The Heart's Single Plea

By Bethalie

Jump to new as of April 30, 2001
Jump to new as of May 5, 2001

Entry I

Posted on Sunday, 1 April 2001

It is too much to be asked to bear.

Just to much to ask.

Why must mama have chosen tonight of all times to interest herself in my affairs?

Oh, the humiliation of it all!

We were at a Ball, not just a local affair, either, where I might not have minded so much, but a grande London Ball, held by Aunt Gardiner's dear friend, Lady Matlock .

It is little wonder my aunt has such well-to-do and well-titled friends, as she is truly the sweetest person in creation (followed by my own older sister Jane who must incessantly find everyone pleasing and every situation felicitous!). If it were not for both their sweet and always sooo well-meaning dispositions, however, I would not be in this pickle...

When Aunt received her invitation to tonight's Ball, she decided it would be an excellent chance for Jane and I to make our debut in high society (even though we have long been 'out'). Which it would have, had not Mama decided that such a brilliant opportunity for finding wealthy, titled matches for us, could not well be handled without her 'assistance'.

Of course she didn't admit anything of the sort, but I knew what she was about, when not a day after we received the invitation, she 'discovered' a pressing need to visit London herself and insisted on accompanying us. Dear Jane simply could not conceive the idea of refusing her...

Oh! that I had canceled the whole affair then!

The Ball itself was unexpectedly tasteful and elegant.

(Alright, I'll admit it! I've always imagined that high society consisted of a stuffy bunch of heavily jeweled, gossipy old women, and self-centered, conceited rakes that cared for nothing but your money and connections - after themselves, of course...)

How mistaken I was! Though I found all of the above, there were enough of that other kind to make the Ball truly enjoyable.

As if that were not enough to ensure my felicity and enjoyment of the evening, I met a certain Lord Wippleton. Ok, I'll admit even now I find his title ridiculously amusing. And, I was impertinent enough at the time to tell him as much.. To my immense relief he didn't seem offended in the slightest by my confession and laughed heartily along with me!

(So much for the conceited, selfish coxcomb I expected when I discovered he was a 'Lord'!.)

And he was a good-looker, too! Imagine my surprise when, after our introduction and an all too brief conversation, he returned to claim my hand on the floor. Not once, but twice! Now, I am not in love with Lord Wippleton, but I did find him exceeding amiable, and every bit a gentleman... Am I to be blamed for feeling a little attracted to him? We got on quite well, and I found myself feeling pleased when he asked me to join him for refreshments...

Then disaster struck. Mama chanced to catch sight of us and it couldn't've been many seconds later, she'd seized the nearest bejeweled airhead and quite indiscreetly pointed us out before asking into my Lord's fortune. I was already blushing crazily and desperately hoping he wouldn't hear Mama. Frankly, I don't believe he did. That is little satisfaction, however, for Mama did not stop at that. After ascertaining his fortune and determining that he was indeed worth 'catching'.

(Oh, how I despise the very notion! even if I was desperately in love with someone, I would never stoop to trying to 'catch' him. Nothing but the deepest love and respect on both sides could induce me into matrimony. Not now; not ever. Even if I turn into a dried up old spinster in the process!).

Mama's views are quite different, though, and sometimes it seems all she can think about is 'catching' husbands for her daughters.

The moment Mama had determined Lord Wippleton was worth her efforts, (oh, that she'd decided otherwise..! or that we'd escaped her notice entirely...)she hastened to my side, and immediately began fawning over the young Lord. No doubt he has had enough experience with other mothers like herself to know what she was about without further vulgarities.

But Mama couldn't well leave it there. Oh, no, a little disgrace is not enough for her, I fear - once started she cannot stop till she has ruined anyone's good opinion of her irrevocably. And she was indeed in full form tonight!

Is it even slightly possible to imagine my mortification when she began extolling my virtues (though I doubt she believed a word of what she said, herself, as I am not an especial favourite with her!) and commenting on how glad she was that he got on so well with her dear Lizzy (so I'm 'dear' now, am I mother??!) and what great honour and pleasure she found in making his acquaintance...

At first the young Lord bore with Mama's vulgarities patiently enough, but when she showed no signs of stopping...no, I remember now - it was just after she made a comment about our good fortune in making his acquaintance (as if she hadn't already said that!) and continued by saying that we would be sure now to extend our stay in London to 'further the attachment',

(As if he'd already spoken for me or something!) that he'd had enough.

Without as much as a backward glance at me, he hastily, disentangled himself from Mama's exclamations.

Oh, the humility, the shame, the horror of being exposed so publicly...

Once he'd left, though, it didn't get any better. It appeared I was not the only one disappointed about Lord Wippleton's departure and Mama had no inhibitions in exposing hers.

"Oh, what manners! ...To have slighted my Lizzie like that. It is not to be borne! What an ill-mannered young gentleman!..."

I was standing there, trying to appear calm so that we would not attract more attention than we already were, but that was just 'too much' for Mama.

"Lizzy, how can you just stand there like that and bear this slight. You ungrateful girl! You saw the way he treated you, treated me.."

(the only part she really cares about, I fear.).

"Oh, my nerves! How can you think so little of my suffering,"

(yours, mother?)

"It is really too much! I cannot imagine what Madeleine could have been thinking. To bring my daughters into such society. They are really insupportable. You saw the way he treated you, my girl - so rude! I care not how many titles he may have...

"We must leave at once, do you hear me?"

(I'm afraid I do, mother, and I'm not the only one that can...)

