England Has Three Syllables

*

Prologue

The Enigma Of Will Darcy, The Sunday T— Magazine, 3rd May 20—
By Eugenia Morrison.

As football stars go, Will Darcy is not one of the typical ones. Most modern footballers seem to have been plucked from obscurity as young boys before having riches and nubile women thrown at them. Will Darcy, on the other hand, is the public school-educated son of distinguished civil servant George Darcy and his wife Anne, herself the daughter of an Earl.

The official biography of Darcy goes that he first played football when he was three years old. The moment his right foot first touched a ball was apparently caught on film by his film enthusiast uncle, but if the film exists, it is locked away deep in a possibly mythical Darcy vault. The biography goes that Anne Darcy bought her son's first proper football boots when he was seven when he joined the team at his prep school, and by the time he started at Eton at thirteen, there was no doubt that he would be playing football seriously. A school report when Will was eleven reads: “William shows very great promise and enthusiasm on the cricket pitch, in the swimming pool and on the athletic field, but he shows real talent on the football field. William could go far if he really applies himself.”

News of the Darcy boy's golden feet reached far and wide and at fourteen , he was spotted by a scout from Tottenham Hotspur. As the story goes, his father refused to tolerate anything as common as football, and so Will reluctantly continued his education. Football was for ruffians and he was intended, so his father said, for higher things. Come to think of it, how many Old Etonians out there are professional footballers?

The biography takes a darker turn, as when Will was only fifteen (and his little sister Georgiana only five) his mother Anne died. Unable or unwilling to battle his son's passion for the beautiful game, George Darcy allowed Will at last to sign with Arsenal. He laid down a number of strict guidelines- Will would have to finish school (he was at Eton) and so not only did he spend a lot less time with his new team, he played a lot less for the Arsenal youth academy than most of his contemporaries. It's a mark of the confidence both Eton and Arsenal had in Will that they were so accommodating- he was given extra time by the school for training, and the club allowed him the flexibility of keeping in time with what would have been school PE classes.

Never a slouch academically (unlike most of his football contemporaries), Will passed his A-Levels a year early and his father at last allowed him to join the Arsenal academy full time. Arsenal's leniency and patience paid off as the boy Will scored twice in his first under-21s game for them… and when he played his first Premiership game with Arsenal (against Chelsea) at the age of nineteen, he scored from the half-way line. At twenty, he got his England call-up, and won his first England cap by scoring one of the three goals in that game against Croatia- a World Cup qualifier no less.

Will's footballing career took off to such an extent that his twenty-first birthday was invaded by paparazzi hoping to catch a picture or two of the celebrity and aristocratic classes coming together at his ancestral home, the majestic Pemberley in Derbyshire.

When he was twenty-two, his father died. Arsenal gave him as much leave as he wanted, but he was back after missing only two games. Will and his sister, now only twelve, moved more or less permanently into the Darcys' Belgravia home and Pemberley remained open only for the benefit of English Heritage and the tourists who traipsed through it during the summer.

At twenty-five, he was part of an England team that made it all the way to the World Cup semi-finals, beaten by Argentina on penalties. His twenty-seventh birthday was celebrated at the European Championships and coincided with his being made captain of the England team. Throughout, he stayed loyal to Arsenal and was a driving force in their nearly-successful European campaigns.

Now at twenty-eight, captain for both England and Arsenal, world famous celebrity with rumoured multi-million pound endorsements and even the possibility of a high honour in the New Year Honours list, what else is there for Will Darcy to achieve?

Will Darcy is known to most simply as `Darcy', a hang-up, `tis said from his public school days. Tall, lithe, dark and terrifically handsome, Darcy has become both folk hero for the boys and pin-up material for the girls. It's said that sales of tickets to Arsenal games to women have leapt up 35% since Darcy joined the first team as a regular.

