“Lizzy,” said Jane urgently, “you must come into the house, and we will inform our father at once of all we have just learnt. Certainly, he will know what is best to be done.”

For several moments, Elizabeth was capable of nothing beyond a blank look of incomprehension and, when she had finally recovered her voice enough to speak, sounded so very much unlike herself—so faint and distressed—that Jane and Charlotte found themselves fearing for her. “No. I must go to Netherfield. I must speak to Mr. Darcy at once.”

Jane attempted to dissuade her, but on this, Elizabeth was adamant: she would speak with Darcy. Seeing her sister’s distress only continue to increase, she finally consented, though with great reluctance, and all three ladies soon found themselves settled in Bingley’s carriage and on their way to Netherfield. Charlotte accompanied them only as far as the lane to Lucas Lodge.

When the carriage arrived at its destination, both gentlemen were waiting to greet the ladies from Longbourn. Bingley hurried forward and handed Jane down with a smile, which faltered upon seeing her troubled expression. When Darcy stepped forward to extend his hand to assist Elizabeth, she remained in the far corner of the carriage, her naturally rosy complexion decidedly pale, and looking as though she would burst into tears at any moment.

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “Whatever is the matter? Truly, Elizabeth, you look extremely ill!” Unable to elicit from her any response beyond a look of utter despair and complete wretchedness, he turned toward Jane with no small amount of concern.

“I am afraid, sir,” she began unsteadily, “we have just had a visit from the future Mrs. Collins, in which she has imparted to us some most distressing news. I am afraid it concerns Lizzy and you, and, I am sorry to say, is of a most disturbing nature.”

“What news? What in God’s name has that odious man to accuse me of now?” he demanded indignantly.

Eying the driver and footman, Jane quietly addressed Bingley. “Cannot we all go into the house, Charles? I believe we should discuss this unfortunate development with Mr. Darcy in private.”

Bingley understood her perfectly. “Yes. Yes, of course. Darcy, I am certain Miss Elizabeth would benefit from a few moments in which to collect herself. Perhaps you can join us in my study when she is feeling better?”

Darcy nodded distractedly, and after Bingley had dismissed the driver and footman and escorted Jane into the house, he took a seat in the carriage beside Elizabeth and closed the door. No words were uttered, but Darcy was able to read her anguish as clearly as if she had spoken it aloud. Suddenly, Elizabeth reached for him, burying her face in his lapel. He enfolded her in his embrace, one arm wrapping around her shoulders while his other hand moved to cradle the back of her head. He held her while she wept.

It seemed as though an eternity had passed before Elizabeth was once again in control of herself. Darcy produced his handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped her tears with unexampled affection. When he had done, he drew her back against his chest, his tone soft and filled with concern. “Elizabeth, dearest, please. Will you not speak to me of it?”

Her head was pounding, and at first, she was unequal to saying anything, but after several moments she managed to speak in a low, angry voice, the words nearly choking her. “He saw us, Fitzwilliam. My hateful cousin. He actually watched us last night for some time when we were together in the garden… while you and I… when you were… touching me. He saw it all! I am disgraced! My reputation, my family, all my sisters! We are all sullied because of this! He means to tell your aunt and put an end to our engagement!” Elizabeth fought to control her agony, to prevent more tears of anguish from falling, but it proved a hopeless business.

Darcy continued to hold her close, kissing her hair and stroking her back. He could not stop himself from shaking with the rage rising within his breast at the persistent, unwarranted, and malicious interference of Mr. Collins. Try as he would, Darcy’s anger did not abate. At long last, Elizabeth quieted, giving way almost completely to exhaustion.

When she finally felt well enough to leave the carriage and enter the house, it was to discover her sister had already apprised Bingley of their conversation with Charlotte. After repeating the particulars for Darcy and watching his anger continue to swell to a quiet fury as he paced the length of the room, Bingley rang for a servant to prepare a room for Elizabeth, so she might rest for a few hours. Pausing to take a long, thoughtful look at the woman he had long since given his heart to, Darcy excused himself and strode stiffly from the room.

