the large windows, yet he changed course partway into the room as his eyes alighted on the empty chair between Collins and Mrs. Bennet that had surely been reserved for Elizabeth. Mentally bracing himself for the agony that the next several minutes were sure to bring, he greeted them with stiff bows before seating himself between the two dismayed people.

When Elizabeth entered the room, her eyes found his with gratifying swiftness. The look on her face when she noted his current position was indescribable; he knew that he would remember it always. Darcy rejected his ridiculous notion that Elizabeth had drawn strength from his presence her first night at Netherfield since he now knew what such an expression looked like on Elizabeth's lovely face.

"Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley simpered, "Could you come over here and help me to compose a letter to darling Georgiana? I find myself quite at a loss."

"If that is the case, Miss Bingley, then perhaps you should suspend your attempt at letter-writing for the moment. Considering that I have not been present for the rest of the Bennets' calls this week, I would like to take this opportunity to make up for my absence."

"But, Mr. Darcy!" Miss Bingley cried indignantly. "Where is Miss Eliza supposed to sit?"

"There is an empty chair next to Bingley," Darcy said with perfect equanimity. "Considering that you just came from Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, perhaps you should give him the latest news about her condition."

Miss Bennet nodded her thanks to Darcy, her eyes twinkling with mirth and gratitude. Darcy's realization that he would do anything to put that expression in his love's eyes should have, perhaps, unnerved him, but he could not bring himself to be too concerned. After all, once they were wed, he would have unlimited opportunities to please his Elizabeth.

The visit proceeded as awkwardly as Darcy had known it would considering that everyone knew what was going to happen at its end. Even Hurst had noticed the expectant air in the room, although Darcy figured that the man had likely dismissed the tension as anticipation of dinner. Mrs. Bennet kept trying to catch Elizabeth's eye, but she was steadfastly ignoring her mother. Darcy wished he could do the same, but that task was quite difficult since the woman was sitting beside him.

Resentment began to build in Darcy, and he knew he could not attribute it all to the house. True, the house was still doing its utmost to remind him of Elizabeth's unsuitability, but Darcy had learned to identify the particular types of feelings the house engendered in him and to smother them. Part of him wished he could smother most of the inhabitants of the room, but he could not blame that desire on the house, either.

Mr. Bennet was the target of much of his ire as the man once again sat in his corner seat and smirked at the room at large. The man knew that his supposedly favorite daughter was nervous and upset about what was inevitably going to happen at the conclusion of the visit, yet he was doing nothing to prevent such a scene from unfolding. Darcy knew that Elizabeth loved her father dearly, but he accepted that he would never be able to like the man who continued to cause his daughter so much suffering.

At long last, the visit came to a merciful end. Elizabeth tried to excuse herself to resume her care of Jane, but of course, her mother interfered.

"Now, Lizzy, there is no reason for you to leave so quickly," she said with an eager smile. "Mr. Collins has come all this way to see you and to ask you a very important question in a private audience."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Mama, Mr. Collins, but I really must return to Jane. She needs me."

"How can Jane need you, you foolish, headstrong girl? It is not as if she can hear you or even know you are there! Now be a good girl for once and listen carefully to what Mr. Collins has to say to you!"

"You can use this small parlor here, Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley practically sang at Elizabeth while gesturing to a nearby door. "I would not want for your cousin to be disappointed today by not getting to have his important conversation with you."

Darcy had never hated Caroline Bingley as much as he did at that moment. His Elizabeth looked like a trapped animal who would do anything to avoid being caged. While he knew that they had agreed to announce a courtship only if absolutely necessary, Darcy could not stand to see his love so agitated while knowing that he could put an end to some of her suffering.

He remained silent, however, wanting to show the woman he hoped to wed soon that he knew her to be strong and capable. This resolve lasted until his eyes met hers as she stood before that door, and he saw in them resignation, a blessing, and several other emotions he could not quite identify. Darcy's heart sang as he knew that, in many ways, this was an answer to the proposal she had received with much less pleasure this morning.

"I absolutely insist that you go into this lovely parlor and hear what Mr. Collins has to say, Lizzy! I will not take any more of your cheek!" Mrs. Bennet shrieked, her eyes wide.

"There is nothing that Mr. Collins has to say to me that he could not say in front of everyone, I am sure," Elizabeth said desperately.

"What reason could you possibly have for refusing to enter this parlor with Mr. Collins, Lizzy?"

"I am afraid, Mrs. Bennet, that the fault is mine," Mr. Darcy said smoothly as he walked towards the group gathered in front of the parlor door.

"Your fault? I do not take your meaning, Sir."

"I believe the issue to be one of propriety, Mrs. Bennet."

"Propriety? Whatever can you mean, Mr. Darcy? How would Mr. Collins discussing his future with Lizzy in this parlor be inappropriate?"

"Being alone in a room with one single gentleman after accepting an offer of courtship from another is quite improper. Would you not agree, Mrs. Bennet?"

Total silence reigned in Netherfield for a few moments as even the house seemed to reel in shock. Shrieks, shouts, giggles, and guffaws rang out moments later, adding to the absolute fury Darcy felt from Netherfield. He knew how much the house hated his beloved, so he sent the house a taste of the love and desire he felt for Elizabeth. It recoiled in disgust, and Darcy smiled in satisfaction.

Elizabeth must have been dealing with a similar situation because she looked at him meaningfully before raising her eyes to the ceiling. To anyone watching, she had merely rolled her eyes, but Darcy knew that she was also experiencing the house's displeasure. Darcy gathered his emotions together again and directed a wave of possessiveness at Netherfield, claiming Elizabeth before the house just as he had her family.

Mr. Bennet's eyes met his from across the room; the man raised an imaginary glass to him in a mocking toast.

"Whenever you wish to ask my permission to court my daughter, Mr. Darcy, I am quite at my leisure," he said.

Darcy held out his arm to Elizabeth, who placed her hand on it with no hesitation. He escorted her over to her father, bowed to the gentleman, and asked permission to court Elizabeth as if this were an everyday occurrence. The entire room-including the woman on his arm-looked at him in shock, but he displayed no awareness of anyone but Elizabeth and her father. Mr. Bennet jauntily gave his consent before asking Darcy about his intentions.

"Should you not have asked about my intentions before giving your consent, Mr. Bennet?"

"You are a man to whom I could never refuse anything, Mr. Darcy. Besides, you have brought me so much amusement this day that I would not at all mind procuring you for a son-in-law."

Darcy was about to fire a retort at the man, but he could not find the heart to do so as the twinkle in his eyes reminded him so much of Elizabeth's. Mr. Bennet grew serious before saying, "Mr. Darcy, I watched the interplay between yourself and my daughter while my wife and Mr. Collins were carrying on. I saw the way you gazed at each other, and I saw the look of determination on your face as you answered her wordless call. I could never give my Little Lizzy up to a lesser man who did not care for her, but I could never refuse to allow her to court a man who would voluntarily sit between my wife and Mr. Collins just to spare her feelings."

Darcy nodded curtly at the man, not trusting himself to speak due to his conflicting emotions. His eyes met Elizabeth's again, and the room faded out for a moment. He knew that he was displaying his feelings for her for everyone to see, but he could not bring himself to break eye contact with the woman he loved.

"Well, well, this has all been most diverting, indeed," Mr. Bennet said before standing to his feet. "I fear that we have spent enough time here and brought a sufficient amount of excitement to Netherfield for one day. Let us now retreat to Longbourn and leave these fine people to their dinner."

Mr. Collins began sputtering a protest, but Mrs. Bennet quietened him with a glare. Darcy could not completely contain his smirk; apparently, his Elizabeth had been right about her mother's priorities.

The parson drew himself up to his full height and said with as much dignity as possible: "I shall know how to act. I shall leave immediately and inform my noble patroness about these developments. I am certain that she will be interested to learn that the man who is betrothed to her daughter claims to be courting another."

"I will not tell you again, Mr. Collins," Darcy said, looming imposingly over the diminutive clergyman. "I am not, have never been, and never will be engaged to Cousin Anne. Now let me be perfectly clear: I am courting Miss Elizabeth. Someday soon, I hope to be engaged to Miss Elizabeth. As soon after our engagement as possible, I plan to marry Miss Elizabeth. Have I made myself sufficiently clear?"

Mr. Collins bobbled his head up and down frantically as he backed up a few paces.

"Excellent. I am glad that we have reached such complete understanding. Now perhaps you should take Mr. Bennet's advice and return to Longbourn for dinner. Miss Elizabeth needs to return to her sister's side, and I myself have a book to which I would like to return."

Mr. Bennet herded his family out, grinning all the while. Miss Bingley had apparently crept away in the chaos, as had the Hursts. Bingley delightedly clapped Darcy on the back, congratulated him, and complimented him on his tactics with Collins.

"I was just following your most excellent example from this morning, Bingley," Darcy said as his friend blushed.

"I can see that I am going to have to have another...discussion with Caroline," Bingley said. "The first one apparently was insufficient."

"Aunt Catherine would say that one will not become a true proficient at something without practice, Old Man, so get to it."

"I shall," Bingley said, giving him a smile before quitting the room and leaving him alone with Elizabeth.

Darcy knew that they could not stay together here long, but he still wanted to make sure that Elizabeth was not angry at him for any of his words or deeds. He looked at her tentatively, all of his bravado from moments ago gone.

"That was quite an impressive show, Mr. Darcy," she said.

"Fitzwilliam."

"What was that, Mr. Darcy?"

"Fitzwilliam. My name is Fitzwilliam."

"That is a useful piece of information to know about the man who just claimed my hand before my family without my consent."

Her face was inscrutable, but he thought he could detect the slightest twinkle in her eyes.

"Miss Elizabeth, I apologize for losing my temper with Collins and being so straightforward with him and your father about my intentions in public. Those were not the actions of a gentleman. I could tell that you wanted me to announce our courtship to save you from having to endure Collins's proposal, but-"

She laid a hand on his arm and gave him one of her arch smiles.

"Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam—do you remember what I said about Netherfield and useful shorthand?"

He smiled at her in return for both her use of his name and his understanding of her meaning.

"So you do not mind, then, Elizabeth?"

"Out of the proposal I received this morning, the proposal I was going to receive this afternoon, and the declaration of intent you just gave Mr. Collins—not to mention your words to Papa—I think that your latest efforts are superior. Do you not agree?"

"Elizabeth, does that mean-"

Darcy mentally cursed the maid who walked in at that moment and kept him from officially securing his future happiness, but he still did his best to convey his intentions to his beloved. Elizabeth's eyes widened at the intensity of his gaze, but she excused herself with poise before following the maid back to Jane's room. He could feel the house's disapproval like relentless ocean waves battering against his consciousness, but he spared no thoughts for Netherfield as his mind was completely consumed with thoughts of his future wife.

Chapter Text

AN: Shower warning: This scene contains descriptions of nightmares about Collins and Darcy that Netherfield gave Elizabeth before the confession/proposal. These dreams are not nice and will likely make some of you want to head for the showers. If you don't wish to read them, you can just know that they negatively affected Elizabeth and move on.

Never had Netherfield been so desirous of ending a hunt. As intriguing as using a new killing technique had been, taking Jane's mind piece by piece had turned into a dull tedium for some in the gestalt. Were the house to be honest, it would have to admit that it knew not how it was stealing Jane's mind—or if it even was stealing her mind or some other part of her. Netherfield had hoped to be able to access Jane's memories with which to torment Elizabeth Bennet when she slept, but it had so far been able to glean nothing from them. Perhaps Netherfield would only be able to know Jane's mind when it was in possession of her entire consciousness.

Many in the gestalt had grown tired of the diversions that had been keeping them entertained while they went about trying to absorb Jane's mind into the whole although her body still breathed. Even the novelty of using this new mind-grabbing method became lost on the less-patient spirits. As a result, Elizabeth's nightmares became more intense and vibrant every night.

The house had never understood its limitations in terms of distance and potency, but it knew that its greatest sphere of influence was Netherfield's grounds. An area comprised of Meryton and its surrounding environs made up a secondary ring of influence wherein the house could manipulate minds and craft nightmares on a lesser scale. For whatever reason, however, Netherfield had still been able to send Elizabeth vivid nightmares even during the night she had spent at Longbourn.

Although the house could see nothing that happened away from Netherfield's property, it could still glean knowledge from gossip, private conversations, and the knowledge of the gestalt—and, of course, from the feelings of others. The house was, after all, intimately familiar with Elizabeth Bennet's mind, and could even differentiate between different flavors of emotion. It could, for example, tell the difference between her negative feelings for Caroline Bingley and those she held for Darcy.

Netherfield had also known of the odd parson's fixation on Elizabeth and had, of course, done all in its power to facilitate its successful conclusion. Mr. Bennet had thus far proven to be unfortunately firm in his mental refusals on the subject, so Netherfield had long been fomenting the parties involved for its own amusement—and, of course, to torment Elizabeth.

The house had enjoyed the anger Elizabeth had experienced as she had realized that she was being forced to leave Netherfield and had fed on her fury. Elizabeth had, however, managed to control her emotions as admirably as ever, hiding her rage behind barbs, witticisms, and sarcastic remarks. Netherfield had also suspected that Elizabeth had been, if nothing else, looking forward to a good night's sleep away from the house's capability to fill her head with nightmares.

Unfortunately for Elizabeth, that had not been the case in spite of her distance from Netherfield. Knowing of her frustrations and fears regarding Collins, the house had flooded her dreams with images of married life to the ridiculous parson. The less mature, more lascivious members of the gestalt had begun with physical nightmares, gleefully depicting what a wedding night as Mrs. Collins would entail. They had immensely enjoyed stripping Elizabeth of her mental innocence much as some of them had relished doing the same to maidens while in the flesh.

Wiser, more perceptive spirits, however, had terrified Elizabeth with depictions of what everyday life would be like as Mr. Collins's wife. As horrified as Elizabeth had been at the graphic nature of the wedding night, Netherfield had sensed an even higher level of anguish blossom within her mind as she had watched her spirit being gradually crushed under the weight of banality, ignorance, and forced submission. Particularly gratifying had been her response to her dream self's futile attempts to educate her brood of children, all of which had proven to be every bit as dull and foolish as their father.

The house had still had time after the conclusion of these nightmares to provide Elizabeth with another set featuring Darcy. In these nightmares, she had somehow been forced to wed not her cousin but the arrogant, proud man she loathed. Elizabeth's wedding night with Darcy had also been horrible, but for different reasons from hers with Collins.

Netherfield had had Dream Darcy tell Elizabeth every fault the house had ever heard him say or think about her. His haughty mask had only lowered once she had stood completely naked before him, and even then, his face had revealed only revulsion and contempt. Darcy had coldly informed her that he needed an heir for Pemberley so he would do his duty, but that such an unpleasant task would cease as soon as she gave him a son. The house had reveled in Elizabeth's pain, wishing such a scene could somehow play out in reality.

Naturally, Netherfield had, as with Collins, crafted scenes for her of daily life as Mrs. Darcy. Elizabeth Darcy lived a lonely life of isolation. Her son was raised by nannies and governesses. Her husband lived in Town so that he could easily spend time with his multiple mistresses. The house had particularly enjoyed her reaction to a scene in which a heavily-pregnant Elizabeth had walked in on Darcy taking his pleasure with another woman in their marriage bed. He had noticed her opening the door, but the woman beneath him had not. Darcy had stared contemptuously at Elizabeth the entire time, only increasing his vigor in the face of her pain.

After a night like that, Elizabeth had, of course, slipped outside at dawn just as the house had predicted she would. Darcy had also slept restlessly, although his tossing and turning had been caused by doubt and inner conflict rather than nightmares. The house had primed them both for an explosive confrontation—preferably at Netherfield, since it had known that stubborn, headstrong Elizabeth would surely return first thing in the morning.

Netherfield had not expected them to meet one another in the countryside but had consoled itself by assuming that they might be more inclined to vent their intense feelings away from other people. The house had sensed their strong emotions building and had eagerly waited for the clash to occur. Just when the house had felt that things had been coming to a head between the two of them, they had moved outside of the house's influence. Netherfield had anxiously awaited their return to its domain only to receive a blast of pure defiance from Elizabeth Bennet when they had done so! It was not to be borne!

Even more alarming had been the nascent feelings of affection and even love that the house had detected forming in Elizabeth. Nobody knew Elizabeth Bennet better than Netherfield. Nobody. The house knew that, if such feelings were present in Elizabeth, then she must somehow know at least part of the truth about both Darcy's true character and Netherfield's influence on their relationship.

If that were the case, then the house knew that it had to act fast to prevent them from growing any closer. Were they to discover all that they could do and be together...but Netherfield was unwilling to contemplate that occurrence. After all, the house was continuing to remove a bit of Jane's mind each day. Even now, her basic presence was growing stronger in the gestalt. Surely once the house had taken enough of her mind, all of Jane's knowledge would be laid out before them and they would finally know her fully.

