nine | 09.

DISTASTEFUL GOODBYES.

The morning after the next, Mary awoke with a languid yawn, peeling herself from the chair she had unintentionally fallen asleep in beside Jane's bed.

The hard lines of the wooden armrests had left faint imprints on her skin, and she stretched to relieve the stiffness that had set into her limbs.

Jane, to Mary's relief, appeared much improved, her feverish flush having abated since their arrival. The physician's tonics seemed to have finally taken effect, and Jane's breathing was steady, her sleep deep and restful for the first time in days.

Mary's gaze wandered about the room, searching for Elizabeth, but her elder sister was nowhere to be found.

Just as Mary was about to rise and investigate, the murmur of raised voices drifted up from below, their volume unmistakable.

She froze, her heart leaping in her chest. Such noise was uncharacteristic of Netherfield, where even Mr. Bingley's most animated conversations maintained a level of civility.

The only cause for such a disturbance could be one thing—her mother had arrived.

Her pulse quickened as she hastily ran her fingers through her unruly dark curls, trying in vain to tame the errant strands that stuck out at odd angles.

In her haste, she stumbled toward Jane, gently shaking her sister awake.

"Come, Janey." She urged tenderly. "Mamma has come to fetch us."

Jane stirred, muttering something incoherent, but Mary was too preoccupied with the rising panic in her chest to pay much mind. She hoisted her sister to her feet.

How humiliating it would be to subject Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy to the spectacle of their mother's unabashed fussing—she could only imagine the embarrassment awaiting her downstairs.

They had already overstayed their welcome, surely.

Supporting Jane with one arm, Mary steered them toward the door, her other hand fumbling at her hair, which remained disheveled and loose.

It wasn't until she reached the landing that she realized she'd left her glasses on the bedside table in her rush. No time to go back, she thought, blinking through the slight blur as they descended the stairs.

She could make out enough of the scene unfolding below.

"Are you here to take Jane home?" Mr. Darcy's deep, gravelly voice traveled through the air, sounding more hopeful than Mary expected.

Standing before him was Mrs. Bennet, whose wide eyes and awkwardly pursed lips suggested confusion at the directness of his question.

Elizabeth, too, was there, her brows furrowed in mild irritation as she stood slightly apart from their mother, arms crossed in silent disapproval.

"No—" Mrs. Bennet began to protest, but Mary, flushed and breathless, hurriedly interjected before her mother could embarrass them any further.

"Yes! We must not impose on your hospitality any longer." She declared, her voice wavering as she avoided Mr. Darcy's piercing gaze.

Elizabeth had already stepped forward to guide Jane toward the waiting carriage.

Mr. Bingley looked stricken, glancing anxiously at Jane as she was led away. "Surely she's too ill to be moved. I must protest!" He exclaimed, trailing after Elizabeth in distress.

The rest of the household followed suit, spilling out into the fresh morning air.

Just as they reached the carriage, Mr. Darcy caught Mr. Bingley by the arm, halting him with a quiet yet forceful command. His voice was low, meant for Bingley alone, but Mary heard it all the same.

"Carelessness in handling a potential zombie infection will lead to your demise." Mr. Darcy warned, his dark eyes boring into Bingley's.

Mary's lips pressed into a thin line, her brows knitting in irritation. Was he truly so intent on causing alarm? The physician had been clear—Jane's illness was no such thing. Yet here was Mr. Darcy, sowing discord with his ominous words.

"Arrogance could lead to your demise." She shot back before she could stop herself.

Mr. Darcy turned sharply to face her, his jaw clenched, eyes narrowed with the intensity of his gaze.

"Your defect, Miss Bennet," He replied, his tone growing cold, "besides constant eavesdropping, is a willful misunderstanding of others."

His words struck her, but the sting of insult barely registered before she found herself bristling in response.

The man who had stood aloof at the assembly ball, who had spoken of her with such dismissal, had no right to make such judgments.

"And yours is to be unjustly prejudiced against them." She snapped, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions surging within her.

Before she could say more, Mrs. Bennet tugged her into the carriage, cutting the exchange short.

