The Mirror at Northmere by Alix James

She came running for her life. He came to heal his sister. They did not come to find each other.
Northmere, 1811. The master of Pemberley has brought Georgiana Darcy to a Derbyshire estate he never wanted — a bankrupt cousin’s ruin, a household of strangers, and a dying mineral lake the villagers swear once held the power to heal. He has tried everything else.

He has not yet met Elizabeth Bennet.

A brooding, honourable Darcy who cannot abide a lie. A defiant Elizabeth who cannot tell the truth without dying. An ancient mineral lake that has woken after twenty years of silence — and that shows visitors the truths they will not speak.

Clear when they are honest. Dark when they lie. And she is lying about everything that matters.

He carries her broken body into the house. He sits the long watch at her bedside through the fever. He is the only thing between her and what is coming for her next. He cannot let her be his charge. He cannot make her his guest. He cannot, any longer, sleep for thinking of her.

The danger she fled is closing. The mere is rising. And the master of Pemberley, who cannot bear dishonesty under his own roof, is falling in love with a woman who will not stop lying to him.

If you’ve been reading JAFF and quietly wishing for a Regency romantasy that isn’t a chapter-by-chapter retelling of the original — that takes Austen’s people exactly as you love them and drops them into a story she never wrote — this is for you. The Darcy is the one you came for: the master of Pemberley, brooding and honourable, the kind of man who falls first and would burn the country to keep one woman safe. The Elizabeth is Austen’s: sharp, dry, observant, refusing to dramatise her own suffering. What’s new is everything else. A heroine on the run for her life, with a secret she cannot lay down. A snowbound winter at a strange house with Darcy as caretaker, slow-burn forced proximity built on something neither of them can name. A dying lake at the boundary of the Welsh tradition, waking for a woman it has no obvious reason to recognise. Hurt-comfort, whump, fated recognition through water rather than letter, and a quiet found family forming around two people who needed one. The Pride and Prejudice retelling that doesn’t ask you to reread the original through a magical filter — it asks you to spend a winter with the same two people in a place Austen never sent them, and find out whether they still know each other when nothing around them looks the same. Book Three of the Everbound Chronicles — reads as standalone.