The process could not be hurried, however—especially since Netherfield knew not how it was affecting Jane in such a way in the first place. Netherfield was always trying to improve its killing methods, so acquiring a new tactic could help the house to be a more efficient hunter in the future.

While the house hated Elizabeth Bennet with a passion, it freely acknowledged that the one characteristic it shared with her was her love of learning. And, perhaps, her stubbornness. And her persistence. And her and her father's mutual delight in absurdities—at least ones not aimed at them. Other than that, Netherfield and Elizabeth were completely different, and the house meant to maintain that distance between them.

Even those in the gestalt who had wanted her dead and submissive to their will now agreed that the best course of action was to make Elizabeth suffer by denying her heart's desires. She would live to know that Jane was lost to her forever and was cursed to torment innocents to their doom. She would live to know that Darcy was lost to her forever and was doomed to...Well, Netherfield was unsure of how, exactly, it would prevent Elizabeth from living happily with her handsome, wealthy, generous, and loving landowner, but it was determined to win.

And Netherfield always won. Well, almost always. There had been a few times when people had...but the gestalt never liked to dwell on those times. They would have Jane for their own. They would torment Elizabeth Bennet with that knowledge. They would take Darcy from Elizabeth, too, one way or another. Then everyone would leave. The gestalt would fully absorb Jane. Eventually, Netherfield Park would be let at last, and the cycle would begin all over again—hopefully without Elizabeth Bennet's interference.

Chapter Text

Darcy stumbled down the narrow corridor, pursuing the familiar fleeing figure with growing puzzlement. Why was Wickham at Netherfield? Why were they in the servants' passage? Why had he gotten out of bed?

A wave of emotion swamped him and he remembered: Elizabeth was in trouble! Wickham had sneaked into Netherfield and was creeping down the servants' hallway to her room to compromise her. Rage consumed Darcy. He had to stop that man! He would not allow Wickham to impose upon another loved one.

Confusion welled up in Darcy as he tried to figure out how he knew Wickham's intentions. Had they had a conversation? Had Wickham taunted him about Elizabeth? Had Darcy heard the man in the corridor behind his rooms and gone to investigate? Nothing about this situation made sense.

Darcy heard a soft shuffle behind him and whirled around, only to see a maid carrying a tea tray while walking in his direction. Her eyes widened as she saw him, and she turned around and left him to his business. He was glad that she had fled; after all, no innocent girl should be around George Wickham. Ever.

The form of his nemesis appeared again as Darcy rounded a corner; Wickham was just close enough for Darcy to identify but still too far away for him to apprehend. More befuddlement was the result of Darcy's realization that he never seemed to catch up to Wickham no matter how much he increased his pace.

Darcy had somehow gotten hopelessly lost. He had taken advantage of the servants' halls himself just a few nights ago, not wanting certain people to see him soaked to the bone and without his jacket after having rescued Elizabeth. As a result, he knew that these corridors were not particularly complicated, so why did he not know where he was or where he was going?

Feelings of fear and anxiety overwhelmed him again. Elizabeth! Wickham! Focus, Man! Your future wife is in trouble! She needs you! You must stop Wickham from entering her room!

He sped up, only to see Wickham pause before an unmarked door, open it, and leer suggestively at Darcy, the candle in his hand illuminating only his smirking mouth. Wickham slipped soundlessly inside of the room as Darcy frantically tried to catch up to him. He blinked and the door was before him, and he opened it as Wickham had. Confusion roiled in his mind again as he tried to reconcile his memories from before getting into bed with the nightmare scenario that was unfolding before him now.

Another pulse of fear shot through him and he entered the room, the floral aroma permeating the air within identifying the chamber immediately as that of a woman. Elizabeth! This must be Elizabeth's room! Wickham! Where was Wickham?

Darcy looked around frantically, stealthily stalking towards the bed in the middle of the room that contained his beloved. No sign of Wickham presented itself, however, so Darcy stopped in puzzlement. The room was dimly lit; only the banked fire and a few guttering candles provided any illumination. Darcy wished that something would illuminate his mind about what was happening since he still could not understand how events had unfolded in such a way.

A soft rustle of fabric near the bed drew his attention instantly, and he crept closer, afraid that Wickham was about to compromise Elizabeth. Darcy was almost overwhelmed by the impulse to cry out, but he barely managed to control the urge. After all, were either he or Wickham discovered in Elizabeth's room, her reputation would be harmed even after he married her.

He had finally started to breathe a little easier when the woman in the bed sat up without warning and screamed as if she were trying to wake all of Netherfield's inhabitants.

"Elizabeth!" he whispered as loudly as he dared, realizing the foolishness of silence in the face of such noise.

Darcy could only see Elizabeth faintly, but he could tell that the woman in the bed was unmistakably his future bride. He tried to quieten her, but she continued to scream, her face somehow reflecting both fear and glee. Before he could admonish her to be silent again, footsteps sounded in both hallways on either side of Darcy.

The servants' door burst open and a stocky figure bolted through it before grabbing hold of Darcy and pulling him from the room. He tried to break the man's grip, but the figure had apparently been expecting him to do so. Darcy may have been taller than the other man, but the figure was stronger than him. A slim figure closed the door behind them as the man—his valet, he realized in shock—pulled him quickly down the hallway.

"Jennings-" Darcy stammered, only to have a large hand placed unceremoniously over his mouth.

"We must not be discovered, Sir," his valet whispered as they staggered down the corridor.

He nodded mutely, trusting his man to know what was happening and to be able to explain the situation to him. Darcy's head was still in a muddle, and he could not yet make sense of anything that had happened since he had become aware of his location in the servants' corridor. Part of him felt compelled to go back to Elizabeth, but even that made no sense as she was supposed to be resting safely at Longbourn. After all, could she spend the night on the same hallway as the man she was courting?

"Elizabeth is safe at Longbourn," Darcy murmured to his valet, who merely nodded his head as they swiftly entered Darcy's room.

The slim figure shut the door silently behind them and bounded soundlessly over to a small table that held a decanter of wine. It poured a small glass and brought it over to him, holding it out until he took it with yet more confusion.

"Drink it," Jennings whispered. "Then get into bed and pretend to be deeply asleep. Once they all hear Miss Bingley's story and realize you are nowhere to be seen, someone—probably Mr. Bingley—will come banging on your door."

"Miss Bingley's story? What story can Miss Bingley have?"

"That you were in her room a few moments ago, Sir."

"That was not Miss Bingley's room, Jennings."

"Begging your pardon, Sir, but it was."

"That is impossible, Jennings. I saw Eliz—Miss Elizabeth in bed clearly."

His valet looked at him with an indecipherable look for a few awkward moments.

"Please drink the wine, Sir," he finally said.

Darcy stared hard at his valet for a few moments himself before obeying the man. After all, he seemed to be the only one who knew what was happening, and a glass of wine seemed like a capital idea given the circumstances. The female figure took the empty glass from him and set it on the small table, smiling at him in tentative encouragement. Her name suddenly came to him—as did the significance of her presence.

"Your name is Millie," he said to the girl. "You are the one who was with Miss Elizabeth that first night—and the one who saw me in the servants' hallway."

"Yes, sir," she said, curtsying respectfully. "I were takin' some tea up to the girls that were watchin' Miss Bennet, an' I saw you...beggin' yer pardon, Sir, but you were not well. I went downstairs an' told the hall boy to fetch your valet."

"I knew not why I had been given such odd instructions, but Millie told me what I suspect to be the partial truth in order to get me to Miss Bingley's room in time to save you."

"Millie probably knows more about this situation than either of us, Jennings," Darcy said, rubbing his forehead in exhausted frustration. "After all, she was with Miss Elizabeth that first night."

"Master, are you trying to tell me-"

"Everything Eliz—Miss Elizabeth said about Netherfield is true," Darcy said bluntly, tired of nonsense and prevarication. "I believe I have experienced something similar to what happened to Elizabeth the night before...but I should say no more. Had I doubted her words before, I cannot doubt them now."

Jennings did not seem to share his master's burgeoning certainty, but Darcy figured that maybe the valet was better off not knowing the full truth. Millie, however, looked at him with approval. Darcy found himself to be a bit curious about the maid and asked her if she were normally awake at this hour.

"I do not sleep in this house at night no more, Sir."

"That is most wise of you, Millie. Perhaps I shall have to start doing the same."

Millie nodded slightly, obviously a bit uncomfortable in his presence now that the immediate need for her own had ended. Darcy felt an odd impulse well up in him, but it was no more unusual than the rest of the night had been.

"Thank you, Millie," Darcy said sincerely, flustering the young maid. "I shudder to think what my fate might have been had you not intervened."

"As do I," Jennings muttered.

Darcy looked at him in question.

"Serving you is an honor, Sir, but if Miss Bingley ever becomes Mistress of Pemberley, I will be looking elsewhere for employment."

"So will I," Darcy muttered, grimacing.

Jennings stifled a snort, but Millie allowed a low chuckle to escape from her mouth. She looked startled, but Darcy reassured her with a small smile.

"You should probably return to the kitchen, Millie," Jennings said after a pause. "Your tea has likely grown cold, and we do not want Miss Bennet's caretakers to fall asleep."

"My shift is about to begin," she said by way of agreement. "I should probably make sure Sarah is ready to stand watch with me."

A cacophony of noise sounded again out in the hallway, and they all realized their time had run out. Millie's eyes widened in trepidation as she seemed to realize something. Curious, Darcy asked her what was wrong.

"If Miss Bingley saw me or hears I were near when she saw you..."

Darcy saw a way to solve multiple problems at once and acted accordingly.

"If Miss Bingley dismisses you, go to Longbourn and tell Eliz—Miss Elizabeth what happened. She will find a place for you—especially if you tell her everything that happened."

Millie looked at him with approval and curtsied again before shyly saying, "I know she would take care of me. She treats me...not like a friend, really, but friendly-like."

Darcy smiled at the maid once more before dismissing her. She left quickly, making little noise as she slipped from the room.

"Make sure that nothing untoward happens to her, Jennings. She could be useful to us yet."

Jennings nodded and helped Darcy into bed before situating himself in the large chair in the corner of the room. Darcy could not help but remember the events of a few nights ago as Bingley once again banged on his door right before barging inside. Given the events of the last hour or so, Darcy did not have to feign groggy confusion at his friend's queries.

"Whassamatta?" Darcy slurred, hoping he was not being overly dramatic.

Bingley blinked at him a few times, staring down at Darcy in bed. He sniffed the air a few times before leaning closer to take a better look, the candle glowing eerily in the dimness of the room.

"Excuse me, Sir," Jennings said, standing up from his chair. Bingley started but calmed once he recognized the figure. "I am sorry to startle you, Sir, but my master has been having nightmares, so I provided him with some wine before he sought his rest. Perhaps he took a bit too much; he has been sleeping quite poorly, you see."

"Ah. Yes. I see. So you can attest that Darcy has not left his bed since this evening?"

"Indeed, Sir."

"Ah. Good. That is good. That simplifies the matter."

"Whassamatta?" Darcy asked again.

"Nothing, Old Man," Bingley said with a grin that looked more like a grimace. "Caroline had a nightmare and woke up screaming. She claimed to have seen you in her room, but I can report to her that you are in no condition to have crept into her room."

"Car'line's room? Whyyyy? Why would I...Not Lizbeth. Caro...not Lizbet."

Bingley sighed, rubbing his forehead in a manner not dissimilar from that which Darcy had employed not too long ago.

"Go back to sleep, Darcy," Bingley said. "We can speak in the morning when you are more yourself. I shall talk to Caroline and make certain she understands that you were most definitely not in her chambers tonight."

"Thankee, Bingley."

Darcy felt a surge of guilt as his friend left his bedroom, but he knew that he could not tell the man the truth—at least not yet. Although disguise of any sort was his abhorrence, the thought of being married to Caroline Bingley—especially given Elizabeth's recent warmth towards him—was more repugnant still. Perhaps in time—preferably after Darcy was married to Elizabeth-Bingley could be entrusted with the truth, but for now...

"I do not believe I shall be able to return to sleep, Jennings," Darcy said, a more formal tone creeping into his voice. "Light some more candles so I may pen a letter to Georgiana; that should keep me until the dawn. Miss Elizabeth should arrive soon thereafter; inform me when she arrives."

"Very good, Sir."

Darcy tried to order his jumbled thoughts, but the one image that kept repeating over and over again in his mind was that of Elizabeth looking into his eyes. The light had been just bright enough for him to see her features clearly, and he had done so. Even now, his mind told him that he had seen his Elizabeth lying in that bed.

In retrospect, Wickham's form had seemed ill-defined, as if the house had merely known his general rather than specific characteristics. The figure's identity as Wickham had been planted in his mind prior to awakening, he supposed, and the house had known just enough of his basic appearance to craft him in part. But Elizabeth...she had been formed perfectly, down to the shape of her face, the liveliness of her eyes, and the curl of her hair. For the house to show him Elizabeth in such a manner seemed an obscene violation of the worst kind.

Although Darcy tried hard to banish the image, many minutes passed before he was finally able to put pen to paper. He was glad that he managed to do so, however, as he found peace in the act of describing his dearest, loveliest Elizabeth to the girl who would soon be sister to not just Darcy but his beloved as well.

AN: This one is dedicated to all of my AO3 commenters who clamored for a Darcy haunting. Thank you for making such a suggestion as my initial outline had not planned for him to truly experience Netherfield until the final showdown (which I just finished writing in the wee hours late last night/early this morning). Thank you all for your continued support; I hope you enjoy the last few chapters of this silly little tale I thought up on the first day of October and will finish posting on the last day of October.

Chapter Text

AN: Alright, y'all, here we go. This is the beginning of the end. I finished writing the last chapter of this in the wee hours today; all that's left for me to write is the epilogue. I can't believe I finished this thing in less than a month and will actually be able to post the epilogue on Halloween as planned. Thank y'all for the support; I hope you enjoy this wild ride at the end.

Elizabeth stared out the window at the dreary weather outside, grateful to be in this cozy guest room with a roaring fire keeping her, the maids, and Jane company. The steady rain that had been falling all day had given way to a deluge that would make travel almost impossible. Perhaps Elizabeth would not have to leave Netherfield after dinner after all; maybe the rain would allow her to keep watch over Jane through the night.

Part of Elizabeth had chafed at having to leave her sister in other hands at night now that she and Mr. Darcy were officially courting, but her more rational side had convinced her that those she left behind every night were capable of caring for Jane. Now that Mr. Darcy had experienced the perils of sleeping during the night at Netherfield firsthand, he had taken to staying up all night and resting during the day. Millie had also taken the night shift to guard Jane as she also refused to sleep at night in Netherfield.

Contrary to the maid's fears, Miss Bingley had not learned of her involvement in the unpleasantness of a few days ago. Mr. Darcy had related the affair in full, not wanting Elizabeth to hear lies from Miss Bingley or misinformation from others. She understood his reluctance to lie to his closest friend, but she did not care enough for Mr. Bingley's sensibilities to risk losing Mr. Darcy to Miss Bingley—or, ultimately, due to Netherfield.

The house's actions towards the man she had come to care for deeply had enraged Elizabeth, and she had made sure that Netherfield felt her displeasure. In return, Netherfield continued to send her lurid nightmares, but she had grown so accustomed to their presence in her mind that she was no longer shocked by them.

One of the maids began reading haltingly from the Book of Common Prayer, giving Elizabeth more time to allow her mind to wander. She could not help but stare at Jane, whose wounds continued to heal but whose eyes remained stubbornly closed. Elizabeth could sense that something more than the obvious was wrong with her sister, but she knew not what kept Jane's mind from rejoining the land of the living. The thought had occurred to her on more than one occasion that Netherfield itself might somehow be making Jane ill, but Elizabeth lacked the necessary proof to risk moving her in her present state.

Looking at the pale face of her sister took her mind back to a conversation that she and Mr. Darcy had enjoyed a few mornings ago during one of those periods when they had been walking outside of the house's influence on the way to Netherfield. They had felt Netherfield's absence at the same time and had looked at each other with relief, causing Elizabeth to blurt out a confession.

"Mr. Darcy, I must admit that I did not tell you the full truth earlier."

Mr. Darcy had flinched before dropping what she had come to recognize as his mask in place.

"To what are you referring, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I told you that I walked towards Oakham Mount in order to avoid Mama, but that was not entirely true. While escaping from Mama's plans for me with Mr. Collins was the main goal, I could have easily walked to Netherfield using an alternate route. After all, I know the countryside better than most and could have eluded anyone sent to find me."

Mr. Darcy had remained silent but attentive, giving Elizabeth the courage to forge on.