"...this slight is just too much! Oh, my nerves! Where could Jane be? No doubt sitting desolate in some corner thanks to one of these profligates! It is really too much. Oh, where are some smelling salts?. I fear I shall faint! Oh, Lizzy, you ungrateful girl...don't just stand there!..."

She didn't stop - all the way back to Gracechurch St. in the carriage...

Yes, we did leave soon after, (ever so thankfully), so at least, the audience to the rest of her diatribe was restricted to Jane, Aunt and I. (Uncle Gardiner stayed home for the evening.) Jane and Aunt seemed to bear her ill-humour wonderfully (predictably), but I fear my nerves suffered!

So now here I am, sitting at my little desk, still up, and its far into the night,

(oh God, I'm pleased I got a room to myself this time...I had to be alone tonight), still feeling rattled, flighty...and, yes, foolish, I guess. Here I am worrying my self silly and wallowing in desolation simply because someone couldn't handle my Mama's enthusiasm. (an understatement, granted...) I am not in love with Lord Wippleton, so I should not care that he slighted me...and yet,

I do.

It is too ridiculous. I must come to my senses!

I'm afraid, thanks to my ridiculous humor, I haven't even dated this page - or bothered with my customary, 'Dear Diary'.

And yet...and yet, 'dear diary' doesn't half embrace the feeling I have about this entry. I feel calmer now, strangely - like my life's about to change, and there's no longer reason to bother with 'the right way of doing things'.

Would I now feel the necessity of despising my superstition for admitting that I feel the influence of my dearest heroine and mentor, 'Catherine' stealing over me? The reality of such an entity, which, I realized not so long ago, is simply a bettered mirror-image of myself, is hardly likely.

In the 'real life', at least.

But in myself, I have never really doubted her existence since that day soo long ago...

I was walking with my dear Papa (one of the dearest people to me in the entire world) and I happened to spy a swing a little way ahead. Funny how I can recall the thrill of excitement that welled up in me, even now. I was trembling and all flushed, more than a little eager and impatient to reach the swing. One look at my flushed cheeks and Papa knew what I was thinking,

"Don't run, Lizzy," was all he said, as he reached, now firmly, for my own, then soo little, hand.

But it was too late. I was already running full pelt across the lawn, was already slipping - had already fallen.

Oh, the humiliation of that moment. I was smarting with it. And my knee hurt so bad, (though not as bad as my pride). I could almost feel the tears before they came.

Tears of frustration, of hurt, of deep humiliation.

But then, they didn't come. In that moment, I just knew that you wouldnt've cried, Catherine. I saw you before me in that instant, pulling yourself up proudly, brushing the grass of your skirts, running again, still undeterred, towards the prize.

When I had reached the swing, I turned back to Papa and in that moment I knew any humiliation I had felt was over. He was looking at me, in a way that, though it would be impossible to describe, warmed me to the heart and I knew he was proud of me.

And I've believed in you, since then, Catherine, and felt eternally grateful.

Catherine is everything I believe in, everything I want to see in myself. She is much like myself, but when I am weak, she is strong. She has the serenity that I so envy, in Jane's temperament, but her judgment is keen. She can see through the most impenetrable of façades. She is never at a loss for words. Always succeeds in making all around her feel comfortable in her presence and adore her...

Must I say more? She is the embodiment of all my ideals. The one I credit with helping me to see the unreasonableness of my earlier vexation. For all the humiliation she has ever, or may ever inflict upon me, I love Mama.

There, I said it. And its true!

Come to think of it, would you believe me, Catherine, if I told you I saw a striking impersonation of Mama at Lady Matlock's Ball this evening?

Only this creature had the excuse of youth, beauty (?), and good connexions, besides a veritable fortune to her name, no doubt. She was clinging tenaciously to the arm of some aristocrat, prattling and fawning in a way much like Mama does - rolling her eyes exaggeratedly, and smiling way too broadly.

I was taking refreshments with Lord Wippleton at that moment, (before Mama had assailed us) and I was just trying, vainly, to stifle a giggle...when I noticed the fellow (man, rather) that the girl was hanging onto.

He took my breath away.

He was awesomely good looking, of course. But it was something more than that. The same moment I raised my eyes to his, he'd trained his onto me (into, rather - for I felt something like a soul connection that very moment), and something palpable passed between us. He didn't smile, and yet I felt I could read his heart and my very core reached out to him.

We still hadn't spoken a word and I remembered propriety long enough to lower my eyes, no, more than that - I looked away...and found myself gazing back into Lord Wippleton's amused face. By the time I looked back in the direction I'd seen him, they were gone - that silly fortune hunter and my man.

Is it senseless the way I feel about this nameless entity?

Would you censure me, Catherine? Somehow, I think not.

And yet, I have no desire to stay here any longer - to brave society again, Lord Wippleton, or even my anonymous hero.

I feel the need to move on.

To forget him, Lord Wippleton, my humiliation, Mama's disgrace.

Oh, for the strength to carry out my resolve. To forgive Mama and to forget...him. Yet, that moving face rises before me even now, a stubborn curl breaks free from the grease that keeps my hair tidy and I melt.

I must move on.

Oh, for some strength. Surely that's not too much to ask!

Is it too much to ask?

Part 2

Posted on Friday, 27 April 2001

Dragging himself up wearily off a no longer comforting pillow, Darcy clenched his fists and let out a frustrated exclamation.

"Blast the Ball!"

Why must it haunt him so? why can't I forget?...

He loosened his death-grip on the bed covers and out of sheer force of habit, dragged his fingers through his hair, as if the action would clear his head and ease the ache. As if it could.

What was the use, anyway?! It's not helping any...