On the particular day I am scheduled to meet him, he is absolutely punctual, well turned out and polite, despite having won the FA Cup two days previously. Other members of the Arsenal team haven't stopped drinking yet, but I suspect Darcy never started as he walks into the suite at the Ritz right on the dot of nine. For anyone keeping track, Darcy ordered a still water before settling down quickly to answer my questions.

“Your career is going from strength to strength, it seems, especially with the four-one rout of Everton on Saturday. What's it like being an FA Cup champion?”

Darcy's brows furrow in thought. I've never seen a footballer show such an expression before. Finally he speaks:

“When I was a boy, all that ever seemed to matter was to become a footballer and be on the team that wins the FA Cup. To a nine year old in Derbyshire, that matters more even than the World Cup, somehow. I'm absolutely thrilled at our collective performance on Saturday. Terry played his heart out and I'm sure our latest signing, Davoric has won over his detractors after that goal.”

Let me be honest: hearing a footballer use words like `detractor' and phrases like `collective performance' is a bit like watching the cast of Hollyoaks doing Shakespeare- surprising and extremely bizarre.

“How do you rate England's chances in the upcoming World Cup?”

The brow furrows again.

“Every four years, the country says `this time we can do it.' This time, I won't say what we can do, but what we'll try to do. We will try to win the World Cup. It's been too long. We've got three years to prepare before we have to make our mark in Italy, and three years is a long time to get some work in.”

“Will you all be getting in plenty of practice on penalties?”

Darcy looks in danger of a smile cracking through his neutral expression.

“We will, but I'd much rather we don't let it get that far.”

“Who do you rate as the big competition next year?”

“Any team that qualifies is competition… but I would say Italy has a great home advantage and the Germans could be difficult. Brazil are always ones to watch for. Even the American team has come a long way in recent years. The Republic of Ireland don't have a huge pool of talent to choose from, but there are a few players in their squad that will make things difficult for any opposition.”

“Any names?”

“Well I'll be in no hurry to try and score against my teammate Robbie O'Sullivan, I can assure you! Owen Keane also, who plays for Spurs; Diarmuid Downey… I wouldn't say that the Irish have the greatest chance they ever have, but they'll be dangerous to any opponents they face. They have raw guts and passion like no other team, and I think they can be mesmerising to watch.”

It only occurs to me afterwards that Darcy managed to waste most of the very strictly controlled time of the interview talking about the Irish team without committing himself to anything concrete about his own team or his own performance. A smart footballer. Whatever next?

*

London, England, May 20—

As Will Darcy clambered back into the car the FA had provided that day, he felt a great sense of exhaustion overwhelm him. The car crawled through the mid-afternoon traffic, and he stared unseeingly through the blacked out window. At twenty-eight, he was the England captain, the Arsenal captain and his team had won both the FA Cup and the Premiership title. At twenty-eight and at the end of the football season, Will Darcy was exhausted mentally, physically and emotionally. Moreover and most important of all, he'd come to hate football.

The car slid to a smooth stop at the front door of Darcy's imposing London house- a massive London mansion of the kind only acquired through inheritance or the kind of superfortune got through oil. Darcy's house was known locally as Darcy House thanks to the owners since its construction, but the official name was Villa Elizabeth, after some ancestor or another. He almost fell out of the car, mumbled thanks to the driver and half-walked, half-crawled up the steps and into the house.

He allowed the housekeeper to take his coat, then half-crawled, half-walked up the stairs and into his bedroom. Unable to summon the energy to unclothe himself, Will Darcy, uncrowned King of the Britons, fell asleep fully clothed. On the floor.

Chapter One

Darcy awoke the next day so late that when he finally made it downstairs, the housekeeper asked what he wanted for lunch.

Mrs Reynolds was the kind of lady that would be described as a `faithful servant' as seen in Agatha Christie novels. She had been with the Darcys since coming to the household with Anne Darcy, and had been with the Fitzwilliams for years before that. Nobody was quite sure how old she was exactly, but she looked to be in her sixties.

To Darcy, she was one of the very last links he had to a past that included his mother. She was also very good at making him feel very guilty.