"I have always associated Oakham Mount with mental clarity, but I have only realized today the reason behind my affinity for the place. Since Netherfield cannot reach me there, I can experience the true peace and tranquility that other places around Meryton lack. Early this morning, I decided that I needed a rest from my duties as a daughter, sister, and potential wife. I could have been at Jane's side even now, yet I deliberately chose to walk to Oakham Mount for my own pleasure instead. What kind of a person does that make me?"

"A normal person," Mr. Darcy said, staring at her intently.

"Normal? What is normal about neglecting my duties to my most beloved sister so that I can enjoy a sunrise walk?"

"Why do you think I wrote to your father, Miss Elizabeth? I knew that you needed rest and that you could never get that at Netherfield. Your desire to refresh yourself before going back into an immensely hostile environment is normal and logical. Miss Bennet continues to recover and to receive constant care and protection. I sincerely doubt that an hour or two of your absence is going to make a significant difference in her recovery."

Elizabeth had been unable to agree with Mr. Darcy, but he had patiently explained his position in a more personal way.

"Miss Elizabeth, I have told you of the events of Ramsgate a few months ago. I decided to leave Georgiana at Pemberley and to come here ostensibly because I felt my presence there to be more bane to her than boon. However, the full truth is that I also simply wanted to flee the situation. Seeing Georgiana's wan face and guilty eyes every day made me relive my failure as a brother over and over; I needed rest."

"So you came to Netherfield."

Mr. Darcy had smiled grimly.

"Where I did not find rest—and not just because of the house, either."

"Did something else discompose you, Mr. Darcy?"

"Someone else has brought me much unrest, but will hopefully bring me much joy and pleasure in the future."

Elizabeth had smiled at him and continued their banter, but she had taken his words to heart. She no longer felt guilty for leaving at night—although she did not appreciate the enthusiasm with which Miss Bingley bade her farewell each evening. The woman was still upset that nobody—not even her own brother-believed that she had seen Mr. Darcy in her bedroom, so she took her frustrations out on everyone who would pay her any attention. She also worked hard to ensure that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy never had an opportunity to be alone together—all in the name of propriety, of course.

A loud voice that was even more piercing than her mother's suddenly rang out downstairs, startling Elizabeth with both its volume and its unfamiliarity. Who could have managed to travel in such wretched weather—and why would anyone want or need to do so?

"Take me to her, Miss Bingley!" the strident voice ordered. "I must speak to the chit at once."

Elizabeth stood to her feet grimly, her question answered by the insulting tone and content of the woman's address. She had just enough time to temporarily dismiss the maids for the duration of the visit before the door flew open and slammed into the wall. A gray-haired harridan stood framed in the doorway, her gaudy clothes and fancy walking stick identifying her as the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Any doubts she may have had about the woman's identity left her as Mr. Collins's greasy head popped up over Lady Catherine's shoulder and leered at her. Elizabeth knew that the following scene was going to be even worse than the one she had endured with her mother, but considering that she had been dealing with Netherfield for the past week or so, she was not afraid of the obviously enraged woman standing before her. She hoped that Mr. Darcy remained asleep and did not awaken in time to witness this unfortunate affair.

"You can be at no loss, Miss Bennet, to understand the reason for my journey to Netherfield," she said pompously. "Your own heart, your own conscience, must tell you why I come."

"I cannot imagine why anyone would care to travel in weather so foul, Lady Catherine," Elizabeth said calmly. "Is there, perhaps, an emergency that has brought you here?"

"Miss Bennet, I will not be trifled with!" Lady Catherine said, banging her walking stick on the floor for emphasis. "You know full well the emergency that has summoned me to this savage country."

"I know of no emergency save that which has befallen my eldest sister, Jane. Has Your Ladyship, perhaps, come to call on her?"

"However insincere you prove to be, Miss Bennet, you can rest assured that I will not be so. As you well know, I have come here today because of a report of a most alarming nature that my parson has delivered to me in full. Surely you know the contents of this report."

"As I was not present when Mr. Collins delivered his report, I fear I cannot guess at its contents."

"This is not to be borne, Miss Bennet! You will cease this impertinent behavior immediately. I speak, of course, of what is surely a scandalous falsehood put forth by yourself to avoid marriage to my parson."

"If I did put forth such a scandalous falsehood, I would hardly own as much to Your Ladyship."

"I have already deemed this report to be impossible, and so it must be."

"I wonder at Your Ladyship coming all the way to Netherfield just to have such a report contradicted. Perhaps Your Ladyship believes the report to be less impossible than you would like to believe."

"It ought to be impossible! Of course, the arts and allurements of a chit like you might have made my nephew forget what he owes to himself and his family."

"Of which nephew are we speaking, Lady Catherine? I know you to have several."

"Miss Bennet, do you know who I am? I am the mother of Mr. Darcy's betrothed. Now, what have you to say to that?"

"Only that if Mr. Darcy is truly engaged to your daughter, then he cannot have made an offer to me."

"Have you tricked him into offering for your hand, Miss Bennet?"

"I presume that the report to which you refer is Mr. Collins's narration of our last conversation we had at Netherfield. If he has related the details faithfully to Your Ladyship, then you surely know that Mr. Darcy has offered to court me, and that I have accepted."

"How can you presume to court the grandson of an earl who is engaged to another?"

"Mr. Darcy has informed me of the peculiar marriage into which you have tried to force him. I agree with him that he is not honor-bound to proceed with such an absurd farce."

"Obstinate, headstrong girl! I am ashamed of you! How can you dare to aspire to unite yourself to such a man when you have such a family as yours? How can you dare to turn down the best legitimate proposal of marriage you are likely ever to receive?"

"To which proposal do you refer, Lady Catherine?"

"The one from Mr. Collins, of course."

"I remember receiving no such proposal."

"Of course you did not receive it officially, Miss Bennet. You concocted this scheme with my nephew in order to avoid it. Yet the intention was there, Miss Bennet; surely a conniving, cunning woman such as yourself recognized the inevitable."

"All I recognize is that I have received no proposal of any kind from Mr. Collins—and that you seem to think poorly of your nephew's character if you are willing to accuse him of dishonesty."

"I accuse my nephew of nothing more uncommon than falling for an unsuitable girl's beguiling charms, Miss Bennet. Although I am disappointed at his weakness, I am never surprised to see a man give in to his passions."

"I suppose I have a higher view of Mr. Darcy's character than you do, Lady Catherine; in fact, I consider him to be the best of men."

"I grow weary of this tiresome confrontation, Miss Bennet. Now, tell me, once and for all: Are you engaged to Mr. Darcy?"

"I am not."

"And will you promise to never enter into such an engagement?"

"She most certainly will not!" Darcy's voice boomed from the doorway, making Mr. Collins's eyes bulge out in fear.

Elizabeth scowled at Mr. Darcy's intervention as he entered the room, but she grudgingly admitted that he had every right to defend his honor against his aunt's slander. She also could not deny that she found immense comfort in his tall, imposing presence at her side.

"What can you mean by speaking to me in such a tone of voice! I am your future mother-in-law and you will treat me with the respect I deserve."

"That is precisely what I am doing, Madam. You have come here uninvited, behaved abominably, and insulted multiple times the woman I am courting. I will not allow you to continue to belittle her or anyone else here."

"Have you taken leave of your senses, Nephew? I already know that Miss Bennet has lost her mind, but I had no notion of your being so insensible."

Mr. Darcy responded passionately to his aunt's accusation, but Elizabeth's eyes were fastened on Jane's pale, wan face as Lady Catherine's words repeated over and over again in her brain.

Miss Bennet has lost her mind. Miss Bennet has lost her mind. Miss Bennet has lost her mind.

Suddenly, Elizabeth knew she had been right: Netherfield was somehow making Jane ill, and her sister would never get better while languishing here. More to the point, Elizabeth could sense her sister slipping away somehow, as if she grew a bit weaker mentally each day. Anxiety seized her and was not lessened by the taunting jubilation that the house was now sending her way. Netherfield had, apparently, sensed that she had figured out at least part of what was truly wrong with Jane and was reveling in her total helplessness.

"So what is your price, Miss Bennet?" Lady Catherine said, turning her attention back to Elizabeth.

"I beg your pardon?" Elizabeth asked in a daze.

"I said, Miss Bennet, what is your price? Every woman has one, you know. Name how much money I will have to spend to get you to remove your claws from my nephew."

A desperate plan began to form in Elizabeth's mind, and she wondered if she were doing the right thing. Could Jane resist Netherfield until the weather turned? Would Netherfield be able to take Jane through a means besides physical death before Elizabeth could remove her from its property? Was she already too late to save Jane? Was her sister already just a hollow shell of her former self? Was there any other way to transport Jane to Lonbourn besides the method she was seriously considering?

"Have you lost your tongue as well, Miss Bennet? I asked you a question."

"How large is your carriage, Lady Catherine?" she asked, committing herself to the plan yet wishing she could talk it over with the man she was going to hurt in order to implement it.

"What nonsense are you babbling about now, Miss Bennet?"

"Is your carriage large enough to transport an unconscious person stretched out on one seat? Is it sturdy enough to survive a potential crash? Are your horses trained well enough to maintain their discipline under adverse circumstances?"

Lady Catherine looked at her as if she were speaking Greek. Seeing her mouth opening and closing repeatedly like a fish's was amusing but was not helping Elizabeth.

"Very well; I shall name my price. If you take Jane and me to Longbourn in your spacious, well-sprung, durable carriage, I will not accept a proposal from your nephew."

Elizabeth wanted to look at Mr. Darcy to try to make him understand all that she had realized and decided, but she could not bring herself to see the hurt in his eyes. Lady Catherine blinked at her a few times before closing her eyes in relief—or, perhaps, confusion.

"That is the oddest request I have ever received, Miss Bennet, but I accept. When will you want to leave?"

"As soon as possible."

"And you promise that if I see you and Jane safely home, you will not marry my nephew?"

"I will not accept a proposal from your nephew, Lady Catherine."

"I knew I could make you see reason even if I still believe you to have taken leave of your senses. Very well. We shall leave as soon as you are ready, Miss Bennet."

"Thank you, Lady Catherine," Elizabeth said, curtsying deeply.

The woman swept from the room without a backward glance, finally giving Elizabeth the chance to look at Mr. Darcy. His inscrutable mask made her heart sink, and she wished she could explain her plan to him without risking Lady Catherine overhearing it.

"Miss Bennet has lost her mind," she whispered to him urgently with a significant gaze, willing him to understand her.

"What did you say, Miss Bennet?" Lady Catherine asked from the hall.

"I was merely confirming to Mr. Darcy my plans to immediately remove my sister from Netherfield."

"Let that be the last thing you say to my nephew, Miss Bennet," she ordered, pointedly standing in the doorway and watching the two of them until Mr. Darcy left.

Elizabeth knew that this plan could end in death, but she felt that Jane was almost beyond her reach anyway. Netherfield was doing something catastrophic to Jane's mind, and Elizabeth was desperate enough to seize her one chance to remove her beloved sister from the house's clutches in spite of the weather.

Chapter Text

Not since Ramsgate had Darcy felt as helpless as he did while waiting in the hallway for Miss Bennet to be readied for departure. Darcy knew that multiple lives hinged in part on his ability to understand the messages behind Elizabeth's words—both the ones she had said to his aunt and the ones she had murmured furtively to him in Jane's room.

I will not accept a proposal from your nephew. I will not accept a proposal from your nephew. I will not accept a proposal from your nephew.

The words echoed in his mind, lancing his heart with pain even as his logical side fought back with rationality. Elizabeth had given him a beseeching look in the hallway during their brief moment of connection; she had seemed to be attempting to convey not just her fear for her sister but her love for him as well. Darcy knew his beloved to be smart, yet he understood that she could also be impulsive. He vowed to do his best to figure out her plan and to do whatever he could to help save Miss Bennet from Netherfield without costing anyone their lives.

Thoughts of Miss Bennet led him to examine Elizabeth's cryptic words from the hallway. What had she meant when she had said that Miss Bennet had lost her mind? Was she referring to herself or her sister? Was Elizabeth saying that she had decided to do something mad in order to save her sister? Was she saying that Jane herself had somehow lost her mind while unconscious? Did she believe Netherfield to have found a way to make Jane ill?

Memories of the mental tricks that Netherfield had played on him and Elizabeth ran through his mind. He realized that all of the most vivid nightmares—and, of course, the waking illusions—had either occurred while they had been asleep or when they had just awakened from sleep. Millie had resolved to stay awake all night rather than risk sleeping at Netherfield, but did the time of day make any difference in terms of the house's ability to affect the mind? Could Netherfield even now-?

Miss Bennet has lost her mind.

Darcy paled as the nearly lifeless body of Jane Bennet was carried out of her guest room in a litter by a couple of footmen. Was Netherfield capable of driving a person mad while unconscious? Or, worse—could it somehow separate one's mind from one's body? He believed his and Elizabeth's minds to be quite robust, yet Netherfield had easily manipulated them while they had been sleeping. Had they unknowingly watched over Miss Bennet for naught while Netherfield somehow...what, exactly? Poisoned her mind like a stealthy assassin? Extracted her mind like a farmer might harvest potatoes or carrots from the earth?

Such ideas were quite beyond Darcy's comprehension. He could, of course, grasp the concepts of Heaven and Hell as they were part of his upbringing and the fabric of his society. He could also comprehend the idea of ghosts or spirits that could appear to the living and, perhaps, interact with them. Given his own experiences, he had even come to accept the notion of an entity that could affect his emotions, feelings, and impulses or cause him to have waking or sleeping nightmares.

But to accept that a supernatural being or group of beings could somehow take another person's...what? Mind? Consciousness? Soul? Darcy knew not whether Elizabeth had reached such a conclusion about her sister, but he acknowledged that such beliefs would explain her desperation to remove Miss Bennet from Netherfield as quickly as possible regardless of the risks.

And Darcy knew that there were risks—severe ones. Netherfield's ability to manipulate human and animal minds was well-established, as was its possessiveness of Miss Bennet. Surely the house would not allow Miss Bennet to be removed from Netherfield without a fight. He mused that this realization was the likely reason behind Elizabeth's desire to use his aunt's carriage. The woman insisted on always having the best of anything, so he knew that if any carriage could survive a downpour, ruined roads, and a ghostly collective bent on destruction, it would be his aunt's equipage.

One of the footmen slipped on the stairs and almost dropped Miss Bennet. Fortunately, Bingley had been walking alongside the litter and was able to keep her from falling out of her conveyance and rolling down the stairs. Darcy's musings came to a temporary end as he took the place opposite Bingley on the other side of Miss Bennet, determined to do his part to keep the house from causing another accident.

Before Darcy had become aware of Netherfield's true nature, the house had seemed quite warm and welcoming. Sometimes, he had been convinced that the walls and halls had glowed with light and happiness. Now, however, even the well-lit areas of the house seemed to have shadows nestled in them, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The interior seemed dim and foreboding, and the ambiance was now grim and tense.

Part of Darcy chided himself for such melodramatic thinking more suitable for the pages of a gothic novel than reality. However, Darcy could not deny the malevolence that he felt in his mind courtesy of Netherfield. He also could not ignore the anticipation and excitement he could feel building in the house; it reminded him of the energy and bloodlust displayed by a pack of baying hounds as it closed in on a fleeing fox.

The damp chill assaulted Darcy as a footman opened a door to the outside so that they could make their way towards the carriage porch that was sheltering the sizable conveyance that would soon take his beloved and her sister from Netherfield. Rain thundered all around them, battering Netherfield with a pounding roar and misting all of them with moisture. Darcy could feel the leaching coldness in his bones, but he concentrated on seeing Miss Bennet and his beloved safely to the waiting carriage.

"Why have you not returned indoors, Nephew?" his aunt asked with a haughty glare.

"I wish to make certain that Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth arrive safely at Longbourn."

"You cannot mean to accompany us."

"I certainly do intend to escort the Miss Bennets home to Lonbourn, Aunt Catherine."

Elizabeth looked at him in startlement, but he kept his emotions hidden behind his proud mask. The last thing he needed was for his aunt to be able to discern his feelings. Netherfield was already privy to that information, and Darcy did not want any more dangerous, selfish entities to know his personal business than was absolutely necessary.

"What reason could you possibly have to accompany us to Longbourn? Miss Bennet has already named her price and severed whatever attachment she may have had to you. You can have no further business with her or her sister."

"I do, in fact, still have business with Miss Elizabeth. Her father has given me permission to court his daughter, so I should be present when the dissolution of the courtship is announced."

"That is unnecessary, Nephew. Such a low-born family is not worth your consideration."

"Nevertheless, I shall accompany you to Longbourn."

"You will not—unless you can give me a suitable reason."

Darcy carefully considered his words as Miss Bennet was gently placed on one seat of the large carriage. He knew that his presence would decrease the amount of available room in the interior, but he could not allow his love to face the perils of liberating Jane from Netherfield on her own.