Darcy let his arms drop, and fell to regarding his bedchamber. He may not have been able to actually see any of it, but it didn't matter. Every single crevice and crack had its own special impress on his mind, its own special place in his heart.

My room... he thought affectionately - as a boy, with parents who loved me, as a young man, so full of hope, and now... as the lauded, responsibility-laden master of Pemberley.

Yes, this had always been his room, and when his parents had left him and all those ever-so cherished dreams and hopes had died, he would not, indeed could not renounce it and take his intended place in the master bedroom of the Darcy townhouse, clinging to this last reminder of his happier days.

But the toy horses were broken, and the wooden swords had gathered dust - so like his dreams and all those memories...

The expressive, daring young man who had lived, loved, believed, and been loved was no longer recognisable in the austere, hope-deprived figure that now gripped the bedstead.

It must have been at least 2 in the morning.

Have I been sleeping..?, Darcy wondered. No, he knew all too well that he hadn't.

Thickly lashed, brown eyes flashed before him, burning into his inner-most being once more - only to be replaced seconds later with those laughing blue eyes. Mocking him...daring him to care. For once he feared he did - and he simply couldn't help it. Could I?

No, he certainly hadn't slept.

He tossed the bed-covers aside and made for the window.

Closed.

Impatiently, he pushed the cloth aside, and undid the bolt, throwing them wide open and revelling in the harshness of the London air, biting the tip of his nose, heedlessly slapping his cheeks...daring him to face the truth.

The truth of the evening he'd just passed.

The truth of his whole life.

Who could have known when he'd agreed to attend Lady Matlock's dozenth Ball of the Season

An exaggeration? Maybe, but it couldn't be all that far of!

that this one would have him still cursing the moment he'd stepped into his aunt's parlour, hours later?

No, he decided, it really hadn't been premonition that had given him the uneasy feeling he'd stepped into the Ballroom with. If one could discount the horrors of last night's ball at Lady Wippleton's ...

(which one definitely could not!)

..he would have to put it down to the basic disinterest he had held for balls for - how long? Not so very long, he mused, no, not so very long ago, at all, things were soo different...

He'd been introduced to the whole society scene early. As the very eligible heir to Pemberley, he'd been recognised as a prize right from the start. Countless beauties had flocked him, as had an even larger throng of matchmaking mamas. Can it really be any wonder that the inexperienced Darcy enjoyed the wave of attention and flattery that each ball occasioned?

A sigh. I was so naďve...

He'd found the mamas amusing and the ladies dazzling and exciting, if a little empty. Truth be told, more than one of their pretty faces had managed to turn his head, if not for long.

Oh, but he'd been principled. No sleeping around for the Darcy heir, even then. Yes, the smile that had crossed his face was surprisingly tender, even a little wistful... He knew who he owed his gratitude to, for that redeeming fact.

Papa Darcy. Who could've guessed what had been troubling you, that day?

He'd been more than a little surprised that his father had summoned him into his study, at all...Cheeks aglow and eyes sparkling from a wrestling match he'd just won with Wickham, he pushed the study door shut behind him and turned his glowing eyes, a little questioningly, on his father. The older Darcy had tried to appear casual, put him at ease

"Aah, Fitz, my boy! Just beat Wickham up again, did you?," but there was an urgency on his brow that even the wide inviting smile he was wearing could not hide. And it came out...

"William, never forget what a great responsibility rests on your shoulders as the Darcy heir...You must always act circumspectly, prudently, in a way that will reflect well on the Darcy name... Be careful with women. Reserve your attentions and affections for the one you can love and respect...marry her."

The older man had sighed and looked out the window before continuing in a gentler tone...more too himself.

"I only wish your mother was the first woman I smiled at...the first one I kissed."

He still didn't turn back from the window, "First love is very precious, my son. Guard it and only marry a woman you can give it to...."

Darcy had thrown the study door open, a care-free boy; he closed it behind him slowly, solemnly, a man. Duty and honor were staring in the face, and he determinedly rose to the challenge. He made a pact with himself. - He would preserve his body and soul untainted for the one woman he could respect, admire and love enough to marry.

It had been a grand decision for a young man in his situation, where men loved for pleasure and married for convenience, but it suited the young romantic's ideals exactly.

How unrealistic it all was...The mass of faces that blurred before him now in his aunt's parlor, a seemingly irrefutable underscore to his logic. Scheming mamas, air-headed debutantes, and haughty faced Barons...they were all the same.

That realisation had come when newly orphaned, he'd re-entered society expectantly searching for the dream. A woman who could fill his heart, heal his wounds, a companion to rebuild his life with. His hope had been so intense, soo sincere...

Well, she didn't exist. It hadn't taken him long to find that out.

The memory of it all hurt even now. He had reached out for understanding, his heart cautiously exposed. Society passed it around, smiled at it, and, with worse abandon, carelessly tossed it aside. It was a harsh blow. But necessary, he decided. It had inevitably changed his perspective. Must he be blamed if he had become a little cynical?

Oh, there were girls out there all right, but they were all self-centred, greedy air-heads. Their matchmaking mamas just weren't so amusing anymore...

There seemed to be only one option left. A marriage of convenience. So the woman of his dreams had turned out to be no more than a myth? He couldn't spent the rest of his life bemoaning fairy tales. He needed an heir. He owed it to himself, to the Darcy line.

He would wed a respectable woman, with respectable connections, respectable fortune and respectable manners. He had an obvious, pleasing choice.

"Miss Bingley." He bowed, ever so slightly, to the sparkling form before him and offered a diffident smile.

It was enough.

"Mr. Darcy! I am soo pleased to see you. London is ever so dull without your company!" She clasped the arm he had not offered...