“You shouldn't push yourself so hard,” she said. The tone was one of light admonishment, but the look in her eyes was sterner.

“Yes, Mrs Reynolds.” His reply was quiet and non-committal.

“You looked liked death when you got home yesterday. Late, I might add.”

“A few more interviews were added to the schedule. I've got a week's holiday to rest and relax now before the Hungary game. Don't worry.”

”Rest and relax? I've not known you to rest or relax in your entire life.”

Darcy did not reply, choosing instead to dig into the lunch she'd laid out, in strict accordance with his Arsenal dietician's orders.

“Have you seen the newspapers yet today?” Mrs Reynolds asked. He looked up at her curiously. She knew he couldn't possibly have read anything yet, much less comprehended it… and so it had to be a leading question.

“No, I haven't.”

“You're in them.”

“Really?” Will himself couldn't tell if it was genuine disinterest he projected or something he had to work at.

“The Times wonders how you balance being aristocratic with being a football star, The Guardian discusses the combination of brains and sporting prowess, The Mirror wants to know if you're really going out with that blonde you had dinner with two nights ago, and The Sun doesn't care who you are or who you go out with so long as you score against Hungary next week.”

“Hungary next week. I'd forgotten about that.” Will felt the fatigue seep back into his bones at the reminder. Just a friendly, but still ninety minutes of running around.

“Who was the blonde, young man?” Mrs Reynolds teased gently, nudging his shoulder. Will rolled his eyes.

“Anne.”

“Ah. Well, they'll find out sooner or later and leave you alone.”

“They never leave me alone. I saw photographs of me buying petrol the other day. Just bloody petrol! What do people find fascinating in that? I bought forty quid's worth for the Aston and a cereal bar for me. Wow-ee.” Will's voice was thick with both sarcasm and the food he was still chewing.

“Of course, the real scandal is that it cost forty pounds for the petrol.”

“Yes, William,” Mrs Reynolds replied in a strangely mocking manner. “The real tragedy in the world is being able to spend money on high performance cars.”

William rolled his eyes and said, “I didn't mean it like that, really. I can afford it without a thought, but… what do people who… who drive Fiestas, what do they do?”

“What do people do when they can't afford petrol, you mean? Get the bus.”

William nodded solemnly, reminded once more that he was as far away from the real world as he was from Venus. He wanted to give some witty reply back to Mrs Reynolds, but he couldn't find one. The phone rang, giving him a way out of the conversation at least.

“Yes… Yes, I'll be there. Of course. I never back out of anything, you know that… Fine… Yes. Yes. I'll try… Yes. Bye.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which was longer than he'd ever had it.

“You need to have that cut, William. It'll get in your eyes when you're playing.”

“Maybe I'll grow it so long I can pull it back,” he retorted with a smile.

“You? Long haired and hippieish? I'll never see the day.”

“You just wait. I might surprise you one day.”

“You're not the type dear. Wait, I'll get you some more fruit juice.”

Somehow, the knowledge that nobody, not even Mrs Reynolds, thought him capable of being spontaneous or carefree made him very sad indeed.

*

At the grand old age of twenty-six, Lizzy Bennet was, she felt, in a rut. One of the youngest ever regular columnists for The Daily Mirror, she found herself increasingly bored with spilling her guts twice a week for public consumption… and that was before the appearances on shows like Richard and Judy and, never again she swore, Loose Women. She wasn't like Judy or any of the bloody Loose Women. She had no desire to start a family, she didn't feel like a failure for being single and God in Heaven, she didn't care if her pores were enlarged or that chocolate bar went straight to her thighs.

What she really wanted to do was just sit in a little cottage somewhere and write. She had a hundred ideas threatening to overwhelm her brain, but ideas didn't pay the rent, and she knew how lucky she was to be a sought after columnist, even if she hated the work. She flicked through the most recent edition of the paper that had her column in it. Aside from the usual celeb gossip asides and the political comment, there was a football piece she'd written after seeing one too many sexist adverts.