"We will both accompany you and the Misses Bennet to Longbourn, Lady Catherine," Bingley said, making more than one pair of eyes widen in surprise.

"You most certainly do not need to accompany us, Mr. Bingley."

"Yes, I do, Lady Catherine. Miss Bennet sustained her injury on my property. My choices have—at least in part—brought us to this point. Most importantly, I intend to marry Miss Bennet as soon as she is well enough, and I will not let her face potential danger without me at her side."

"Danger? What danger? How, pray tell, could any of us be in peril due to a bit of rain and some bad roads?"

Darcy could tell that Bingley did not want to discuss Netherfield's nature with Lady Catherine any more than he did, but he also felt that his aunt deserved to know the truth about what could happen once they got underway.

"Before we leave, Aunt Catherine, you should understand our reasons for being willing to brave this weather to transport the Miss Bennets to Longbourn."

"Miss Bennet's reasons are her own, and I do not care to know them."

"Aunt Catherine, Netherfield is...there is something...untoward at Netherfield. The dead are not quiet here," he finished lamely.

The scornful look his aunt leveled at him gave him a small measure of insight into Elizabeth's experiences regarding unbelief and skepticism.

"I know how ridiculous that sounds, Aunt Catherine. I assure you that I felt as you do until I experienced Netherfield's evils myself."

"So you think that Netherfield has some sort of ghost or spirit that would dare to harm me in some way?"

"I believe that Netherfield will do anything to keep Miss Bennet—Miss Jane Bennet, that is—at Netherfield."

His aunt stared at him wordlessly. Darcy held his breath.

"You lack Miss Elizabeth Bennet's gift for prevarication," she finally said. "That was, however, at least the beginning of an entertaining tale, and perhaps your attendance at the official severing of your courtship will give you the means to finally become a man and do your duty by your family."

"Thank you, Aunt," Darcy said, bowing respectfully.

"Mr. Collins, you shall ride up front with the coachman. Miss Bennet, you shall sit with your sister propped up against you so you can hold her in place for our journey. Darcy, you shall sit beside me. You may sit at the end of our seat if you care to," Aunt Catherine said carelessly to Bingley.

Without wasting any more time, they all climbed into the spacious carriage and took their assigned places. Mr. Collins was busy assuring his aunt that he was honored by the particular condescension she was displaying in allowing him to ride in any part of an equipage carrying such illustrious personages and that he was in awe of her beneficence displayed toward his undeserving cousins. Elizabeth was busy securing Miss Bennet as well as she could given the circumstances, a look of fearful defiance on her face.

Her eyes connected with his while his aunt was admonishing the driver to keep the carriage steady regardless of the weather lest he should lose his position without a character reference. Darcy still could not read Elizabeth's eyes clearly, but he could detect anguish and resignation in them in addition to the ever-present fear. She arched an eyebrow in question, and he gave a quick nod. He knew not what she would take from his response, but he wanted to demonstrate that he understood at least part of her plan and the reasons behind it.

Aunt Catherine rapped the ceiling with her walking stick, and the carriage lurched forward. Elizabeth's grip on Jane's unresponsive body tightened; he knew that both he and Bingley were likely going to end up on the other side of the carriage before what was certain to be a rough ride concluded.

The wheels clattered on the stones, gradually propelling the carriage forward as it picked up speed. Darcy had expected Netherfield to spook the horses or the driver as soon as they got underway, but to his shock, the house did not do so. He relaxed for a moment as he looked out the window, barely able to discern the shapes outside the carriage that were shrouded in rain and mist. As the carriage gained speed, he began to think that they might escape from Netherfield safely after all.

A horse's scream rent the air, followed by a shudder that ran through the entire carriage. His aunt cried out in indignation—as did Collins from the box—but nobody else made a sound as they braced themselves for the battle to come. Darcy knew not how they would manage to survive the day, but he vowed to do everything in his power to protect the woman he loved and her dearest sister—even if doing so cost him his life.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth had never felt as helpless as she had after hearing that equine scream. Much like the plan she had concocted in the pond, her current scheme had been poorly conceived and implemented. How was she to fight against Netherfield? How could she keep the house from spooking the horses and making the carriage crash? Why had she thought this plan would succeed?

The carriage lurched again, and Mr. Darcy leaped out of his seat and knelt before her, embracing her to keep her steady. Mr. Bingley did the same for Jane, holding the lower part of her body in place as the carriage swayed crazily on Netherfield's path. Lady Catherine objected, but both men ignored her. Besides, they all had more important issues to worry about than propriety, and Lady Catherine finally seemed to grasp that reality as the carriage pitched violently from side to side.

A wave of anger washed over her, frightening her with its malice. Mr. Darcy's grip tightened on her as the horses screamed again and the carriage almost tipped onto its side. Her courage rose to the occasion, however, and she sent back her own blast of defiance at the house that had taken so much from her and desired still more. Rage resulting from years of abuse and loss poured out of her, assaulting Netherfield with a barrage of her own intense emotions. The carriage steadied a bit, and the way seemed less treacherous for a few moments.

Netherfield seemed to double its efforts, however, beating back her will with its own. She pushed harder at the entity she could sense in her mind, suddenly feeling a lurching jerk that resulted in her being roughly deposited in a jumble on the floor just inside the main entrance of the house itself. Elizabeth stood unsteadily to her feet, somehow able to feel both the swaying of the carriage and the solid floor beneath her.

The place in which she found herself was Netherfield but not Netherfield. All of the colors were gone as if the house, its contents, and even herself had been redrawn with charcoal. The shadows seemed darker and more malevolent, and little light graced the rooms and halls of Netherfield. Malevolence surrounded her and terror welled within as she realized that her mind must be interacting with Netherfield's ghostly collective in an incomprehensible way.

Fear as she had never known before threatened to overwhelm her as she reached the conclusion that the end of her life was likely rapidly approaching. How could a person survive such an encounter—especially while being separated from one's real body? She could not comprehend the reality that she was both in the carriage and in this vile parody of Netherfield, and the confusion caused by her situation nearly brought her to her knees.

Jane!

That single word shot through the terror and centered her mind. Netherfield could have Elizabeth, but it could never have Jane. Raising her jaw in stubborn defiance as she so often did, she balled up her fists and ran up the staircase towards the guest room they had left not too long ago. She reached the top of the stairs and savagely twisted the doorknob, barging into the dark room with no thought for her own safety.

The smell of death permeated the room, and Elizabeth could just barely make out a moldering corpse lying on the bed. Her mind rejected the meaning of such a sight, denying that her sister could be gone. She stumbled out into the hall and burst into her own guest room, only to see a battered, bruised, and dead reproduction of herself.

"You shall not intimidate or distract me with parlor tricks," she said to Netherfield's ceiling.

A blast of malicious laughter echoed inside and outside of her head, causing her to recoil in fear. Elizabeth ran blindly out into the hall, searching for any clues that could show her how she could save Jane. Tears started to form in her eyes as she realized that her only known method of attack was to send waves of anger and defiance at the house. She did so, hoping that perhaps this could distract the house enough to allow the carriage to escape Netherfield's property.

"You have to focus, Elizabeth!" the most wonderful voice she had ever heard said from behind her.

She turned around to behold the man she loved, shocked beyond reason to see him standing before her.

"Mr. Darcy—Fitzwilliam-how are you here?"

"The same way you are, I suppose, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth somehow sensed Fitzwilliam send out a wave of his own anger and possessiveness, quieting the house for a moment.

"You have to focus on one thing to the exclusion of all others, Elizabeth," he said, grabbing her by her shoulders and looking intensely into her eyes. "The one time I managed to shut Netherfield out of my mind completely, I was focused on how much I love you. If you can latch onto one thing, one feeling..."

His touch both comforted and discomfited her, providing her with the only stability to be found in this shifting, shaking world. Elizabeth could still sense the lurches and screams and shouts coming from the carriage; they seemed to have become distorted somehow as if the people around her in the carriage were deliberately speaking and moving slowly.

"Perhaps we should focus on love rather than anger, Fitzwilliam," she murmured, allowing the truth of her feelings for this man and the affection she felt for her sister to overtake every part of her mind.

Fitzwilliam's eyes darkened and she could sense him doing the same. The house shrieked in agony and dismay as their united effort battered Netherfield with unprecedented success. Their surroundings faded out for a moment as if they had been washed away by the downpour outside, only to be redrawn with a bit more light and color.

They looked at each other for a few uncertain moments before whirling back around and pelting down the hallway towards Jane's room. This time upon opening her door, they beheld a figure who looked more or less like the Jane they had placed in the carriage—the Jane that part of her could sense being held in her arms in the wildly-swaying carriage even now.

Elizabeth ran to Jane's bed and tried to pick her up, staggering under a great mental and physical weight. Fitzwilliam took her sister from her but also experienced the same level of debilitation to his obvious shock. She added her strength to his, but her efforts seemed to make no difference in their ability to carry Jane out of the room, much less Netherfield.

"None of this is real," Elizabeth said, shaking her head in confusion and frustration. "We are in Netherfield but are not in Netherfield. Our bodies are our own but are not our own. This is Jane but is not Jane."

By mutual wordless agreement, they both focused their minds on their affection for their loved ones once again. Jane's weight did not lessen in their arms, however, and they looked at each other in despair.

"Need a bit of help there, Darcy? Miss Elizabeth? If I may?"

Mr. Bingley strolled into the room as if they were all relaxing in the drawing room drinking tea. He lifted Jane effortlessly from their arms, his eyes displaying a focus and concentration that Elizabeth had never seen in them before. Even when he had defied his sister in front of Elizabeth, he had always done so with a peevish, petulant air. None of that was present now as Mr. Bingley calmly walked out of the room with Jane, his love for her evident in his entire bearing.

Netherfield screamed in rage, causing Elizabeth and Darcy to falter in their concentration due to the assault on their minds. Mr. Bingley's grip slipped on Jane, forcing him to stumble.

"Steady, if you please, Old Chap, Miss Elizabeth," he said with slight irritation.

Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam centered their minds, putting aside their confusion about Mr. Bingley's presence and following him out the door. The hallway looked malformed and unnaturally elongated as if a novice builder had constructed it with no notion of how to build a house at all. The resulting distortion was disorienting, and Elizabeth suddenly found herself confused about which way to turn down the hallway. She looked at Fitzwilliam in befuddlement, seeing him struggling with the same problem. Mr. Bingley started walking to the left before a voice arrested his progress.

"Beggin' your pardon, Sir, but you need t'come this way with me."

"Millie?" Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam asked with evident confusion.

"Yes, I am me—or, at least, I think I am. I think I am...sleeping? But I am here, and we need t'go. Quick-like. I am not brave like you, so can we please…?"

Affection for this young maid grew in Elizabeth's mind and heart.

"You are brave, Millie, and only you seem to know the way. Lead on."

Millie straightened her shoulders and stuck out her chin in a manner so reminiscent of Elizabeth that Fitzwilliam gave both of them a soft smile.

"I am going to make sure you smile like that more often once we leave here, Fitzwilliam," she said, grinning impishly at him.

The house rumbled its displeasure, but Elizabeth suddenly felt invincible as she basked in the affection she felt all around her. Together, they were unstoppable. Netherfield might have a collection of spirits, but they were not as unified as her own cobbled-together group of loved ones. Millie led the way down the steps, all of them walking behind her as calmly as if they were heading down for dinner.

Netherfield's front door loomed before them, and Elizabeth somehow knew that walking through it would bring them back to reality. Millie strode towards the door to open it, but they all instinctively stopped as an all-too-human rant from the carriage broke into this spirit world.

"How dare you trifle with me! You might frighten these children, whatever you are, but you do not frighten me. I, the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh, command you to cease this childish tantrum at once and leave us be. If you are spirits, then you must cede control of this vehicle to the living at once as is natural and just. If you are mortals bent on securing an alliance between my nephew and that Bennet chit, know that I am most seriously displeased."

Fitzwilliam somehow managed to pale even further, which Elizabeth considered an accomplishment given the circumstances.

"We must return to ourselves before she does something irrational," he said as they all ran towards the door.

"How dare you ignore me! My will shall not be disregarded! Cease this behavior at once or I will be forced to take action! If you do not stop meddling with my carriage, I shall open this door and face you, spirit or no!"

"No!" Darcy yelled, echoing his aunt as they all ran through Netherfield's imaginary front door.

Elizabeth suddenly found herself back in reality, the colors and sounds and smells overwhelming her for a few moments. She felt paralyzed, unable to stop the scene playing out before her as time itself seemed to slow. As if she were watching a deliberately drawn-out pantomime, Lady Catherine lurched from her seat, grasped the handle of the carriage, and opened the door.

"No!" Fitzwilliam shouted again, practically deafening Elizabeth in the close confines of the carriage.

He lunged for his aunt but was too late to keep her from sticking her body through the door and shaking her walking stick angrily at the house, shouting her defiance incoherently. The carriage hit a bump and she lost her balance, flying through the air with the same forcefulness that she had displayed for all of her life.

An inarticulate yell sounded from the front of the carriage as Mr. Collins tried to grab her in mid-air, succeeding only in dislodging himself from the carriage. His fall to earth was much more ungainly, but both bodies made equally solid thuds against the large tree trunks that halted their progress.

Fitzwilliam immediately closed the carriage door, his protective bearing demonstrating his priorities for Elizabeth clearly. A searing pain flashed through her mind once, then twice, before the carriage stopped careening down the path. It immediately began to slow, but Fitzwilliam pounded on the roof of the carriage before yelling, "Drive on!"

Elizabeth looked at him in question, but he merely responded with a potent look. Although the odds of either his aunt or her cousin having survived the accident were low, Elizabeth could not help but be humbled at Fitzwilliam's willingness to put their well-being over that of his aunt.

She braced herself for another barrage from Netherfield, but it did not come. They gazed at each other in confusion, wondering why Netherfield had ceased its attack when they were still on its property. Cautiously, Elizabeth reached out her mind towards the house, feeling only confusion, torpor, and lingering anger and resentment. She looked questioningly at Fitzwilliam, who claimed to feel much the same. Elizabeth was about to voice her puzzlement when they felt the tell-tale bump signaling the transition from Netherfield's path to the main road.

"L-Lizzy?" Jane's voice rasped from Elizabeth's lap, scaring and elating Elizabeth at the same time.

"Jane?! Is that really you? Are you awake? Are you yourself?"

"S-slow down, L-Lizzy...Thirsty...Tired...What happened?"

Lizzy looked into her sister's bloodshot, puzzled eyes for a few moments before looking down at Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley, who were still crouched at their feet before the carriage seat. Hysterical laughter bubbled out of her and continued for a few moments more.

"That is a lengthy story, my dearest Jane—one that will be better told far away from Netherfield in front of a roaring fire with cups of tea in hand while surrounded by loved ones."

"S-surrounded by loved ones now, L-Lizzy."

"Yes," Elizabeth whispered through her tightening throat. "Yes, we are surrounded by loved ones, Jane."

She shot Fitzwilliam a meaningful glance of her own before closing her eyes and resting her head against Jane's, allowing her tears to fall into her beloved sister's fair hair as the carriage churned through the boggy muck and the pouring rain. The nightmare was almost over, and soon they would be safely home.

Chapter Text

Darcy almost sighed with relief as Meryton came into view, providing him with the assurance of civilization. While nobody was in the village's streets, the mere presence of other people nearby brought Darcy comfort. He could tell that the other occupants of his late aunt's carriage felt the same way—especially since it meant that they were only a mile from their destination.

The two men had retreated to the other side of the carriage, settling into their original seats with reluctance. Although Darcy would have preferred to stay crouched before Elizabeth, he knew she needed space to rearrange Miss Bennet into a more comfortable position. To their delight, Miss Bennet seemed to recover her faculties swiftly and was able to sit up without much assistance by the time they reached the outskirts of Meryton.

Elizabeth had not been able to take her eyes off of Jane, but Darcy had had the same problem in regards to his beloved. Her actions spoke of deep affection for him, but her words from Netherfield continued to pain him. Now that his aunt was dead, would she still believe herself bound by her promise?

Darcy listened as Elizabeth murmured a basic accounting of the events of the past week or so to her sister, pausing to answer Jane's questions. When Jane wondered aloud how Elizabeth had managed to convince a woman like Lady Catherine de Bourgh to allow them the use of her carriage, Elizabeth had grinned at her sister with the most impudent expression Darcy had ever seen.

"I am quite interested in this part of the tale as well, Elizabeth," Darcy said pointedly.

"I suppose you would be, Fitzwilliam."

Their use of each other's first names had not gone unnoticed by the other couple in the carriage.

"Lizzy, you keep calling Mr. Darcy 'Fitzwilliam.' Is there an understanding between you?"

"Yes and no, Jane."