Yes, it was enough. He'd wed his best friends sister, make Charles happy...and he'd have an heir.

He'd never know exactly when his plans started going awry until it had already happened...

He'd danced with Caroline. Not the customary once, but twice.

Then he heard it. Like static crackling over untuned wires.

"...of course, he's friends with her brother, but two dances. You must've noticed him stand up with her and no-one else before this, tonight!...I tell, you, Louisa, something's up. If he isn't intimate with that Bingley miss, I miss my guess, and ...

The voices faded.. then rose again, as a second replaced the first...

"..my dear Countess, one cannot be sure...all is not lost yet. We will yet have him marry your ___...such a prize must not be passed up so easily..."

The old anger rose dangerously high within him again. Not this, again!. He blanched, lost his footing... Caroline glared. Then she saw his face...

Darcy was seething, furious. He grasped the first option out.

"Caroline," inadvertently he'd used her given name, "join me for refreshments?" It wasn't really a question. He was already weaving his way, hurriedly but expertly, through the line of dancers.

Caroline dodged, desperately trying to keep up with him. Inside she was screaming with delight, he used my name! Surely it won't be long now..

When she caught up with him, she grabbed his arm. He was still tense, moving rapidly, but she would not, could not, hide the thrill she felt inside. It was bubbling up inside of her and running over. To his further annoyance, she started rambling. "What a Ball! It is getting quite stuffy, if you ask me...

Which I did not, my dear Miss Bingley. (he didn't even think of using her given name now.)

She continued, "I don't blame you a bit for wanting to get away...", but he'd stopped listening. Stopped moving, stop thinking....everything, it seemed, froze.

It was impossible to miss the twin pools of brown wonder that arose before him. Soft brown eyes, arresting him, inexplicably drawing him. Reaching into the depths of his soul. The murmur around had all but disappeared. No word was spoken, but he felt something very real pass between them. It was like another soul was gazing into my own, searching it, dredging out feelings from the depths of my heart that even I hadn't known existed before. Sharing of herself....

Its amazing how you,
Can speak right to my heart.
Without saying a word,
You light up the dark...*

...like no other human being on earth had.

Just as he felt his own heart involuntarily responding, reaching out...reveling in the fulfillment of the moment, the aura had shattered. A pair of laughing blue eyes that he knew all too well appeared in place of the brown. That head of glossy chocolate curls, face averted, beside them.

Belatedly, he realised that Caroline had tensed beside him. For once he totally ignored her. The anger was back in full force, insides seething again. Lord Wippleton.

* words from 'When you Say Nothing At All' (an absolute favourite of mine!)

Well, he hadn't exactly forgotten the creature in orange, still clinging to his arm, but even knowing she was there wasn't enough to suppress the agonized groan that he'd already been holding inside for too long.

It was too much to accept.

Too much to believe.

He'd been so carefully insulated, so he thought.

Then she had come. Those searching brown eyes, inexplicably drawing so much out of him that he'd previously wanted forgotten, thought even he'd forgotten.

And ...it felt so right. She'd searched his heart and he'd willingly offered up the innermost of his being. One by one, each of his protective barriers had been tossed aside.

Leaving him to feel ruthlessly exposed when that pair of blue eyes had cut in. Mocking him. He felt the pain and helplessness all over again. Only, it was even more intense now, because she had been involved. An impersonation of all those dreams... the ones he'd so long ago given up for fairy tales.

... should have known that she was too good to be true. But he could never have imagined that she would turn out to be this.

Just another one of Lord Wippleton's conquests.

The realization left him feeling weak and betrayed. How could he have been so completely taken in? He'd once again been tricked into putting his heart on the line, and now there was someone else to toy with it.

But this time something just hadn't, well, fit. She's seemed so... different.

But no, he wasn't wrong. He couldn't be. There was no discounting the fact that it had been Lord Wippleton he'd seen beside her, leaning into her, flashing that victorious grin. There was no mistaking it. And he wasn't about to trust HIM.

Not Lord Wippleton.

The former Victor Marcross and Darcy had been intimate at a time. As boys, together they'd staged mock sword fights and wrestling matches. It had been Victor, Darcy and Wickham everywhere, all the time...inseparable. As teenagers they'd grown apart, but Darcy still envied and admired Victor, who could sweep all the girls of their feet with a wink, and their mamas with one his famous grins.

But when Victor's father, the previous Lord Wippleton, met an untimely death, Darcy's admiration had turned to disgust for the man who recklessly cut short the required mourning period to return to London, flaunting a new identity.

The darling of society with his title and thirty thousand a year, hearts had no longer been the object of his efforts. Charming girls out of their dresses had turned out to be much more interesting...

Would it be scandalous to add that he'd been quite successful?

No, Darcy should have known better than to agree to Lady Wippleton's insistence that he bring Georgiana along with him to her Ball. After all, Georgiana wasn't even 'out' yet and with the Wickham affair still haunting her, she made a vulnerable figure.

Yes, he should have known better than to trust sweet, innocent Georgiana to Lord Wippleton. But he could never have imagined that his old friend could stoop so low...

They'd barely arrived at the Ball an hour before Darcy had found Georgiana a convenient corner seat where she could watch all the goings on, without being conspicuous enough to draw unwanted attention.

So he had thought.

Well, Lord Wippleton had found her anyway. He had been starting to feel bored...the old urge for a thrill came over him...and at that moment, his roving eye had happened upon Georgiana. Unaware she was watched, she felt her timidity slipping away. Eyes aglow, she made quite an enticing figure.

Georgiana Darcy. An innocent, if there ever was one.