*

Why The FA Cup Is Such A Snore, The Daily Mirror: Lizzy B.

You know the feeling: You're sat quietly watching TV, suffering through yet another debt consolidation advert when up comes an advert that says: “Hey you, girl! You hate football, so come to our spa! Cos you know, no real girl really likes football and you just hate it! Come to our spa and regain the spirit of feminity!”

It's as insulting as the unending football-related advertising. Since when am I a `football widow' because I'm not gonna be slavering over every round of the FA Cup? Come to that, I am allowed to know what the FA Cup is, I just choose not to give a flying rat's- you know. I have no more interest in spa treatments than I do in sitting in front of Match of the Bleeding Day while drinking a can of Fosters. Yes, boys, I do know MOTD is defunct. Thanks.

Why is it that we have to be quite so polarised during the footie season? Between the likes and don't likes, between the boys and girls, between the girls who watch for Will Darcy's allegedly sexy legs (don't see it myself) and the girls who just don't care? What about the girls who watch for the game, come to that?

So, when the FA Cup is on next Saturday, I'll be walking through Regent's Park busy doing nothing. No spa treatments, no chick flick fest, no football. Some of us just don't like the game, you dig?

Anyway, I'm on holiday next week, so I'll be back in a fortnight!

*

Lizzy tossed the paper back onto the coffee table. It wasn't exactly Shakespeare. It wasn't anything at all. It would be forgotten within minutes of being read by most people, although she'd receive emails about it from the regular readers.

She wrote for them, although the Mirror readership wasn't exactly anything like she was herself. The phone rang loudly, and she jumped at the sudden noise before fumbling for the phone.

“Hello?”

“Lizzy, what are you doing on Friday night?”

It was her sister Jane, she of the angelic features, beautiful blonde hair and unerringly sweet personality.

“The same as I did this week: I'll be watching Have I Got News For You.”

“Not this Friday you're not.”

“Why?”

“Because that's the date for the Skillz4Life annual ball.”

“I'll get my ballgown ready!” Lizzy found her mood lifted and listened with a smile as Jane continued to tell her all about the event. By the time she put the phone down, Lizzy had forgotten why she was down in the dumps before.

Lizzy's sister Jane was older than her by a year and was now the head of public relations for a promising little charity called Skillz4Life, which had all manner of projects for children across the country to help develop their skills, be it music, sport, art, team-building, leadership, communications, Skillz4Life tried to help develop the lot in children that needed them th emost.

*

Lizzy certainly didn't need to be cajoled into attending the ball. She knew that the more famous faces there were in attendance (and she was recognisable, if not necessarily famous), the more pictures the papers would print and therefore the more coverage the charity would get. She dusted off her best (only) ballgown, made herself up and even paid for a cab to get her to the venue.

The Conservatory at Chelsea was only a luxury, glass-roofed marquee, but its location in the gardens of the Royal Chelsea Hospital made it desirable for all kinds of events. Jane, Lizzy knew, had managed to persuade the organisers to give Skillz4Life a hefty discount and the caterers had done quite a lot for free, gratis and for nothing.

The hot, summer night glittered with outdoor lights and jewellery, and Lizzy's first thought was to seek out Jane. Jane, however, was on duty, surrounded by the press and so Lizzy interrupted only long enough for the Mirror guy to get a photo of Mirror columnist Lizzy, 26, with sister Jane, 27, the event organiser. At least, that's what she expected their caption to read.

She recognised eighty percent of the faces in attendance, but knew only Jane and a couple of the people Jane worked with. She knew Jane's boss, Sir William Lucas (knighted for services to charity), but he was rather talkative and she wasn't in the mood to hear how he saved a village full of children in Malawi in 1987. She steered herself instead towards the buffet table and contented herself with eating upmarket sausage rolls and people-watching. She saw some of the cast of Eastenders mingling with the some of the cast of The Bill, a couple of Big Brother ex-inmates were striving for attention and receiving none. Mary McCartney had been `hired' as official photographer, but in reality her family were such great donators to Skillz4Life that the hiring fee was barely even nominal. Lizzy smiled and toasted as Mary took her photograph.