"Yes and...but I do not understand. You have either reached an understanding or you have not."

"Elizabeth told my aunt that she would promise not to marry me in exchange for the use of her carriage," Darcy said, a distinct note of displeasure lacing his voice.

"I said no such thing, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said, still grinning madly. "Please repeat my words verbatim."

"You said, 'I will not accept a proposal from your nephew if you take Jane and me to Longbourn in your carriage.'"

"You remembered the important part, at any rate. Let us examine that phrase, shall we, Fitzwilliam?"

"You have my full attention, Elizabeth."

"I hope I shall always have your full attention, Fitzwilliam," she said, looking at him impishly before beginning her explanation. "First, let us examine the concept of a proposal. What does a mean here, Fitzwilliam?"

"I would assume it means any. 'I will not accept any proposal from your nephew.'"

"That is, indeed, how I hoped Lady Catherine would understand it, but that was not the way that I meant it in my mind. A can mean any, but it can also mean one. Therefore, I could say, 'I will not accept one proposal from your nephew.' In other words, one of her nephews could make me a single proposal and I would turn it down—but not necessarily a second or third or fourth one."

"That is a bevy of proposals you are planning on receiving, Miss Elizabeth," Bingley said with a grin. "I never knew you to be so in-demand."

Elizabeth smiled archly at him before continuing her deconstruction of her promise.

"Also, proposal can have multiple meanings. It often refers to a proposal of marriage, but it could just as easily mean a proposal to take a turn about the garden or to attend a dinner party. Couple that with my definition of a and another loophole presents itself."

"I suppose you also have an explanation for why you said nephew rather than Mr. Darcy," Bingley said with a grin.

"Cleverly discerned, Mr. Bingley," she said with approval. "I noted to Lady Catherine herself that I knew her to have more than one nephew, so I could have been promising to not accept one proposal from any one of her nephews. I never overtly specified Mr. Darcy as the nephew in question, so I never promised to not accept a proposal from him specifically."

Darcy sat in silence, marveling at the feeling of falling more in love with Elizabeth by the moment. Her impertinence and wit had rendered him speechless, and the hope he felt rising within him prevented him from verbalizing his appreciation.

"Should Lady Catherine have still felt me bound by my promise, I could have further explained to her that, even if she were to interpret my promise according to her desired definition, I never promised not to marry Fitzwilliam; I merely promised not to accept a proposal from him."

"So would you simply arrive at the church one day, be told you are to marry Darcy, say your vows, and proceed with your life as Mrs. Darcy?" Bingley asked, clearly enjoying this jest.

"My parents could arrange the affair; that is one possibility. Or Fitzwilliam could simply say that we are getting married rather than asking me; he demonstrated an aptitude for statements of intent during his confrontation with Mr. Collins at Netherfield. Or I could, of course, propose to him myself; I never promised Lady Catherine not to do so, after all."

Darcy was both thankful and irritated that other people were in the carriage with himself and Elizabeth because he knew he would have made a passionate nonverbal proposal to his beloved. Instead, he elected to take a less straightforward approach.

"Millie," he said to Elizabeth, looking at her significantly.

"Millie!" she responded, bolting upright and jostling Miss Bennet—who, of course, made no complaint. "We have to make sure she is well as soon as may be! Fitzwilliam, do you think she is…?"

The woman he loved slumped back against the seat and looked at him sheepishly.

"Your aunt and my cousin are likely dead, yet here I sit worrying about a maid who is hopefully still sound asleep. What kind of a person does that make me?"

Darcy heard an echo of the question she had asked him on their walk back to Netherfield after his first disastrous proposal.

"The kind of person that a maid like Millie would probably like to serve," Darcy replied with a small smile.

"Perhaps she would be interested in working at Longbourn," Elizabeth mused. "She—and many others—are going to be looking for new positions, after all, since Netherfield will soon be vacant again—in human terms, at least."

"Actually, Elizabeth, I think that Millie would be better suited as your lady's maid, do you not agree? After all, were word to get out that the Mistress of Pemberley did not have her own lady's maid, gossip would rage unabated."

Elizabeth's eyes widened before filling with mirth.

"Well done, Fitzwilliam," she said, returning his smile with a larger one of her own. "I could not have asked for a better non-proposal."

"Do you have a non-answer for my non-proposal?" Darcy asked, fidgeting in his seat as he tried to look as calm and arch as his love. Her expression told him that he had failed miserably to project an air of confidence.

"I believe that Millie will appreciate such an offer—from both of us," Elizabeth said, gazing into his eyes for a few moments. "After all, the Mistress of Pemberley should have the very best lady's maid, and Millie has proven her loyalty and discretion multiple times."

"That was a most excellent non-acceptance of my non-proposal, Elizabeth," Darcy said, unable to prevent his mask from crumbling away to reveal an exceedingly happy countenance.

"Do you believe Lady Catherine would consider honor to have been satisfied?"

"I believe she would still be most seriously displeased—and likely will continue to be so for the duration of our lives."

All in the carriage sobered at the reminder of the evil place they had recently left. Jane seemed to have lost the color her cheeks had gained, and her eyes grew haunted and hooded.

"Do you believe Lady Catherine will...remain at Netherfield?" Bingley asked them.

"Do you not?" Darcy replied.

"They are not going to care for Lady Catherine very much at all, I am afraid," Jane whispered, grasping Elizabeth's arms and pulling them more tightly around herself. "She is too strong-willed for their tastes and will fight their attempts at..."

Jane lapsed into troubled silence before whispering, "I fought them, Lizzy. They did not expect me to be able to do so, but I fought them. Even as they took more and more of me—even as I would sometimes be conscious of being two places at once—I struggled to hold onto myself. Thank you for saving me—thank you all."

Tears began tracing their way down Jane's cheeks, causing Elizabeth to pull her closer and shed some of her own.

"Do not thank me, Jane," Elizabeth murmured. "Thank Fitzwilliam and Mr. Bingley. My plan almost killed us all; they are the ones who rescued us both."

"But we would never have been able to figure out how to confront Netherfield at all had you not done so first, Elizabeth," Darcy protested.

"He is right, Miss Elizabeth," Bingley said earnestly. "I have always been interested in the supernatural, you see, but I had never actually encountered it until my visit to Netherfield. I never would have figured out how to fight the house without your help."

"How did you manage to carry Miss Bennet when neither Elizabeth nor I could manage, Bingley?"

"Ah. That," Bingley said, engaging in some awkward seat-shifting of his own. "Well, you see, I believe that the two of you were focusing on your love for one another first and your love of others second. The house, I believe, wanted Jane more than anything, and even your strong emotions could not prevent Netherfield from taking her. Perhaps I was able to do so because I...I wanted Jane more than the house did—or, at least, because my love for her was more focused than the house's...mixed emotions."

"That is a tactful way of saying that you could sense Netherfield's hatred of me, was it not, Mr. Bingley?"

"Indeed, Miss Elizabeth. I was focused solely on saving Jane, while the house was focused on acquiring Jane and hating you—and Darcy, of course. Netherfield loathes us both at least as much as it loathes Miss Elizabeth."

"How fortunate for us," Darcy said wryly.

"Yes, we are all most fortunate," Elizabeth said with a smirk.

"We are all most fortunate that Millie somehow found her way to us—and found a way out of Netherfield. I hope that she will take you up on your offer, Darcy. Speaking of which...um…I mean...Jane...that is, Miss Bennet...have you a favorite maid that you feel would serve you as well as Millie will serve Miss Elizabeth? Mrs. Bingley will need her own lady's maid as well, you know."

Jane stared wide-eyed at Bingley for a couple of moments before composing herself into a paragon of serenity.

"Was that a non-proposal like Lizzy just accepted, Mr. Bingley?"

"Er...yes. Yes, it was, Ja—Miss Bennet. If you want it to be, that is."

"You can stroll casually into a deranged house, carry Miss Bennet around as if doing so were a normal occurrence, and return her to reality, yet you are scared of making a non-proposal?" Darcy could not keep himself from saying to his friend.

"You should listen to Fitzwilliam, Mr. Bingley," Elizabeth said in that overly sweet voice that always signaled trouble. "After all, he is a consummate communicator of his feelings. If he continues to tease you, I will have no choice but to tell you about-"

"I do believe I take your meaning, Elizabeth," Darcy said with panicked chagrin. "No further elucidation on this topic will be necessary."

"I would like to hear more, if you do not mind, Miss Elizabeth," Bingley said with a grin.

Elizabeth stared Darcy down, but her gaze softened and she relented.

"I am sorry, Mr. Bingley, but I believe Fitzwilliam to be correct in this instance. I will tell you nothing of what Mr. Darcy said to me early one morning; instead, I will reflect most agreeably on Fitzwilliam's words and deeds since."

"Incidentally, Jane, do you have a non-answer for Mr. Bingley's non-proposal?" Elizabeth asked with an eyebrow arch that was lost on its target as Jane was busy gazing at Bingley instead.

"I suppose I could simply say that I might want to ask Sally if she will be my lady's maid when I become Mrs. Bingley, but unlike my sister, I am not bound by any promise to not accept a proposal from you."

"I am not bound by a promise to not accept a proposal from Mr. Bingley either, Jane," Elizabeth said with great impertinence.

"Lizzy!" Jane admonished. "I was trying to be...well, I suppose I was not trying to be serious, but I was trying to convey that, if Mr. Bingley desires to ask me a question, he may do so freely."

All eyes turned to Bingley as he turned red and stammered. Darcy gave him what he hoped was an encouraging look; Bingley seemed to find his courage again and retook his place kneeling before Jane much as he had done in order to keep her safe while they were on Netherfield's path.

He grasped her hand in his, looked into her eyes, and said, "Miss Bennet—Jane-I have not the words to describe the desolation I felt after I thought I had lost you or the jubilation I felt once I realized that I could save you. I have been a weak-willed man all my life, yet one thing Netherfield gave me was the means to stand up for myself and my loved ones forcefully. I know it did so for its own malicious reasons, but you have my word that I will never allow anyone or anything to come between us again. Please do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage and making me the happiest of men."

"Yes, Mr. Bingley—Charles," Jane said, tears of happiness covering the sad ones she had shed before. "I would be honored to marry you—and to have my own lady's maid, of course."

Even Darcy had to chuckle at Jane's jest. She would never be as lively as his Elizabeth, but he was thankful to see her spirits being restored—so to speak.

"Tell me, Lizzy," Jane said, craning her neck to look up at her sister. "Are you jealous that I received a proposal of marriage from the man I love but you must content yourself with a non-proposal?"

"Not at all, Jane," Elizabeth said, smiling with good humor. "I found Fitzwilliam's non-proposal quite diverting, indeed. It also spared Fitzwilliam the need to exaggerate my virtues, downplay my faults, and ask for my hand in an inevitably awkward fashion."

"I would have gladly done so, Elizabeth, if I were not afraid of being rejected due to your promise to my aunt," Darcy said with a frown.

Elizabeth sighed.

"Fitzwilliam, I have, once again, not been entirely honest with you. I have told you of the myriad ways my carefully-worded promise to your aunt could be dismissed as too imprecise. What I did not tell you was that, had she rejected all of my reasons, I would have simply informed her that I had lied. Had she lived, I would have accepted a proposal from you regardless of my promise to your aunt. I am no Dorigen, who would be willing to give up the man she loves in order to fulfill a dishonorable promise."

Darcy's eyes widened at her confession of love and her allusion to "The Franklin's Tale."

"And I am no Arveragus, who would be willing to give up the woman he loves without a fight."

Elizabeth's eyes met his once again, and the rest of the carriage faded out for a moment. He almost felt like he was back in Netherfield's spirit realm focusing tightly on his love for his future bride.

"Jane, I am afraid my arm is going quite numb," Elizabeth said mischievously. "Perhaps a couple of rearrangements would benefit us all."

She looked pointedly at Bingley, who eagerly leaped from his seat and squeezed in beside Jane. Elizabeth then carefully stood to her feet and sat down next to Darcy, leaning her head against his arm and sighing in contentment.

"I do believe that these new seating arrangements will, indeed, be beneficial to us all, Elizabeth," he murmured, surreptitiously pressing a kiss to his beloved's hair.

Fortunately, Bingley and Miss Bennet were too wrapped up in their own affairs to notice.

"We cannot arrive at Longbourn like this, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth whispered.

"We are going to have to switch places again in a few minutes," Darcy reluctantly agreed.

"A wise man once told me that we should make the most of our time away from Netherfield," she murmured. "Perhaps we should take his advice."

In response, Darcy shifted over slightly, dislodging Elizabeth's head from his shoulder with a discontented murmur from his beloved. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to him, luxuriating in the feel of her head resting on his chest. Not wanting to lose this opportunity, he leaned close to her head and began whispering in her ear.

"Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth, I cannot pinpoint the moment I first realized I wanted to make you my wife; I was in the middle of falling in love with you before I realized I had begun. At first, I foolishly allowed inside and outside forces to separate us and to make me say some unpardonable words. I tried to deny the impact that your wit, your beauty, your intelligence, and your vibrancy had on me, only to blurt out my feelings for you in the worst possible way.

"I apologize for every time I addressed you in an unworthy manner or treated you with anything less than the respect due my future bride. I vow to do my utmost to demonstrate my love for you in a variety of ways for all the days of our lives. We will surely have conflict and adversity in our lives, but we will face them with the same unity of mind and purpose we utilized in our fight against Netherfield. Elizabeth Bennet, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage so that I may ardently admire and love you for the rest of our days?"

"Only such a lovely proposal could compel me to break a promise I never intended to honor in the first place," Elizabeth said with an impish smile.

"That is another non-answer, Elizabeth," he said with a mock scowl. "I was expecting a better response to such an honest, vulnerable proposal."

"Were you, indeed? Well, then, I suppose I had better answer you."

Elizabeth, of course, drew the moment out with twinkling mischievous eyes before finally saying, "Yes, Fitzwilliam, I will marry you, my love."

Darcy closed his eyes in ecstasy and relief and pulled his fiance closer. She returned her head to its proper place on his chest, nestling him in contentment.

"Thank you, Elizabeth," he whispered into her hair, savoring her presence in his present and his future.

"I love you, Fitzwilliam," she mumbled into his chest.

"I love you as well, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth," he whispered into her ear.

Darcy knew that he and Elizabeth still had several obstacles to overcome before beginning their lives together as man and wife, but Darcy fully trusted the woman at his side to stand by him. After all, if Netherfield could not defeat them, then what harm could snobbish family members, foolish parents, or unfounded gossip inflict in comparison?

Another tell-tale bump in the road informed them that Longbourn was near, so they reluctantly switched seats again. Bingley was not nearly as satisfying a seat companion as Elizabeth; he seemed to feel the same way about him compared to Jane. He was glad to not be sitting next to Elizabeth, however, when Mrs. Bennet met them at the small carriage porch and immediately began remonstrating them about the lack of a chaperone present in the carriage.

"I apologize for such a tragic breach of propriety, Mama, but our chaperone perished on the way, you see, so we had to survive without one for our lengthy sojourn. We did manage to get engaged to each other, however, so we could just marry as quickly as possible, I suppose."

Darcy looked forward to spending the rest of his life falling more deeply in love with this fearless, pert woman who would surely fill his days with light, liveliness, and love. A faint protest brushed his mind from Netherfield, but he sent the house a strong blast of contentment—and a bit of smugness, if he were honest with himself.

Between the house's continued presence and the effusions of Mrs. Bennet, Darcy was already anticipating the time when he could convince them to leave for Town. He knew not how long Netherfield would be incapacitated due to the presence of, presumably, both Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins, but he knew that he needed to get his family out of the area as quickly as possible.

Plans began to form in his mind as he endured the cacophony of well-wishes, shrieks, and giggles from the Bennet women. Never again would that foul house have a chance to harm one of his loved ones. Just in case Netherfield was getting any ideas, Darcy sent another wave of possessiveness and warning in its general direction. Elizabeth looked at him knowingly, her troubled eyes reflecting his own worries perfectly. He relaxed, knowing that they would handle the problem of Netherfield just as they would face every other issue they would encounter: Together.

AN: I can't believe I finished this story in a month. Tomorrow I will hopefully post both parts of the epilogue; I have to write professionally tonight, so I might not get the final part of the epilogue written in time. I might post it Nov 1 if necessary; we'll see. Many of you smart readers noticed one of Elizabeth's loopholes in her promise; I am glad I had already decided to go in a different direction since I would hate to be too predictable. I will try to wrap up/explain a few things in the epilogue, so if you have any questions, now would be the time to ask them. Thank you again for your support, reviews, kudos, etc.; writing this story has been a wild, careening carriage ride that I have enjoyed immensely.