Well, she wouldn't be such for much longer, not if he had anything to do with it... yes, the task of seducing Georgiana would be quite a job, and the joke of it was too good to pass up.

Intent on the thrill of watching her brother dance for the first time in the evening (and very likely, the last), Georgiana hadn't noticed Lord Wippleton until he was upon her.

Darcy still shuddered to think what the villain might have done to his sister had he not found them when he did. But if only it had been sooner..

Apparently, the young Lord had first applied for Georgiana's hand on the floor. At first, she'd refused. It would be highly improper for her to stand up in front of everybody, considering she had yet to be presented at court, she told him. No problem, Lord Wippleton had whisked her off to the music room, where they could dance, without being seen.

As soon as he noticed Georgiana missing, Darcy involuntarily scanned the room for Victor. He knew what the young Lord was capable of, but would he dare? It was too late to speculate - Victor was missing. Panic-driven, he searched every room he could think of. Funny, he'd searched all the chambers...but he never would have thought of the music room.

Victor knew what Darcy was capable of, too, and he was playing it safe. Darcy would never find him here... Throwing caution to the wind, he grasped Georgiana's waist tightly...

It was lucky stroke of fate that Darcy chanced by the doorway, just in time to catch sight of Victor holding his own dear sister firmly against the wall, his lips on her neck, Georgiana, pale, trembling, and weakly trying to shove him off.

The sight was too much for Darcy. In a white rage, he roughly grasped Victor, managed to pull him of Georgiana - but no more. Victor was too quick for him. He stepped aside, the intended blow falling hopelessly into space. He flashed Darcy a shameless grin

The audacity of it! It was enough to send anyone into a frenzy, with Darcy as no exception...Indeed, there can be no knowing what might have ensued had not an orange clad figure entered the room at that instant.

Caroline, you see, cannot well bear to allow her prey further out sight than she can help, as she is suspicious by nature. She knows her own motives cannot be trusted, so she trusts no one else's.

When she noticed Darcy's absence from the Ballroom, her fancy ran wild. It was the matter of a few short moments, before she had herself convinced that he must have had a tryst planned...It was more than she could bear. She must stop it, or at least catch them in the act. It would ruin the spotless Darcy reputation, she knew, but at least she would be able to revenge herself of the obvious slight it placed on her.

On her way out, she rehearsed what she would say - "Mr. Darcy, I fear you must not have realised your presence would be missed..." No, that would never do - too obvious. By the time she was through checking all the bedchambers, she had it. She'd happened to hear movement in the music room, so, affecting the best airs she knew how, she stepped in, head held high. A little too early, she began her practiced exclamation,

"Mr. Darcy, imagine finding...," she stopped short the moment she noticed the room's other occupants. This was not what she'd been prepared for. She opened her mouth, then closed it again stupidly - sure she'd never felt so silly in her entire life.

Finally, turning the brightest crimson imaginable, she managed, "..um, sorry, did I, uh, interrupt something....?"

Interrupt something? Interrupt...interrupt??

Darcy's head was spinning. This new turn of events had thrown him, and left him confused and disorientated.

You can bet you interrupted something, Miss Bingley!

But it was hardly something Darcy was about to admit. Not for worlds would he have gossipy Caroline aware of the true nature of what she'd just 'interrupted'.

The few moments purchase Darcy's discomposure afforded, was all Victor needed.

"Interrupted something? Of course not! Miss Georgiana, Darcy and I were just catching up on old times..," he had the audacity to flash another grin at the pair, "... and we had nothing left, but to make our way back to the Ball." Now he directed his killer smile to Caroline, favouring her with a wink for good measure.

"Allow me?"

Even Caroline had the grace to blush at the suggestive glance he sent her, but she accepted the proffered arm. Before Darcy could even challenge Victor to a duel, they were both gone.

Lord Wippleton's appearance at Lady Matlock's the previous evening, had brought it all back. That mocking grin...

It was really more than anyone could bear.

He could never forgive Victor, he decided. He wanted never to see him again, never to speak his name, never to hear his name spoken. He would distance himself from anything and everything that could serve to remind him. He picked up a yellowed timber dagger and hurled it in the direction of the fireplace...

He needed to get away, he decided. It was the only way. He'd sent Georgiana back to Pemberley, straight after the horrible incident. Now, he realised he desperately wanted to distance himself from it all, too.

Maybe, accompanying Charles to Hertfordshire wouldn't be such a bad idea, after all...

When Darcy's best friend had begged him to come and stay with him at the country estate he was leasing, Darcy's refusal had been adamant. "What?" he'd quipped, "leave Georgiana and London behind? I'm not out of my mind, yet!" And no, he wouldn't think of taking Georgiana, who knows where to.

Leave London, indeed. Right now, he couldn't think of a more pleasing prospect. And he needn't abandon Georgiana, or drag her along to some unknown destination. She would be safe at Pemberley. Yes, Hertfordshire might be just the place for him right now. He'd send an express to Charles tomorrow.

Remembering another detail of the trip Charles had dropped brought a slow smile to his face. "...it wouldn't be just the two of us - my sisters are coming.."

Perfect. Caroline would be there. He'd had an unrivaled opportunity to propose. So what, if he didn't love her. He wasn't sure love existed. Besides, he wanted, more than anything else, to escape society and the strain his unmarried status was putting on him. He just couldn't jolly well handle it all, anymore.

The sound of footsteps approaching his door...this was too much! Could he never escape them? In his half asleep state he panicked, and in a motion highly reminiscent of the young Darcy, he flung himself on the bed and pulled a pillow over his head.

Though still awake, Darcy didn't hear his faithful old butler enter, give his disheveled form a puzzled look, and then retreat again, tray undelivered.