The door closed behind her with a decisive thud, but Mary's thoughts remained with Mr. Darcy, replaying their brief but heated confrontation.

How was it possible for him to shift so abruptly from the man she had spoken with the night before?

"Mr. Bingley, I know just the thing to dispel this dreadful tension and bring joy back to the county!" Mrs. Bennet declared as she stood beside the carriage, her eyes gleaming. "A grand ball at Netherfield!"

Darcy's jaw tightened, his hands curling into tight fists as he stepped forward. "Absolutely not. The security arrangements alone would—"

But before Darcy could finish, Bingley raised a hand, silencing him with a stern look. "When Jane has recovered, you shall name the day."

Mrs. Bennet beamed as Mr. Bingley helped her into the carriage. She settled into her seat with a triumphant smile, her mind already buzzing with plans and preparations.

Bingley watched the carriage begin to pull away, his smile betraying a hint of unease, as though he wasn't entirely sure what he'd just agreed to.

Inside the carriage, Mary glanced out of the window, her gaze drifting back to Netherfield.

Lydia and Kitty waved their arms enthusiastically, shouting their goodbyes as if they had no intention of leaving at all.

From the doorway of the estate, Mr. Darcy stood, his face shadowed with frustration. His dark eyes locked onto Mary's for the briefest of moments but it wasn't long before he turned away, retreating back into the depths of Netherfield without another word.

Lydia collapsed back into her seat with a dramatic sigh, her pout almost comically exaggerated. "Look at her." She muttered, eyes trained on Jane. "We could've stayed for an entire week in that palace."

"I'd rather catch a cold than risk facing Darcy's blade." Elizabeth teased, her lips curling into a mischievous smile as she nudged Mary playfully.

But Mary remained quiet, her response subdued. The lightheartedness in the carriage barely registered with her.

She felt drained, as though the past few days had sapped her energy, leaving her feeling disconnected now that she was going home.

____________

Once they returned to Longbourn, Mary felt a peculiar emptiness settle over her.

The familiar comforts of home—its creaking floorboards, the scent of baking bread lingering in the air, and the muffled chatter of her sisters—failed to ease the disquiet that had taken root within her.

Even the prospect of an afternoon in her room, normally a sanctuary, seemed unappealing.

At lunch, she took her seat without comment, smoothing her skirts absently before reaching for a roll. She buttered it with mechanical precision, the knife's scrape against the crust the only sound she seemed to register.

She bit into the bread slowly, chewing as though her mind were elsewhere entirely.

Across the table, Elizabeth poured herself a glass of water, her eyes flicking to Jane, who had just entered the room.

Jane moved carefully, her steps slower than usual, though her color was much improved from that morning. She eased into the chair beside Elizabeth, offering a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

Elizabeth leaned toward her slightly, murmuring a soft inquiry about her condition. Jane nodded in response, lifting a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Their father cleared his throat, drawing the table's attention as he dabbed at his lips with a napkin. "We will be expecting an addition to our party for dinner tonight." He announced matter-of-factly.

Mary paused, her hand hovering over her plate. Visitors were rare at Longbourn those days, and the sudden announcement felt out of place.

She glanced at Elizabeth, whose expression mirrored her own curiosity. They exchanged a silent look, one eyebrow raised in unison.

Mrs. Bennet, ever eager for news, straightened in her chair. "I know of no one who is coming..." She said sharply, her brow furrowing as she turned her attention to Mr. Bennet.

"The person of whom I speak," Mr. Bennet said slowly, with the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, "is a certain gentleman. A cousin."

    The table went quiet as everyone processed his words.

    Mary leaned back in her chair, her hands resting idly in her lap as she absorbed the information. A cousin. Who could it be, and why now?

    She glanced at Elizabeth again, whose lips had pressed into a thin line as she pondered the news.

    Mrs. Bennet, meanwhile, began to prattle on about dinner preparations, her voice animated as she listed dishes to be prepared and rooms to be tidied.

    Mary let her words wash over her, her thoughts drifting.

Whoever this cousin was, Mary suspected his arrival would disrupt the household in ways none of them were prepared for.

END OF CHAPTER IX.