Chapter Text

Jane Bingley sat at the table, relishing the experience of breaking her fast with her husband of roughly a year. Christmas had come and gone, culminating in the celebration of Twelfth Night. She and Charles had not gone to any raucous parties this year; after all, pregnancy did not lend itself to such occasions. Not that Jane minded missing such entertainment; she had already had ample experience with chaos and misrule and was not eager to suffer more.

Charles smiled softly at her, and she returned his look with a contented, serene one of her own. Life could not be better, and she had determined to adopt Lizzy's philosophy of only remembering the past as it gave her pleasure. In many ways, her life at Longbourn and in Meryton already seemed like a dream. After that last incident, she had left Longbourn that very day, never to return. To her surprise, she did not often find herself missing her childhood home or longing to go back. Derbyshire winters may be harsher than Hertfordshire ones, but she would not trade her current home for Longbourn.

Life had been chaotic at Longbourn in the wake of the dual deaths at Netherfield. She, Lizzy, and their fiances had told her family the truth about that final ride for safety, but they had mutually agreed to tell everyone else an edited version of events that had downplayed the supernatural aspect of the affair. After all, they had not wanted the townspeople to find them fit for Bedlam, and nobody would have believed their account anyway.

Jane herself had also hidden some of the facts from everyone—even Lizzy and Charles. She had never gone into detail about what losing her mind had truly felt like. She had never confessed her belief that she had changed in a fundamental way as a result of her experiences. She had never told them that, even now, she still sometimes felt a deep desire to return to Netherfield and take her place there.

Not that she had any wish to go back to Netherfield—or Hertfordshire, for that matter. No, this desire seemed more residual than deliberate. She did not believe the house to be calling her; instead, she felt that her mind was experiencing something that she had heard of courtesy of those who had lost limbs in the war. Jane had once overheard an injured soldier who had returned home talking about how he still somehow felt pain in his left arm even though he had lost it in combat over a year previous. Sometimes, Jane felt the urge to go home to Hertfordshire and Netherfield. She would never do so. She would never tell anyone.

"I have had a letter from Caroline," Charles said, breaking the amiable silence that had enveloped them.

"Is she well?"

"She has requested my presence in Town. The baron who has been calling on her has asked for a courtship, and she believes that he will ask for her hand in short order."

"Shall we go, then?"

"You shall, of course, stay here; you should not be traveling in your condition."

Jane considered arguing with him, but decided to relent because she did not want to interact with Caroline anyway. They may have been sisters in name, but the haughty woman treated Jane with the bare modicum of courtesy required to stay in Charles's good graces. Prior to her experiences with Netherfield, Jane would have been both accommodating and oblivious to Charlotte's true nature, but Jane Bingley was a bit wiser than Jane Bennet had been.

"How long will you stay in Town?" she asked, sipping her tea and looking at her husband questioningly.

"No longer than necessary, Dearest," he said with a smile that turned gradually into a frown. "If I could avoid going altogether, I would do so, but..."

"But you do not wish to pass up the opportunity to marry Caroline off to a man who is willing to overlook her nature in order to secure her dowry."

"Precisely. How could I allow such a chance to pass me by?"

Jane knew that a younger version of herself would have been appalled at herself and Charles, yet both of them agreed that, in spite of the harrowing nature of the experience, their time at Netherfield had changed them for the better in some respects. Jane had grown more discerning, and Charles had grown more assertive. While both of them had relished the freeing of their minds from Netherfield's foul influence, neither of them had wanted to return to the people they had been beforehand.

"Perhaps if we traveled slowly, we could reach Town before Caroline's suitor asks for her hand," she said, giving him her most winsome smile as she changed her mind about her desire to go with her husband.

"Is such an endeavor worth the inherent risks?"

"We already survived the ride from Netherfield to Longbourn; I believe we should have relatively fewer problems with a leisurely trip to Town."

Charles grinned at her sheepishly, acknowledging her point.

"Perhaps we could visit your family as we gradually make our way towards Town," Bingley capitulated with a grin of anticipation. "We could make allowances for weather and road quality and travel as quickly or slowly as we desire."

"Thank you, Charles," Jane said, looking at him lovingly. He truly was the best of men.

"I was not looking forward to being separated from you, Jane," he confessed after taking a sip of his own tea. "Settling Caroline's future is not worth our spending a single day apart."

"I could not agree more, my love," Jane said.

Jane chewed her bite of toast with satisfaction, already anticipating her upcoming visits with her family. She was looking forward to seeing her parents, her younger sisters, and, of course, Lizzy. The two of them got to see each other relatively often, but she missed her dearest sister immensely. Life at Norhaven was idyllic and Jane could not be happier with the estate that Mr. Darcy had helped them purchase, but she knew that, unlike her infrequent urges to go back to Netherfield, she would always long for the company of Lizzy.

"I shall write our loved ones immediately," Charles said, standing up from the table.

"Perhaps I should handle our correspondence, Dearest," she replied with a wry grin somewhat reminiscent of her favorite sister.

"Our messages do tend to reach their destinations more quickly when you write them, Jane," he admitted.

"Perhaps you should ensure that you have addressed any pressing estate issues so that we will be able to leave soon," she suggested.

Charles agreed, and they were both soon productively employed. As Jane put pen to paper, she mused that life had turned out quite wonderfully for a woman who had once lost her mind but had had it returned to her by her loved ones.

AN: This is Part I of the epilogue, so if you find yourself wondering, "But what about such-and-such?", I will hopefully answer your questions tomorrow with Part II. Pretty much everyone's questions should be answered after tomorrow's chapter, but if you have questions, feel free to ask them so I can make sure to write them into the epilogue. I'll be giving a more extensive thank-you tomorrow, but I would still like to thank everyone for following this story. I think it's one of the best I've ever written, and I'm glad to have shared it with y'all. Happy Halloween!

Chapter Text

"And before our dearest Jane leaves, perhaps we can convince her to take Lydia to Town! Would that not be exciting, Mr. Bennet? Think of all the rich men she could meet!"

Mr. Bennet smiled indulgently at his wife, amused at her hopefully brief return to her old self at the news of the impending visit of her favorite daughter. After all, Mrs. Bennet's nerves rarely got the best of her anymore, so Mr. Bennet felt that she was in little danger of truly reverting to her old ways.

"Not that she should go on her own," Mrs. Bennet amended. "Perhaps all of the girls could go together to enjoy part of the Season. Would that not be a fine opportunity for our girls?"

"Perhaps we should wait for the weather to be more hospitable, Mrs. Bennet," he said to his wife. "Travel can be quite difficult this time of year, after all."

"Indeed, it can, Mr. Bennet, but surely...Well...perhaps we can discuss this matter later. There is so much to do to prepare. I shall have to make sure that we serve all of her favorites at dinner, and a guest room for herself and Mr. Bingley must be readied. First I need to talk to Hill. Hill! Hill!"

Mrs. Bennet bustled off into the depths of Millcastle, searching for that ever-faithful housekeeper who had soothed her nerves for years. Mr. Bennet likewise set off in search of an environment that had brought him immense comfort: His library. While this room was larger and somewhat different from his Longbourn library, it still contained his excellent books and his fine port.

Mr. Bennet procured both items and sat behind his desk with every intention of reading. The news of Jane's impending visit, however, brought to mind many of the circumstances that had led their family to this place. He had never expected to leave Longbourn permanently in any other form than as a corpse, yet here they were, settled at an estate that Mr. Darcy had purchased before he had ever set foot in Hertfordshire.

Millcastle—which, to Mr. Bennet's amusement, boasted neither a mill nor a castle—was a modest but lovely estate that normally produced a thousand more pounds a year than Longbourn. After the Netherfield incident and its results, Mr. Darcy had offered the Bennet family the use of this estate—with multiple conditions attached, of course.

Mr. Bennet had been reluctant to surrender his ancestral home, but Mr. Darcy and Lizzy had convinced him of the myriad benefits of leaving Hertfordshire far behind. He tried not to remember the events of the previous year that had caused such heartache for them all, but he had been forced to accept that something supernatural existed at Netherfield—and, more importantly, that Jane was susceptible to that foul presence.

A week or so after his daughters had left Netherfield, Jane had been caught sneaking out of Lonbourn late at night by Elizabeth's lady's maid in training. Apparently, working at Netherfield had instilled in the girl a reluctance to sleep at night—or, at least, a wariness that led to light sleep. The girl had stayed up late once again and had thus been able to catch Jane trying to slip out of the house through the kitchen. Jane had resisted the maid's efforts to detain her, but the noise they had made had soon drawn the attention of enough servants to bar the way and rouse the necessary parties.

Mr. Darcy had been in Kent overseeing the burials of his aunt and their cousin and had not yet returned. He had been loath to leave in the first place but had felt himself honor-bound to take care of his aunt's final arrangements. Lizzy had flown into her fiance's arms later that day when he had returned, informed him that she and Jane were leaving for London that day, and ordered him and Bingley to join them.

The tall, intimidating man had paled upon hearing the tale and had immediately set about preparing his carriage for transportation. They had left Longbourn and had, to Mr. Bennet's knowledge, at least, never returned. Lizzy had briefly returned to Meryton for Charlotte Lucas's wedding, but she had refused to stay in her former home. Mr. Bennet knew that Mrs. Davies was still somewhat skeptical about Netherfield's danger to her family, yet she had understood his daughter's desire to avoid a situation that could have brought harm to herself.

Not much had scared Elizabeth Bennet as a child, and not much scared Elizabeth Darcy as a woman. Lizzy rarely backed down from any challenge, so he had initially been at a loss to understand her retreat from Netherfield. Finally, he had realized that she was not scared of confronting Netherfield in and of itself; rather, she was worried about making life worse for the friends she had left behind in Meryton.

Lizzy had told him that they believed Netherfield to require a sort of digestion period every time the house killed someone on its property. She had claimed to have experienced a general lessening of mental hostilities after every kill Netherfield had made during her life, and she had expected such to be the case in the wake of not just one but two deaths.

To an extent, she had been correct; the house had not been nearly as focused in its malice after the deaths of Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins as it had been before. Not that Mr. Bennet truly understood such things, but he accepted his daughter's interpretation of events due to a lack of more suitable options. The incident with Jane had proven that not only was Netherfield still strong enough to negatively affect them, but that the house was still obsessed with Jane. She had also admitted that its newest spirits likely had a healthy loathing of her that had eased their transition into Netherfield's group of ghosts, so their loved ones would likely remain targets indefinitely.

Once Mr. Bennet had recognized the threat to his family, he had made the unprecedented move of taking his entire family to Town as quickly as possible. His mind had railed against his decision constantly, but he had been resolved to protect his wife and daughters. Their mutual relief once they had left Meryton behind was palpable; Jane had broken down into harsh sobs of release that had continued for miles.

They had first taken up temporary residence with the Gardiners but had gradually branched out to Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley's townhomes. Lizzy had archly asked if she could stay in Mr. Darcy's townhome for convenience, but he had, of course, refused her. As was proper, she and Jane had stayed with the Gardiners until they had wed their fiances in a double ceremony roughly a month after their arrival in Town. Mr. Darcy had refused to delay the wedding until the end of his mourning period; he had not been willing to allow his aunt to keep him and Lizzy apart even in death.

After he and Lizzy had been married a week, he had approached Mr. Bennet about settling at Millcastle. Mr. Bennet had initially refused, but once Mr. Darcy had told him the conditions of the agreement, he had consented to the idea. Mr. Darcy had purchased Millcastle with the idea of eventually giving it to a second son as an inheritance. He still planned to do so, but only after Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had lived out their lives there.

Although Millcastle had been run by a competent steward, Darcy had explained that its profitability could likely be increased with the hard work and diligence of a master. He had pointed out the overall improvement of Mr. Bennet's family since leaving Longbourn and suggested that Netherfield had been affecting all of them more severely than initially understood. Millcastle would give them the chance for a fresh start in Derbyshire—and the opportunity to build something worthwhile that would eventually be passed down to a grandson borne by his favorite daughter.

His women had protested vociferously at first, but even Mrs. Bennet had been persuaded of the benefits of the move by learning how much larger their allowances would be and how much money a year he would be able to add to their three unmarried daughters' dowries. At the beginning of the discussion, she had been railing about her nerves, but by the end of it, she had been gushing about all the new gentlemen that her daughters would likely meet in Derbyshire.

The move had been difficult, but the results a year later spoke for themselves. His wife no longer feared the future, and his youngest daughters were no longer quite so flighty and silly. Lydia and Kitty had become aware of their own insignificance when they had met some of the local girls their own age and had initially been found wanting due to their behavior. Social pressure applied by their peers had done what Mr. Bennet had not deemed possible and had turned his youngest girls into basically decent young women.

Even Mary had blossomed somewhat, abandoning Fordyce for a much broader curriculum of study. Mr. Bennet had delighted in introducing his middle daughter to the wide world of literature and in watching her grow in knowledge as Lizzy had once done. He knew he would likely never connect with Mary the same way he had with Lizzy, but he felt confident that she would someday meet a man who would see beyond the surface to the lovely young woman beneath.

"After all, even Charlotte Lucas made her match at last," he mused to Millcastle's ceiling. "Not that any of us foresaw that series of events; it was quite a diverting development, indeed. Everything has worked out for the best, and I am quite at my leisure."

He toasted Millcastle with his glass of port and was finally able to turn his attention to his book. Unlike the old version of himself, he would not allow himself to become too lost in his reading; he looked forward to dining with his family this evening and conversing with them in the drawing room. Among many things, Mr. Darcy had given Mr. Bennet his family back, and the man vowed to do all in his power to make Millcastle prosper so that it would be fit for the son of such a generous man and his beloved Lizzy.

AN: As usual, my "short" epilogue sections are turning out to be longer than expected. Therefore, I've decided to post each section as its own chapter. I have gone back and separated yesterday's chapter into two, of which this is the second. After this will be three more chapters: tonight's focusing on Charlotte and the entail, one focusing on E&D, and one, of course, focusing on Netherfield.

Chapter Text

Charlotte Davies sat in Longbourn's drawing room, waiting for Elizabeth Darcy to arrive. Had anyone told her a little over a year ago that the two long-time friends would bear those last names, she would have been surprised at the news. Although she had noticed that Mr. Darcy's feelings for Eliza had been more intense than her stubborn friend had believed, she had been uncertain that the man would offer for her given their differences in station. She herself, of course, had never foreseen being mistress of Longbourn—especially under this current set of circumstances.

Colonel Stephen Davies had ridden into Meryton one day on horseback accompanying the Bennets' carriage. He had been introduced as the new heir apparent of Longbourn, so everyone in town had been curious about this man who would be their new neighbor at some point in the future. To everyone's mutual relief, Col. Davies had seemed the opposite of Mr. Collins in terms of good sense and proper conduct.

Her parents had hosted a dinner party in his honor so that they could get to know Longbourn's next heir—and, of course, so that he might decide to make one of their daughters the new mistress of Longbourn. Her mother's scheming had finally paid off as the two of them had found much common ground between them in terms of interests and temperaments from the beginning of their acquaintance.

Even now, Charlotte would not say that she and the retired colonel were in love, but they did esteem and respect one another. They got on well together, enjoyed one another's company, and had the same basic beliefs and goals. For a woman nearing 30 who had long ago given up on the idea of marriage, her current situation was more than satisfactory. She was married to a respectable, kind, and sensible man who was the acting master of a modestly prosperous estate in her hometown. What more could she want from life?

Her lips pursed as she remembered Eliza's reaction to the news of their engagement. Part of her had expected her friend to have some objections to the marriage, but she had initially misjudged the reason behind those reservations. Eliza had been shocked and dismayed, and Charlotte had accused her of looking down on Col. Davies because he was not particularly handsome or charismatic. In fact, many would—and probably did—consider him to be boring, and Charlotte had feared Eliza had been regarding him in the same negative light.

Eliza's face had reflected profound hurt at the accusation, and she had had no reservations about taking Charlotte to task for misjudging her so badly. She had assured Charlotte that she regarded Col. Davies with respect and admiration and that she thought him to be an excellent match for Charlotte. However, she objected to Charlotte marrying the heir of Longbourn as she claimed it would make Charlotte an even bigger target of Netherfield.

Charlotte sighed, her mind still not having been able to reconcile her friend's account of the events of Netherfield with her personal experiences. While she sometimes felt a bit...odd at times, she believed that sensation to be a normal part of being human. She herself had never been a target of anything malevolent or malicious, so she had a hard time believing that grasping her sole chance of happiness would lead to tragedy.

The housekeeper announced Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, and Charlotte tried to shove memories of the past to the back of her mind where they belonged. She embraced her close friend, who looked as well as Charlotte had ever seen her. Eliza seemed to glow with an internal happiness that proclaimed her contentment with her life and marriage for all the world to see.

"I can see that marriage to Mr. Darcy suits you, Eliza," Charlotte said with a mischievous smile.