*   *   *

It was many hours later that Elizabeth opened her eyes to vaguely familiar surroundings. Casting her gaze about her, she was startled to find herself still occupying the elegant bedchamber that Mr. Bingley’s housekeeper, Mrs. Blakely, prepared for her that afternoon, along with a strong cup of medicinal tea the elderly woman insisted would ease the throbbing in her head and allow her to sleep. As her headache now appeared to have gone, and the delicate floral pattern upon the walls was bathed in nothing but the soft glow of a low-burning fire, she could only assume the tea must have worked its magic. She yawned and attempted to pull herself to a sitting position, only to discover she appeared to be restrained by something warm and heavy pressing upon her body.

Panic flowed through her, and she began to struggle against the weight that seemed to be pinning her. Then she heard a muffled voice and felt a warm breath upon her neck, which made her freeze. “Shh, Elizabeth, it is late. Go back to sleep, my love.”

“Fitzwilliam!” she gasped. “What are you doing here? Why are we sleeping in the same bed?” She could not begin to account for his presence there, for such a complete breach of propriety—and under his friend’s own roof!

Darcy tightened his hold on her and, nuzzling her neck, replied in a sleepy voice, “You have nothing to fear from me, dearest. Go back to sleep, or you will surely wake the house.”

Despite Darcy’s reassurance, Elizabeth could not help but worry. “But why has no one bothered to wake me? Where are the Bingleys and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst? And where is Jane? She must be terribly worried about me.” She stopped then, placed her hand over her eyes, and groaned. “Fitzwilliam, please tell me I have not slept all afternoon. Poor Mr. Bingley must think me unpardonably rude.”

At this, Darcy released her and, raising himself upon one elbow, fixed her with a steady gaze full of love and longing. He was lying beneath the counterpane, clad only in his fine linen shirt and, Elizabeth fervently hoped, his breeches. Her gaze traveled over his handsome features, and she inhaled sharply as she beheld the beauty of his neck for the first time, completely unencumbered by a cravat.

Darcy chuckled at her reaction and took pity on her. “As I said, you need not have any fear of me, Elizabeth. Your sister is sleeping just down the hall, and a note has long since been dispatched to Longbourn, informing your family you had taken ill upon your arrival. I am sorry to inform you, however, you have indeed slept, not only through luncheon, but through supper, as well. By the time your sister and Bingley became aware of the lateness of the hour, the weather had taken such a turn as to make it necessary for both of you to spend the night. You are now, and quite to my satisfaction, I might add, stranded by a rather unrelenting storm.”

More than a little mortified by his account of her current circumstances, not to mention most reluctant to credit it, Elizabeth threw back the counterpane and made her way toward the window, muttering irritated words under her breath about Mrs. Blakely and the strength of her tea. Sure enough, upon peering through the curtains, her sight was instantly assailed by a blinding torrent of thick snow.

Turning back to Darcy in astonishment, she found his eyes lingering on her form with a look she had come to know well. It was at that moment she recalled she was wearing only a low-cut night shift she had borrowed from Mrs. Hurst, which clung to her body. Judging from his passionate gaze, he had noticed as well.

“Are you going to continue there all night in the cold, or will you come back to me where I can resume keeping you warm?” Darcy patted the empty space beside him on the bed.

Elizabeth moved to cover herself, but finding nothing near at hand to suit her purpose, she was forced to settle for wrapping her arms securely about her chest. This only served to make Darcy erupt in silent laughter. Elizabeth failed to see the humor in her situation. “I… well… exactly what, pray, are you doing in my bed, Mr. Darcy? I am correct in my assumption this is, indeed, my bed, sir, am I not?” She finished with a raised brow and an arch look.

“Indeed, it is, Miss Bennet,” he said in a voice full of mirth as he rose from the bed to join her by the window. “But I far prefer to think of it as our bed.”

“Our bed? Really, Mr. Darcy.” She was taken aback by his boldness, but not wholly intimidated. “And are you not afraid someone will discover you here, sir, in our bed?” she asked rather impudently.

Darcy was standing directly before her, his body so close Elizabeth could feel the heat radiating from him. “Not at all,” he said in a low voice. “I have taken the liberty of locking the doors.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard at this declaration but found her voice again quickly. “Ah, such foresight, sir, but it seems you have forgotten you will have to return eventually to your own chamber before morning. So how, pray, do you propose you will manage that feat without calling attention to our current, scandalous situation?”