Disclaimer: Don't own. Don't sue.

Please forgive me if the regency language is not quite there... I tried to make it work, but I, like the former Miss Bennetts, am sick. And my mind is not up to par :)

Illness

Lydia Wickham was sick. Her head ached, her throat itched, her eyes watered. She was lying in bed, swaddled in blankets, when her husband entered the room.

"You look terrible," he sneered.

Lydia positioned her prettiest pout on her lips. "Don't say that, darling. For I dare say you are truly stuck with me, now!" She giggled a congested, squeaky giggle.

Wickham had removed his coat, but he now paused before hanging it up. "Is that so?"

Lydia smiled and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Join me in bed, my love?"

Wickham looked truly repulsed. "You're ill. Why on earth would I ever do that?" He shrugged back into his coat. "What day is today?" He seemed to be musing over some stray idea.

"The first of December, my love," Lydia replied, "I do hope I shall be well enough to go to the Christmas ball!"

Wickham nodded, "Lydia, you dear fool, I am going to leave, now. I do not know when or if I shall return. If I have not returned by the new year, you may consider me gone for good."

Lydia balled her fists in the thick comforter and watched him disappear through the door.

Jane Bingley was sick. Her nose was runny, her throat was sore, her back was achy. Her husband has seen her to bed that morning at breakfast when he found out she was ill. Jane shifted under the weight of all the blankets Charles had deemed necessary to add.

"Good evening," he greeted, poking his head into the room before the rest of his body followed. He looked at her sadly, "You look terrible."

Jane sighed weakly. "I am sorry, my sweet. I wish I was well."

Charles sat on the side of the bed, "You don't have to apologize, Janie. You're ill. I suppose I shall be ill at some point and you can tell me how terrible I look."

Jane laughed, then bent double in a fit of coughing. "Oh!" She settled back into the bed, shivering. She looked at her dear, sweet husband perched nervously at her side. He tugged nervously at his cravat, and she had an idea. "Charles, join me in bed, please?"

Her husband looked at her. "Are you trying to get me ill now so you may insult me?" He chuckled, but removed his boots, coat, and cravat anyways.

She scooted back a bit, allowing him to slip in next to her between the blanket and the quilt. She sighed happily as his arm settled over her waist, and she began to drift off to sleep. "Shall I be ill very long?"

"Of course not, Janie," her husband assured, "What day is today? Yes, it is Tuesday. I am sure that you shall be as good as new in less than a week." He kissed her fevered forehead and watched her fall asleep.

Elizabeth Darcy was sick. She was dizzy, she was short of breath, she was covered in the sheen of sweat that only appears on the ill. Dear Georgiana had banished her to bed the evening before, assuring her new sister that if Fitzwilliam Darcy arrived home from business to find his wife ill but still up-and-about everyone would pay for it.

Elizabeth was tossing and turning, suffering the waking dreams that accompany a high fever when her bedroom door opened. Expecting it to be her maid or Georgiana, Elizabeth let out a parched whimper.

"Lizzy?" She found her head being cradled by two very cool, very strong, very masculine hands.

She opened her eyes. "Fitz."

Her husband chewed his lip in worry, "My love, I am so sorry I wasn't here when you fell ill!"

Lizzy smiled, "It's alright." She was glad that he had returned from Town safely. "It's treacherous—winter travel," she groaned, leaning her cheek a bit more against his broad palm.

"You look terrible," Darcy murmured, smoothing her hair away from her face.

His wife tried to lighten the mood, "I am very glad that I look as poorly as I feel, then." She fell into a horrible moment of darkness, but jolted awake again almost immediately. "Join me in bed," she pleaded.

"What day is today?" Darcy teased. He bent to remove his boots, and she realized that he had come to see her as soon as he arrived home.

"Wednesday?" She didn't understand why he cared what day it was.

Darcy proceeded to undress almost completely. "My sweet Lizzy, I shall join you in bed whenever you ask, on any day that ends in a 'y.'"

Lizzy smiled and nestled into his embrace, pressing her cheek against his bare chest. "Thank you."

Clutching each other, perhaps making up for the time he had been away, the couple fell into a deep sleep.

THE END! =D writing romance always makes me feel better, what about you?