"So you are the type of woman to greet one of your oldest friends with a reminder of your mental superiority—at least in one particular subject," Eliza said with one of her typical pert grins.

"I am, indeed, Eliza. In fact, I think I have grown bolder in my old age."

"You are practically an old crone, Charlotte. You shall have to start keeping to your rooms and being waited on constantly. Perhaps you can even hire a companion to push you around in a wheeled chair."

The two women laughed and embraced again; Charlotte realized just how much she had missed her friend. She would not trade her current life for any other, but she still freely acknowledged that Eliza's absence from Meryton had left a hole in her life that had never been filled.

"Marriage to Mr. Darcy suits me very well, indeed," Eliza assured her with another smile. "Marriage to the colonel seems to suit you as well, Charlotte."

"Oh, yes, it does, indeed," Charlotte replied. "We are quite like-minded in many respects, and we pass our time most agreeably."

"I am glad, Charlotte," Eliza said with soft sincerity. "And how do you find being mistress of Longbourn? Have the responsibilities given you problems with your nerves?"

"Not at all," she said knowingly. "My mother prepared me well, and the colonel has helped me, too. I like being mistress of Longbourn very much, indeed."

She looked at Eliza closely, trying to discern any traces of jealousy or discontentment. None seemed present, however; Eliza seemed to be viewing the drawing room with nothing more than polite interest.

"As you can see, I have made a few changes to this room. I bought new curtains and furniture to better suit our tastes."

"You chose very well, indeed," Eliza said. "The curtains especially bring out the colors in the décor quite nicely."

"So the changes do not bother you?"

"Why should they?" Eliza said, arching an eyebrow in question before sighing. "Truth be told, Charlotte, my life here already seems like a dream. This place is no longer my home; Pemberley now holds that distinction. Living there with Mr. and Miss Darcy as Mrs. Darcy has been a joy—most of the time, at any rate. I am truly content."

"If that is truly the case, would you like to look at the changes we have made to the rest of the house?"

"I would like that very much," Eliza said.

Part of Charlotte was surprised at Eliza's acceptance of her invitation, but she knew her friend's active nature all too well. Perhaps Eliza had been sitting still long enough without a book or some other diversion in her hand. Maybe she also had a bit of nervous energy to expend given her current reason for being in Meryton.

Charlotte led Eliza around her former home, drawing her attention to the various alterations and explaining the reasons behind them. Eliza seemed pleased to see Charlotte deriving such pleasure from her childhood estate and appeared to have no desire whatsoever to possess it for herself. Part of Charlotte relaxed inside, thankful to see for herself that what Eliza could have seen as the usurpation of her home had not been taken as such by her dearest friend.

She led Eliza into the library, and her friend stiffened. A detached mask that, to Charlotte's amusement, resembled that frequently worn by Eliza's husband settled in place. Being the straightforward woman that she was, Charlotte asked her what was wrong.

Eliza gave her a weak smile and said, "I am sorry, Charlotte, but this room was my father's sanctuary for many years, and seeing it so changed affects me in a way I did not expect. The room is pleasing, and I cannot fault you for your alterations, but..."

"I understand, Eliza," Charlotte said sympathetically.

She gave her friend a few moments of silence to absorb the changes; Eliza tried to hide her discomfort by skimming the titles on the shelves. They were not nearly as full as they had been when Mr. Bennet had been in charge of them, but her husband had at least started to acquire a collection of his own.

Eliza gasped and yanked a slim volume off of one of the shelves. She held it gingerly as if merely coming in contact with it could make her ill.

"Where did you get this, Charlotte?" she whispered fearfully as she turned the book around so that Charlotte could see its title.

"Col. Davies purchased them from Netherfield when Mr. Farnsworth decided to sell them off," she replied, puzzled as to why a book detailing the histories of the local estates should upset her friend in such a way. "Mr. Bingley had left them and many other items behind, so Netherfield's owner decided to make the most of such an opportunity. My husband did as well, figuring these books to be a solid start to his own library."

Eliza replaced the book on the shelf with a shaking hand and stepped away from the bookshelves with wide eyes. She seemed to realize what a spectacle she was making of herself and gathered her wits with obvious effort.

"I apologize, Charlotte," she murmured with a fake smile. "I have suddenly become quite missish and must beg your pardon. These books..."

"I take it you recognize them from Netherfield's library. I know that was a stressful time for you, so I would imagine that they have some difficult memories attached to them."

Eliza smiled humorlessly and nodded, her eyes suddenly sharpening.

"You still have those letters I gave you, do you not, Charlotte?"

"Right here in this drawer," Charlotte said, walking behind her husband's desk and pointing to the space in question. "If I ever need to leave here for any reason, I know my husband and I can find refuge in Town with the Darcys, Bingleys, or Gardiners. All I need to do is present the appropriate letter at the door and we will be granted admittance and care."

Eliza nodded, obviously still discomfited by the presence of the books.

"How does your father like being the master of Millcastle?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"He likes it very much, indeed," Eliza said with a genuine smile. "I feel he has enjoyed the challenge of making the estate prosper—especially since he knows it will someday pass down to his own flesh and blood."

The colonel and I feel the same way about Longbourn," Charlotte confirmed, privately admitting to herself that she thought that, given the nausea she had experienced just this morning, her words might be truer than her friend knew. "We are both immensely thankful that Mr. Darcy helped us to work out that deal with your father to everyone's mutual satisfaction."

"As am I," Elizabeth said. "After the events at Netherfield, even Papa came to realize that we could not stay here. I am not certain what they would have done had Mr. Darcy not given Papa and Mama life ownership of that modest estate he purchased for his own future son."

"All he has to do is to pay Mr. Darcy a percentage of Millcastle's annual profits—just as we only have to give some of our profits to your father in order to live here. Your husband does have a gift for settling everything well, Eliza."

"Sometimes too well," Eliza said with a wry grin.

"So I remember you telling me once upon a time."

Both women laughed, and Charlotte took that opportunity to lead them out of the library. They returned to the drawing room and had nice, warm cups of tea to dispel the physical and emotional chill caused by the library. She contemplated telling her friend her suspicion that she might be with child, but since she was not sure, she decided that the news could wait for another time. Besides, she could sense this visit drawing to a close as Elizabeth's mind obviously began to wander.

"Will you be able to stay for dinner, Eliza?" Charlotte asked, already knowing the answer.

"As much as Mr. Darcy and I would enjoy dining with you and your husband, we really must finish tending to our affairs here," Eliza said, her good mood disappearing. "We also need to be out of Meryton before dark."

Charlotte chose to ignore her friend's allusion to Netherfield's nature and focused on the first part of Eliza's statement.

"Please accept my condolences about Miss de Bourgh," Charlotte said. "I suppose she simply could not bear up under her grief, and that made her..."

Eliza laughed bitterly.

"You could say that she could not bear up under her grief, I suppose—but that is not all she found herself unable to withstand at Netherfield. Her mother-"

Charlotte was grateful that the entrance of her husband ended Eliza's reply. After all, she did her best to think about Netherfield as little as possible, and that strategy had worked for the entirety of her life. Eliza greeted her husband warmly and complimented him on his management of Longbourn. The two talked for a few minutes before Mr. Darcy was also announced.

Eliza's eyes lit up with an obvious pleasure that warmed Charlotte's heart. She might not have been right about everything, but she had, at least, been vindicated in regards to Mr. Darcy's feelings for her friend. They all chatted amiably for a few more minutes before Mr. and Mrs. Darcy announced their desire to leave.

"After all, we only have so much time to walk up Oakham Mount," Eliza said, glancing knowingly at Charlotte.

"Be sure to mind your tongue, Eliza," Charlotte admonished with a smile.

"I am certain that Mrs. Darcy will behave with the same level of decorum and tact as ever," Mr. Darcy said gravely to everyone's amusement.

"As will you, Mr. Darcy," Eliza retorted with good humor.

As Charlotte embraced Eliza a final time before her friend left, she wished she believed that she and the colonel would take her and Mr. Darcy up on their offer of hospitality at Pemberley or in Town anytime soon. She knew that their proper place was in Meryton just as Eliza's proper place was wherever Mr. Darcy chose to call home. Charlotte Davies may not have understood her friend's experiences with Netherfield, but she did know that both of them were content with their lives and would not change them if given the opportunity.

AN: I hope this chapter will answer a decent amount of questions; many of you wanted to know about the entail, so I hope this satisfies. I know I have written some things in here that will raise more questions; that was deliberate, and I will hopefully answer all of those additional questions by the final epilogue chapter. As always, feel free to ask me to answer any questions you may have as I try to wrap this thing up satisfactorily.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth Darcy strolled arm-in-arm with her husband, enjoying the walk to the summit of Oakham Mount as much as possible considering the circumstances. After all, experiencing the homicidal malevolence of a ghostly collective could taint even the most enjoyable circumstances. Although Elizabeth had hoped that the house would be sated after its most recent kill, Netherfield's acrimony continued to pulse through her constantly.

"Netherfield is not happy with us, is it, my love?" Fitzwilliam asked her with a chagrined grin.

"No, indeed, Dearest," Elizabeth replied in kind. "I cannot imagine why Netherfield should hate me so."

"Perhaps the house despises you because of your life-long loathing of it," Fitzwilliam said matter-of-factly. "Or maybe it resents your ability to see through its illusions. There is also the likelihood that Netherfield will never forgive you for stealing its prey directly from its own consciousness."

"In my defense, that was not an experience for which I asked. Had I never needed to confront Netherfield in such a way, I would have been perfectly content."

"As would I, although I cannot lament that I got to see your courage and loyalty on display."

"And my impulsiveness. And my stubbornness. And my lack of good sense."

"Surely you do not expect your husband to agree with those sentiments, Madam."

"I would expect my husband to always be honest with me-even when doing so could cause us both pain."

"Perhaps that is your specialty, my love," he replied with a grin that was more impudent than usual. Perhaps the location was affecting him.

"I shall honestly tell you that I am enjoying this walk with you, Husband, in spite of our unwanted guest."

"Likewise, my dear. I must confess to feeling a perverse delight at the knowledge that Netherfield is so unhappy with my choices."

"Our choices have, indeed, left the house most seriously displeased."

"Perhaps that is another reason for Netherfield's display of temper," her husband mused. "Our marriage has vexed it greatly."

"And then, of course, we must acknowledge that neither Lady Catherine nor Mr. Collins is likely to be kindly disposed towards us."

"No, indeed. After all, I am the disobedient nephew who stole Mr. Collins's future wife, while you are the scheming wanton who snared an engaged gentleman above your station while spurning the proper choice for your husband."

"I am perfectly content with my choice of husband, Fitzwilliam."

"I am thankful to hear you say so, Elizabeth," he said, pulling her slightly closer to himself. "Were you to feel otherwise, we would both be pitiable creatures, indeed."

Elizabeth took comfort in their banter, seeking refuge in it and the strong presence of her husband as a shelter from Netherfield's relentless mental assault. The house's constant maliciousness wore on Elizabeth more than she wanted to admit, and the identity of Netherfield's latest victim did much to convince her of the true nature of the house's ghostly collective.

"Can you feel her as strongly as I can, Fitzwilliam?" she finally murmured, acknowledging the uneasy truth.

"Yes," Fitzwilliam said before pausing for a long moment. "Yes, I can, Elizabeth. I fear...I fear that she will never forgive us for defying her will, for finding happiness in each other, and for...how might she have phrased her feelings? 'Polluting the shades of Pemberley.' Yes, that sounds like something Aunt Catherine would have said. We must make sure to stay far away from this place, for I fear that she will never stop trying to gain vengeance—especially now that she has the power of Netherfield to wield against us."

Elizabeth was silent for a few moments, her mind accepting the truth of his words a moment before her mouth followed suit.

"Then we shall have to be cautious, Fitzwilliam," she said with determination. "We have already removed my family from Meryton; they are all safely in Derbyshire and will hopefully never have cause to return. We have done our best to warn Charlotte and Mr. Davies of their potential danger and have given them multiple places in which to seek refuge should the need arise. Most of Hertfordshire already knows to be wary of Netherfield; even if they do not believe me about its nature, they are superstitious enough to avoid the site of so much death."

"We must, indeed, be cautious," Fitzwilliam said with a smirk. "Browning would never forgive me if I let Netherfield get the better of her mistress after all of her hard work."

"Poor Millie," Elizabeth said, shaking her head with a smile. "Imagine taking what seemed to be an ordinary job as a maid at a country estate only to learn that it is the same one on which your long-lost aunt took her own life."

"Browning would probably just say that she has become used to such occurrences in her life and is always wondering what the next coincidence will be."

"You do seem to have influenced her, Elizabeth. She never used to be nearly as cheeky as she is now."

"I do tend to have that effect on people, Fitzwilliam."

"You do, indeed—and I am a better man for it."

Elizabeth looked up at her husband with love as they arrived at the familiar crossroads that had long served as the border of Netherfield's influence in this area. She let her agreement of his statement show in her eyes as they prepared to walk through the middle of the crossroads and be free of Netherfield's anger and resentment once again.

They started forward in tandem, involuntarily sighing in relief as they crossed through the middle of the intersection. Both of them stopped on the other side, and their eyes widened in mutual horror. Netherfield was as present as ever—and seemed to be taunting them! Elizabeth clasped Fitzwilliam's arm tighter, and they walked forward, praying with every step to escape the fell influence of that foul house.

For several minutes, they trudged onward, their walk becoming less enjoyable by the moment. At long last, they finally stepped outside of the house's purview at the base of Oakham Mount. They sighed in genuine relief this time, grimly reflecting on the reality of Netherfield's extended boundaries.

"Will Netherfield's range of influence continue to grow as it claims more victims?" Elizabeth finally asked into the silence as they walked up the incline towards the top of Oakham Mount.

"That would seem to be the case based on our recent experience," Fitzwilliam said calmly. "Of course, I am not exactly an expert on the supernatural..."

"I sincerely doubt that Mr. Bingley's interest in the supernatural will ever be rekindled outside of keeping his wife far away from Netherfield."

"I believe you are right, Elizabeth—and I concur with his sentiments. As soon as we are able to take Anne back home..."

Elizabeth sighed with sadness as the reality of the recent past intruded upon her mind.

"Why did she not listen to us, Fitzwilliam? Why did your cousin have to be as foolish and headstrong as her mother? Why did she seek answers in such a dangerous location? Why?!"

"You may have noticed that stubbornness runs in my family," Fitzwilliam noted dryly. "Perhaps that was one of the factors that attracted me to you."

"I am certain that Lady Catherine would appreciate that sentiment as much as I do, my darling husband," Elizabeth said with exaggerated sweetness.

"I suppose you would not be interested in going to Netherfield and telling her such things yourself," Fitzwilliam said as they neared the summit.

"No, indeed. I am no coward, but I am no fool, either. I am thankful that the footmen were willing and able to bring Anne's body into Meryton for us so that we would not have to go there ourselves. I will never set foot on Netherfield land again."

"Neither will I."

They reached the top of Oakham Mount and looked out over the tableau unfolded beneath them. Elizabeth felt a pang of homesickness, acknowledging that, her sentiments to Charlotte aside, Hertfordshire would always hold a piece of her heart. The barren trees and gray sky were starkly beautiful; Elizabeth enjoyed looking at a view she knew she would likely never see again.

"This view is what made me propose to you that first time," Fitzwilliam murmured into the silence.

Elizabeth's head swiftly turned towards her husband in startlement.

"You brought me up here to show me your home, but all I could see was you," Fitzwilliam admitted. "The thought went through my mind that, someday, I might be able to return here with you as my bride, and I could not help but ask. So my feelings tumbled out all at once-"

"-And I proceeded to insult you horribly and then prevented you from leaving after my tirade."

"And then you demonstrated your intelligence by figuring out Netherfield's scheme and your courage by immediately telling me the truth. Besides, what had you said that was not either the truth, based on a lie, or influenced by the house? By the time we made our way to Netherfield, I was more in love with you than ever."

"Which does not speak particularly well to your intelligence, Sir," Elizabeth said with a twinkle in her eyes.

"On the contrary, I believe my recognition of your worth shows my intelligence in quite a favorable light."

"Oh, let us both forget what we said here that morning," Elizabeth said with spirit. "In cases such as these, a good memory is unpardonable."

"I cannot forget that morning, my love, because without that memory, this moment would not be nearly so sweet. In spite of everything that happened that morning and then later at Netherfield, I have, indeed, returned with you as my wife. All bad memories pale in insignificance next to this truth."

"All of them, Fitzwilliam? Have I truly managed to erase all of your bad memories simply by returning here with you as Mrs. Darcy?"

"You have not erased all of them, my dear; you have simply made them irrelevant. I can still remember them, but they—like Netherfield—have no power over me any longer."

"Your way with words has been a pleasant surprise to me over the past year, Fitzwilliam."