Haunting brown eyes had invaded his consciousness, once again drowning out the sounds around him...

Oh, L*rd, he breathed. A moments peace...a simple life. A woman I could love...and the death of Lord Wippleton - is that to much to ask?

Is it too much to ask??!

....Another sigh, a ragged breath. He would accept reality, face it with determination. This week, I ask Caroline to marry me...

Entry II

Posted on Saturday, 5 May 2001

Well, what can I say? We're home. Home, home, home, home! It would be too much to even try and describe the thrill I felt when the door of that tiresome carriage was finally flung open, and there stood my own dearest Papa. When he gave me his special smile, I just felt like my heart was bursting with too much happiness.

One must come back down to earth eventually, though - he had to ask how I enjoyed the Ball. Ugh! Well, honestly, what can one say - 'it was the worst evening in my entire life'??! I think not! So, without embellishing the truth too much, I finally decided on a simple, "As tolerably as can be expected." The knowing look he responded with showed he understood.

Thank God for Papa.

It would be entirely too wicked of me not to mention the welcome we received from Mary, Kitty and Lydia, however. You must believe me when I say that Mary actually seemed to be wearing a genuine smile for once, and Kitty and Lydia were positively ecstatic. They weren't the least bit interested in hearing how the Ball went, thank God! (I gather they must have somehow gotten over their disappointment in not being invited...)

Instead they wasted no time in filling us in on the latest Hertfordshire news. Namely, the fact that Netherfield had finally been let- to a very eligible young man, no less...(I'm in shock - Netherfield has been vacant for an age!)....and, (drum roll here please - one must do justice to the excitement with which Kitty and Lydia delivered this news!), a certain ___shire militia has arrived in Meryton.

Mama's spirits, or rather I should say nerves, recovered instantly, from the supposed 'irreparable damage' she had suffered from our London escapade. She gave Jane and I both a broad wink, "Well, well, my girls, if luck isn't smiling on us, at last! Kitty, Lydia!!!"

You needn't yell so, mother - they're right now!,

"What's the man's name!?"

She even managed to confuse Lydia with that. "Good Lor, how'm I supposed to know which you're talking of?! if it was the tall one with the big nose that Kitty couldn't keep her eyes off," here, Kitty gave her a shove, " I think it was Catchpole, but I wouldn't bother about him if I were you, I much prefer Mr. Wick..."

It always amazes me how much Lydia can get out in a single breath, but Mama managed to cut her off.

"Not the officers, silly child!" (Gasp! 'I can't believe mama called her that!') "The gentleman that leased Netherfield, of course. Didn't I hear you say something about a young man of consequence??" This wink was definitely reserved for Jane.

Kitty piped up, "Mr. Bingley, you mean.." but Lydia cut her off, "Oh yes, him. All the village girls are quite wild about him, they say he's devilishly handsome, and Edith Long told me her Aunt heard he's worth 3,000 a year..."

Kitty cut in this time, "Not 3,000, Lydia, it was 5,000! I dare say, he's quite worth catching."

They were both grinning ridiculously, now - Kitty, especially, for this time she felt she'd had something worthwhile to contribute...

So it had come to this. I felt something snap inside of me. Money, money, matches, marriage. Always. Don't they realise there is more to life than this. I couldn't stand just being there and having to partake of it, so I turned my back on them all and made for the house. I wasn't going to endure it a minute longer. I was leaving. But not before I was forced to witness Mama's raptures.

"Oh, girls, what fine fortune is this!...Jane dear, I knew we should've bought you some new gowns in London. Have new gowns you must! Oh, dear, no doubt Lady Lucas has taken her girls to the dressmaker and I'll not be outdone...We'll just have to visit Mrs. Hannings, that dreadful little dressmaker in Meryton. Have new gowns you will, indeed..."

She gave long-suffering Jane a choking squeeze. And then, just as I set my lip firmly again and made for the house, Kitty called after me, "Lizzy, your beau is back in the country!"

I froze. James is here? Determined not to let them have the satisfaction of seeing how affected I was, however, I determinedly continued on to the house.

James Reed. My beau, indeed...

Once inside, I changed out of my dusty travelling frock, into a soft, cream gown with dainty sprigs of roses scattered over, and a pretty square neckline. It felt so fresh! While I was changing, Jane slipped into the room. Letting out the tinniest of tiny sighs she dropped down onto the bed.

"Oh, Lizzy, isn't it lovely to be home?" Coming from anyone other than Jane, I might have called that sarcasm, but somehow, I knew she meant it.

I turned from re-fixing my hair. Dear, sweet Jane. You really do beat all sometimes. If only I had you to share my heartache with... I resolutely shook my head and decided to go find the others. I couldn't burden Jane this time.

When I finally made my appearance in the drawing room, Mama was too busy harassing Papa to notice.

"Mr. Bennet, my dear, no doubt you have heard Netherfield has been let."

A grunt. "Indeed, I assure you I have heard of little else.....besides officers, that is."

"Well, it is high time you paid our respects to Mr. Bingley, is it not?"

Papa was regarding her with a disinterested, but bemused expression. "I dare say, the good man is already aware of our respect."

Mama threw up her arms and repaid him with a frustrated, but desperate glare. "How you vex me, Mr. Bennet! Have you no care for the future of your daughters?...Likely he has already met the other girls of the village and is already chusing his bride..."

I sat down demurely beside her, and tried to patiently bear with her ranting, but after an hour of Mama and Papa's exchanges I felt like screaming.