"Did I not give you a favorable impression of my ability to express my feelings when we first met?"

"Oh, you expressed your feelings quite well. I was, of course, referring to your expressing feelings about which I care to hear."

Without warning, Fitzwilliam leaned back against Elizabeth's favorite tree and pulled her back against him.

"This is how I wanted to stand with you near the end of our discussion up here a year ago, Elizabeth," he murmured into her ear.

"That would have both clarified and confused many things, Fitzwilliam," she replied, craning her neck up at her husband with a grin.

He absentmindedly massaged her middle, looking out over the charming country vista marred only by the view of Netherfield in the distance.

"Mrs. Darcy, did I hear you casting up your accounts early this morning?"

"I am sorry I woke you; I assumed my nausea to be the result of anxiety about returning under Netherfield's influence and did not want to bother you with such an unimportant detail."

His hand stilled, and Elizabeth noted the pensive yet hopeful look on his face.

"Elizabeth, are you sure that your sickness was caused by anxiety?"

"What else...could..."

Elizabeth realized with wonder that her monthly cycle had not begun at the start of their unexpected trip as she had assumed it would.

"Not enough time has passed for me to be able to say with certainty, Fitzwilliam, but I might be...with child."

Multiple emotions flashed across her husband's face at once before his expression finally stopped on adoration. He turned her around and kissed her passionately, conveying his love for her with his actions. After he broke the kiss and stepped back, his bearing turned to one of protective determination.

"We need to leave now, Elizabeth. The days are short this time of year, and I will not risk you or our child being caught under Netherfield's influence after dark."

"We do not even know if I am carrying a child, Fitzwilliam."

"I am not willing to take that chance."

"Do I get to have a say in our plans or are you reverting to your high-handed ways?"

"If protecting my wife and child is high-handed, then I suppose I am."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to further the argument, but the realization of the true impetus behind it caused her to back down. She took a deep breath and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around him but maintaining enough distance to look up into his eyes.

"I shall defer to you in this matter, Fitzwilliam, because I also am unwilling to risk exposing our potential offspring to any more of Netherfield than is absolutely necessary. However, I will not allow you to treat me like spun glass for the duration of this pregnancy, either. I will not be forced to remain indoors under the tyranny of a bevy of maids and footmen. I will not allow myself to be restricted to my bed unless absolutely necessary. I will not allow you to oversee my every move or question my every decision until I have safely delivered the child that may or may not exist at the moment. Have I made myself clear, Fitzwilliam Reginald Worthington Darcy?"

Just as she had planned, her husband could not maintain his affronted expression in the face of her made-up middle names for him. His expression gentled, and he softly tipped her head up and pressed a kiss to her lips.

"I comprehend you perfectly, Elizabeth Caroline Catherine Darcy."

"Caroline?! Catherine?! After giving me names like those, you should prepare to learn the truth about all of those stories involving pregnant ladies and their nerves."

"Is Catherine not the name of one of your sisters? How could you object to that? And Bingley's parents chose to name a daughter Caroline; are you insulting your brother's parents?"

"No, I am insulting you."

"At least you are consistent, my love."

After a moment of deliberation, Elizabeth resettled herself in her husband's arms and resumed her previous pose as she gazed out at Hertfordshire below. He did not object in the slightest as he took the chance to wrap his arms snugly but gently around her middle. They looked out at the winter vista for a few more minutes before Fitzwilliam once again whispered in her ear.

"Only learning of your possible condition could have made this stroll any better. Thank you, my love."

Elizabeth sighed in contentment before reluctantly breaking the spell of the moment.

"We need to leave soon," she said wistfully. "As you already mentioned, the days have grown short, and we shall have to travel to the next town over. I am already looking forward to leaving Netherfield's influence and I have not even reentered it yet."

"The sooner we return to our inn, the sooner you can inform Browning of your possible pregnancy."

"Why should I do that, Fitzwilliam? So that I can have two overprotective people ordering my life for me instead of one?"

"Because you know she would never forgive you if you did not inform her yourself—and she would never forgive herself if something were to happen to you or the babe due to ignorance of the situation."

"You speak entirely too much good sense, Fitzwilliam. You must cease immediately."

"I shall do my best, Mrs. Darcy. Shall we go?" he asked, holding his arm out to her and smiling as she took it.

"I fear we must go, Mr. Darcy. We must go down Oakham Mount. We must go through Netherfield's sphere of influence. We must go to Kent with Miss de Bourgh's body. We must go to Rosings to sort out its future. We must go-"

"Back to the inn where you are going to rest for the entire rest of the day."

"Fitzwilliam-"

"I can tell you are tired, my love. Perhaps there is a reason behind your fatigue, Dearest."

"Besides exhaustion due to dealing with my exasperating husband?"

"I suppose I have tired you out before, Mrs. Darcy," he said with a smirk. "Perhaps we should retreat to the inn so I may do so again."

"But if you are so concerned for my welfare, Fitzwilliam, surely you would not want to engage in any activities that would result in further exhaustion," she said archly.

"Some exertion is good during pregnancy, Mrs. Darcy-or so I have heard."

"I do not believe that the particular type of exercise you are contemplating is of particular interest to me at the moment, Sir," Elizabeth stated primly as she began to walk down Oakham Mount, causing her husband to start walking a moment later as she tugged on his arm.

"When did I say you would have to exert yourself, Elizabeth?" her husband asked, giving her one of his intense looks that she had once mistaken for disapprobation. His meaning was perfectly clear to her now.

She cocked her head in an exaggerated display of serious thought, cupping her chin in contemplation with her free hand.

"I cannot promise that I shall be interested in such activities once we reach the inn, Fitzwilliam, but I must confess that I would like for Netherfield to experience my contemplation of the possibilities as a form of fond farewell."

"I am certain that Netherfield will appreciate your thoughtfulness," Fitzwilliam said as they continued to stroll down Oakham Mount together.

They reached the bottom of the pathway and looked at each other, remembering another occasion a year ago in which they had first decided to face Netherfield together. She could tell that Fitzwilliam was also readying an emotional present for the house; she would have to ask him later what, precisely, he had sent to Netherfield's consciousness.

As she felt that supremely unwelcome presence reenter her mind, she responded with a blast of the desire that she, in spite of her coy words, felt for her husband. Netherfield responded with appalled shock; Elizabeth could tell that the spirit collective was greatly vexed.

Fitzwilliam gave her a knowing look, and she raised her chin at him in the way that she knew he loved. As he had done the first time, he smiled at her in appreciation. His pleased expression stayed on his face all the way until they drew near to Meryton again, at which time he donned his mask as the somberness of the occasion demanded. Elizabeth vowed to help her husband through this time of grief and uncertainty in any way she could—even if doing so meant indulging his protectiveness and engaging in occasional bouts of strenuous exercise.

AN: Just one more chapter to go; we shall, of course, have to see how Netherfield is faring in its relationship with the great Lady Catherine de Bourgh. I am certain that all is well within the gestalt and that Lady C is not causing any trouble at all. Hopefully, this chapter and the final one will answer all of your questions—while hopefully raising a few as well, as is right and proper. After all, should a story of this nature be perfectly wrapped up? I think we should save a bit of mystery for another day...

Chapter Text

AN: I'm sorry I didn't post this a year ago, but I just never got around to it. I'd also kicked around the idea of picking the story up several years later after E&D had had their son and learned that all work and no play make Darcy a dull boy, but the urge to write a "Shining" sequel to this fic dissipated as such things often do. I hope this chapter ties up enough loose strings to satisfy and makes a nice Halloween surprise for anyone still reading this.

The entity that thought of itself as Netherfield had tried to absorb Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins into the collective, but she had been unwilling to submit to such an inferior authority. After all, who were the spirits that made up this ghostly gestalt anyway? Who were their mothers and fathers? Were they nobility? Royalty? She had once had the blood of an earl and countess flowing through her veins, so who was this collection of nobodies to try to bend her to their will?

So foreign were her thoughts and refusals to the collective that it had been flummoxed by her resistance to its strength. Nobody had ever been able to successfully resist the will of the gestalt after death, so how could this single woman be stronger than all of them? Lady Catherine had sneered at their presumption and had told them that she cared not about the reasons. After all, was it her fault that the house knew so little about its own rules and limitations?

They wanted to take Mr. Collins as well, and she had considered allowing them to do so as a bargaining ploy. However, she had learned from the collective that the best defense against it was a unity of mind and purpose, so she had come to see the obsequious little man as a means of further staving off absorption from the gestalt. Mr. Collins may have been weak-willed on his own, but he was also slavishly loyal to her—as he should be. As such, he was able to join his resistance to Lady Catherine's, proving himself to be far more useful dead than alive.

Eventually, the house had surrendered, allowing Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins to maintain their separateness from the whole in exchange for having access to their power—and Lady Catherine had power. Not that she was surprised; after all, she had been forceful in life, so why should she not be even more so in death? With her power added to the gestalt, Netherfield was able to extend the boundaries of its influence to encompass multiple additional estates and houses.

By the time this conflict had been resolved, the Bennets, Bingleys, and her nephew had already left the area. That the house had been able to call that eldest Bennet girl to itself in spite of its inner turmoil had been a testament to the strength of Netherfield's hold on her. Lady Catherine knew that, were the girl ever foolish enough to return to Meryton, the collective would be able to lure her back to Netherfield's property with little difficulty.

Lady Catherine had not had to lure her daughter to Netherfield. Like a dutiful daughter should, Anne had come in search of her mother in the house in which Lady Catherine had died. Convincing her daughter to leave her frail, weakened body behind and to take her rightful place at her mother's side had been all too easy. The house had been in awe of her technique and had tried to get her to tell it how she had overtly communicated with her daughter. She had, of course, scorned the collective. If they did not possess even such rudimentary knowledge, of what use were they to her?

So Anne had taken her place at Lady Catherine's side, providing another malleable but loyal spirit to add to that of Mr. Collins. Lady Catherine was gradually building her own collective, and the possibilities seemed limitless. For all that the gestalt claimed to pride itself on its love of learning, Lady Catherine saw little evidence that the collective had learned nearly as much as it should have given the amount of time this entity had existed.

Could she one day leave the confines of Netherfield behind and make her own way in the world with her servant and daughter in tow? Could she, perhaps, find a way to possess a living person in the same manner as the demons described in scripture? Might she someday be able to gain vengeance on those who had dared to trick her and to defy her authority?

Lady Catherine knew that she would one day be able to get revenge on the chit of a girl who had ruined so many lives. Oh, she would chastise her nephew for allowing himself to fall under the artful wanton's spell, of course, but she could not blame him for failing in a way so common to men. Elizabeth Bennet—she would never refer to the girl as a Darcy—had lured her nephew to his doom and the abandonment of his duty, and Lady Catherine was certain that the country nobody would pay someday.

She had already gained a small measure of vengeance, although nobody likely knew of her actions yet. Although she had fully expected her nephew to marry Anne as was his duty, she had also understood the unpredictable nature of life well enough to have prepared for every possible contingency. Lady Catherine had amended her will several years ago to safeguard against the possibility of her nephew either predeceasing her before wedding Anne or, unlikely as the notion had seemed at the time, refusing to marry her outright.

The spirit of Lady Catherine smiled in satisfaction as she imagined the look on her nephew's face when he found out that she had bequeathed Rosings and the rest of her fortune to her brother's second son if her nephew failed to marry Anne. She had done so in order to keep her estate in the family—her family, which mattered more than her late husband's, of course—and to raise the prospects of another Fitzwilliam. Both of her brother's sons would now live as gentlemen, and surely her Fitzwilliam nephew would uphold the values of their society in a more honorable way than had her Darcy nephew.

Most importantly, no child tainted with Bennet blood in its veins would ever grow up to inherit Rosings. The thought of that hoyden polluting the shades of Rosings with her gauche impertinence and seductive wiles turned her figurative stomach, but the image of the chit's expression upon learning that Lady Catherine had already thwarted her grasping ways—at least in this single instance—eased her mind.

Along with the gestalt, Lady Catherine had been able to discern something that the Bennet chit might not know: She was currently pregnant with the heir of Pemberley. Not that she knew whether or not the babe would be a boy; it had not yet developed a mind for the collective to touch yet. The idea of mentally corrupting the offspring of such an artful wanton was appealing, but she suspected that, once aware of its existence, its parents would be too mindful of Netherfield's dangers to risk bringing the child under its sphere of influence.

Of course, Lady Catherine knew that she had one significant advantage over her wayward nephew and the Bennet girl: time. They would age, while she would not. The passage of time would dull their sense of wariness and push all thoughts of Netherfield and the spirit world to the backs of their minds.

Their children would grow up, likely never knowing the details of Netherfield's myriad dangers. Perhaps, in time, some curious Bennet offspring would come looking for answers at Netherfield—or, perhaps, she may figure out a way to leave this miserable country backwater behind for good. All she needed was time, and she had that in abundance.

She had delighted in the feelings of terror and horror felt by her nephew and that hoyden he had married when they had realized how much more powerful she had made Netherfield. Lady Catherine had eagerly anticipated their inevitable return to her sphere of influence after they had come back from whatever distasteful interlude they had surely shared. The feelings that both of them seemed to be deliberately projecting at the collective sickened Lady Catherine—his, surprisingly, more than hers.

The Bennet chit was impudently projecting all of her feelings of desire for her husband, which was disgusting but not surprising. After all, Lady Catherine had easily identified her as a grasping harlot from the beginning of their acquaintance, so the fact that she possessed such base, wanton emotions merely confirmed her initial impression of the little whore. Lady Catherine willfully ignored the feelings of love and affection the chit also projected in regards to her nephew, unwilling to entertain them. After all, they would likely be of short duration—especially once she had given birth to his heir.

Her nephew's feelings were much more distressing. While a disgusting level of carnal desire was present in his emotions as well, he seemed to be making sure to project feelings of total devotion and commitment to the Bennet chit. He wanted the house—and herself—to know in no uncertain terms that Elizabeth Bennet was his and that he had claimed her in every conceivable way.

Lady Catherine was seriously displeased, but she knew that time and power were on her side. Let them think they had escaped her wrath; she would show them what happened to those who defied the will of Lady Catherine DeBourgh. That Bennet chit might dare to pollute the shades of Pemberley, but Lady Catherine had learnt to be proficient in the art of shade-polluting herself. How she would love to go to Pemberley and take that Bennet harlot's loathsome mind the same way the pathetic collective had tried to take that other Bennet girl's…

Silence fell over the brick and stone of Netherfield as Lady Catherine once again lost herself in her bitter, spiteful musings. The collective stirred discontentedly, but Lady Catherine ignored the ineffectual spirits as usual. After all, she knew the truth: Outside of her daughter and her toad-eater, she had and would always walk alone.

AN: The beginning of the sequel idea I mentioned earlier would've revealed early on that Col. Fitzwilliam had married Mary Bennet and was now on his honeymoon. E&D and their young son would, of course, be living at Rosings during that time so that Darcy would be able to help get the books, property, house, etc. ready for the Fitzwilliams as a favor/gift to them. Shining-like things would start happening; they'd eventually discover that Lady C had found a way to return home and had been behind most of their ills. The plot didn't really go far as you can tell; I just wanted to post the head-canon that Lady C's machinations failed to keep Bennet blood from inheriting Rosings. Happy Halloween!

Chapter Text

I apologize for posting a new chapter with just this message, but one of my readers told me in a review that this story had been published as "A Ghostly Love Affair: A Pride and Prejudice Variation" on Amazon's Kindle Unlimited by someone named Ashley Hamilton. This was news to me, so I've lodged a complaint with Amazon and left a one-star review telling my side of the story. Some other authors who have had this plagiarism happen to them have successfully gotten these stories removed by getting some of their readers to post one-star reviews on Amazon detailing the theft/plagiarism. If you wish to express your displeasure with dear Miss Hamilton, please feel free to do so. Blasting someone on the Internet can be quite therapeutic—especially when you're doing so for a just cause. Not that I would ever encourage verbal blasting; a nice, polite roasting can work just as well. Thank you all for reading this story; thanks especially to Obsessive66 for the heads-up.

Update: I received a notice from Amazon today. No, the notice did not say that they were taking down the scummy scammer's posting of my story. The notice said that I apparently did not speak kindly enough of the scummy scammer in my review in order for them to post it. So just for the record, Amazon objects to things like posting pictures with a review proving my ownership of a story, directing would-be readers to my freely posted free content elsewhere on the web, and expressing displeasure over theft and plagiarism much more than they actually object to theft and plagiarism. (And, no, I did not use any profanities, obscenities, etc.) Needless to say, this experience has not made me eager to pursue publishing this or any other story through Amazon. In fact, all Amazon has done thus far has been to request a bunch of legalese mumbo-jumbo information that doesn't even apply to me as a fanfic writer. Yay Amazon!