So I slipped into the hallway, grabbed my pelisse and bonnet and bravely stepped outside. The air was fresh. Enticing. It's a long walk up Oakham mount, but the temptation was too great. Throwing all good sense to the wind, as they say, I took off running up the slope. In record time I was at the top, overlooking Longbourn and I could even make out the chimneys of Netherfield in the distance.

I don't know what came over me, but I felt so free, all of a sudden. Like I did the night after the Ball. On a whim, I undid the ribbons of my bonnet, pulled the clasps out of my hair and tossed it free, letting it trail over my shoulders and blow in the wind. I closed my eyes and just let the nippy air and fresh country scent envelop me. Jane was right, it was lovely to be home. In spite of everything...I wouldn't exchange any of this for the finery of London. I started singing to myself a cute little ditty I made up on the spot.

"London behind me,
My life before me..."

For those brief blissful moments I really believed I'd successfully put the whole London adventure behind me. For good. I felt so free, so happy. The feeling was giddiness itself.

I thought back to the exchange between mama and my sisters, and I thought I'd reconsider marriage entirely. I think I might just become a nun. It was too funny. Wouldn't that delight mama...It was such a wondrously wicked idea I couldn't help loving it.

But when I thought of someone else I would 'delight' with my outlandish notion, I sobered. The light feeling I'd been reveling in fell away as suddenly as it had come.

James.

It was then that I realised how truly ridiculous my idea was. I tried desperately to swallow the lump that had lodged itself in my throat, but just as stubbornly, it wouldn't go away as my thoughts began to run in channels I'd hoped to forget.

So he's back! The way Kitty made it sound, you'd think James had been away on the continent for a year or something. In truth, he only went away for a couple of weeks on holiday...but it feels like so much more.

I still can't figure what came over him, but a couple weeks ago - before he left, James started acting strangely. We had a quarrel. Not a lovers quarrel, or anything like that, mind you. If fact, I'm still not even sure how it started, or what it was about. We were at the Lucas' for a dinner, and there was dancing. I happened to dance twice with a visiting cousin of the Lucas'. Maybe James just didn't like the man, but for some reason he got upset. It was strange. James is usually so carefree, and jolly. He said something about propriety and what dancing twice with someone I didn't know might be saying. I still get all choked up remembering his face when he said it. I was too annoyed and flustered to notice at the time. In my typical hot-headed manner, I lost my temper and told him to mind his own business. In fact, I think I said if I wished for my friends to concern themselves in my affairs, I would ask them to.

He looked at me strangely for a long moment and asked, "Friends, Lizzy?"

The moment his words registered, I felt guilty. James Reed is without doubt one of the dearest friends I have. Since we were tots, we've shared everything - toys and secrets. How I wish life could've stayed that uncomplicated!

These days I feel I can't even understand his 'hello's' anymore. While I desperately wish things could go back to the way they used to be, I've started wondering... how I would feel if he offered for my hand? There's something foreign about the thought, however, for, dear as James is to me, my feelings for him are not what you could describe as grande passion. But could I refuse him? I couldn't hurt James. No matter what happens, I just don't think I could. But could I be content in a marriage where the love was one-sided? On the other hand, how am I to know the deep caring I have for James is not 'love'...? Boy, I am confused!

At any rate, I am sure that with the strained, tentativeness between us, anything I said now about entering convents has the dangerous potential of hurting his feelings. So I brushed the notion aside. And with it, tried to dismiss the unsettling thoughts about James that have been bothering me.

Not such an easy task!

The air up on Oakham Mount was starting to get chilly, so I pulled my bonnet back on and took off again, running down the steep incline heedlessly. Silly girl. I suppose I really should've known better. I'm old enough to no longer need Papa to tell me, "Don't run, Lizzy."

The grass was damp with the early evening dew, and before I knew it, I'd hit a slippery patch. I must have passed out, because the next thing I knew I was lying on my back, staring into a familiar pair of brown eyes.

Part 1, B.

I didn't move.

Perhaps because I couldn't. I was sore from my tumble, and there was James, standing almost directly in front of me, an impertinent smirk on his face.

"Miss Lizzy!" he had the audacity to look shocked, "imagine finding you here. Are you sure you find your position quite comfortable?" In the same easy, teasing way he reached for my hand to pull me up. I was stunned! Considering our last meeting, I felt far from at ease. And then he dared make me look silly!

I could have hit him. I really could.

"I assure you, I do, indeed," I retorted.

"Master James," (I knew that would annoy him!), "why don't you join me?" With my free hand I patted the soggy grass beside me, while I tried to pull him down with the other. No such luck. He does happen to be four years older than me, and a good deal stronger. He pulled me up in a single smooth motion.

Its hard to describe what happened next, but I lost my balance and ended up falling against James. He grabbed both arms to steady me, and I felt the heat rising to my face. One had to admit he looked gorgeous...even though he is 25 this year, the grin on his face was ridiculously boyish, and something in his eyes touched and pained me anew. But the instant I looked into James' light brown eyes, they made me think of a pair of dark brown eyes. A keen pang of guilt washed over me when I thought of how James would have felt had he known that while he was holding me, I was actually dreaming of the owner of another pair of brown eyes. A stranger.

Now, I'm not so naďve that I don't know staring into a gentleman's eyes is not wise if one does not particularly wish for a proposal, so I tried my best to steady myself.

"And what are you doing tramping about the countryside spying on innocent ladies, might I ask?" I finally managed.

He was just as quick. "Running away from Clarissa."

He had a point there. And at last I felt my dis-ease slipping away, as it always used to around James. I laughed. I really did. Probably more so, because I knew I shouldn't have. Clarissa Long is my friend, after all. I've known her almost as long as I've known James, and we generally get on quite well. A year back, however, her younger sister married a wealthy old Baron, and Clarissa seemed to get the idea that she'd become royalty. She started putting on the silliest airs imaginable and treating me like I was some commoner.

Which is why I find the fact that she's taken a fancy to James of late, so diverting. James is hardly what you'd consider a 'man of consequence' with a mere 1,000 a year and a small country estate. But then, I suppose her prospects are hardly likely to ever be better. Baron for a brother-in-law and all, she is still a practically dowerless girl, quite plain and has a tendency to be rather silly. These days it seems Clarissa is jealous of my friendship with James, and consequently she persists in treating me abominably.

More than ever, now, I feel grateful that Clarissa is not the only friend I have here in Hertfordshire. I think I would've gone crazy more than a couple times these past years if it were not for Charlotte Lucas. An opposite to Clarissa, she is the height of modest, always considerate of the others person's feelings (to a fault!) and extremely practical, but in such a sweet, unaffected way, that you can't help but admire in her. I should add that at present I suspect she has a tendre for James. But so very differently to Clarissa. She cares for him very deeply, a little too deeply, for her own good, I fear! In comparison to Clarissa, too, she is sooo mature! But, to be fair, I should keep in mind that Charlotte is twenty-six, while Clarissa is only ...nineteen as of - tomorrow.

I thought of something.

"James, isn't Clarissa having a dinner party for her nineteenth birthday tomorrow?"

He looked incredulous. "You managed to forget?!"

"Why, are you going, then?"

"Whether or not I value my sanity, is more likely the question." He shook his head at me, as if I had just displayed a good deal of ignorance.

"Can you even imagine how Clarissa would fuss and tease if I didn't attend her dinner?" Well, he had a point there.

"What I'd really like to know, Lizzy, is if you're going. I might be able to stop fearing for my immediate sanity, at least, if I had that assurance."

That flustered feeling I had on the mountainside came back over me. As a matter of fact, I had an invitation. In spite of the fact that Clarissa was wildly, irrationally jealous of me, she still considers me her friend, and would probably feel slighted if I didn't come. But after the way she'd been treating me, I'd been prepared to avoid her. What I had not been prepared for, was James' plea. I caved in. I knew I couldn't really deny my best friend anything.

"Well...I suppose I could come."

A smile lit up his face and it gave me a warm glow inside.

"Thanks. You're a gem. You know that, Lizzy? Bring Jane along with you, won't you? Between the two of you, I shouldn't have a fear in the world!"

We were nearing Longbourn by then, so James gave my hand a quick squeeze. "Don't forget, now. I'll see you tomorrow at the party!"

And then he was gone, leaving me standing in the gardens, smile frozen on my face...

I wonder what has come over him? Here I was feeling awful, and James comes along and acts as if nothing happened...I can't make him out.

Believe it or not, when I made it back into the drawing room, Mama was still teasing Papa about visiting Mr. Bingley. She's persistent. I'll give her that. She didn't give up - all through tea...

Imagine how terribly funny it was then, when, just before retiring Papa let it slip that he had already been to see Mr. Bingley! Oh, mama's face! It was too much! What's more, Mr. Bingley has already been at Longbourn.

As it turns out, Mr. Bingley arrived in the country quite a while ago. Even before we left for London. And Papa knew of it from the first!

Mama was in raptures about this turn of events for a further half hour. First Papa went from being 'the most vexing creature' to 'such a dear'. When, all of sudden she seemed to realise something and that changed to "Sly creature!"

Well, that one took a while...

Today we had the 'good fortune' to make an acquaintance with the subject of all Kitty's and Lydia's recent rantings. Mama had already persuaded Jane to visit Mrs. Hannings for some new gowns, Papa needed another Sunday shirt and as he had not restocked the pantry while we were away, we were in dire need of groceries.

All in all, before the morning was half over, we were off to Meryton. Jane, Kitty, Lydia and I. (Mama intended to come, but at the last moment Aunt Phillips arrived with, "Sit down, Fanny dear. You'll never believe what I just heard!" and at that point she lost all interest in the town trip.)

Even before we'd stopped the carriage, Kitty and Lydia were unabashedly eyeing a group of men in regimentals nearby. When they noticed us, several came over, laughing and talking between themselves. Without a second's hesitation Kitty and Lydia joined in. It wasn't until Denny said, "Lydia, who are your friends?" with a pointedly adoring look at Jane, that the girls remembered to introduce us.

Poor Denny, Jane left a moment later for the dressmakers!

That was when I noticed Wickham. He was standing with Denny, and at Denny's comment, he leant over and whispered something in Denny's ear. I caught the muttered response, "Shove off, Wickham!"

So this was Wickham. It hadn't taken me long after our return to realise that not only were my sisters wild about soldiers, they were mad about one in particular. George Wickham. Now I knew who that meant, I'll admit I started eyeing him up. He noticed right away, and took it as an invitation.

"Miss Elisabeth." He flashed me a grin and bowed deeply.

I've never enjoyed the sound of my own name so much before. Suddenly I understood what my sisters had been on about. For one, he was, even in my own words, 'devilishly handsome'. Now, I'm not in the habit of using that terminology, the terms I prefer would be, 'handsome', 'striking' or 'good-looker', but 'devilishly handsome' is the only way you could describe Wickham. And it fits his appearance and attitude perfectly. There's something dashing and almost wild about his mannerism...like you could never know what to expect. I was impressed...and apprehensive. The Wickham I noted whispering who-knows-what in Denny's ear doesn't quite match with the gentlemanly charmer that addressed me. My curiosity is piqued!

To be continued.......

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