A few vaguely familiar Titled Folk passed across her radar, then suddenly the party seemed to liven up. She looked around to see the cause of the commotion, and realised that what appeared to be the entire Arsenal squad had just entered. Flashbulbs went off for a frantic few moments. She watched, amused, as nearly everyone flocked to them. Seemingly only Chas N Dave remained unmoved, sat at the bar as they were.

“Lizzy, at last!” Jane rushed over, fanning herself with a napkin. “It's been so frantically busy since I arrived. I've hardly had time to breathe, let alone eat or drink!”

She didn't need to be told twice: Lizzy handed Jane her plate of canapés, and Jane scarfed a few down quickly.

“How did you get them?” Lizzy asked, waving a hand at the Arsenal boys. Jane smiled mysteriously.

“I have contacts.”

”Yes, but who?” The journalist side of Lizzy was immediately intrigued.

“Can't tell.”

“Can't or won't?”

“Yes.” Jane smiled angelically, blonde hair floating as she shook her head with a giggle. Then, her attention was required again and she was off. Lizzy continued to watch everyone else, until a dark figure in her peripheral vision caught her interest.

She turned, the pretence to get more canapés. Stood leaning against the wall was a striking, handsome man, with dark hair long enough to curl over his collar. He looked both supremely bored and utterly unimpressed with the scene before him. She realised, after a moment, that the man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo was Will Darcy. He caught her looking over at him and stared back in return.

“Good `do, isn't it?” she asked, if only to make him stop staring. He shrugged.

“I've been to worse. I've been to better.”

Something in his tone rankled with her. She'd been on the phone too many times listening to Jane's frustrations or worries about this silly party to find him amusing, if that was his intention.

“A lot of people worked really hard to make this a great party without bankrupting the charity, you know.”

Will stared at her for another long moment and then was suddenly accosted by a tall woman wearing a tight dress slashed at the knee that was all the rage: Lizzy knew it as a Julien MacDonald that had already been worn by Kylie, Mischa Barton and Kelly Brook. Even Kelly, who was too well-endowed to look truly perfect in it, was a better model for it than this woman, who had combined with it too many accessories and too much hair, which looked expensive.

“Will, thank God I've found you!” Her voice was sharp, clipped and refined. It was also a pitch or three higher than tolerably pleasant. “Isn't this party a bust? I can't believe we came really. There's nobody important here at all!”

Will said nothing and the woman took it as her cue to continue ranting about the party. Having heard more than enough, Lizzy turned away to find amusement elsewhere.

*

“Lizzy! There's someone I really want you to meet!”

Jane and Lizzy had finally been reunited some time into the party, and Jane was accompanied by a pleasant, very typically-handsome blue-eyed blond man with a smile wider than Brighton seafront.

“Charlie, this is my sister, Lizzy. Lizzy, this is Charlie Bingley. He's the physio at Arsenal.”

Charlie shook her hand warmly.

“So that's how you got the new FA Cup winners here!” Lizzy exclaimed. “It's lovely to meet you, Charlie.”

”Actually, Charlie isn't my contact, but I daresay he helped!”

Lizzy paused a moment to take in the scene before her. Jane was beautiful under any circumstances, but she was practically glowing. Charlie's grin had yet to cease, and in fact had widened when Jane looked up at him. Very interesting, Lizzy thought, filing away this new information in her mind.

“You're the Lizzy Bennet that doesn't like Darcy's legs!” Charlie recalled with a chuckle. “You'd not believe the ribbing he got from the lads over that.”

“Maybe that's why the Great Darcy just gave me the cold shoulder.”

Charlie's grin faded.

“Darcy is just Darcy,” he explained weakly. “This isn't exactly his natural habitat.”

”I'm sure.”

Charlie's expression changed and for the first time since Lizzy had met him, he didn't smile.

“You try being followed all the time and see how you cope. He's a very complicated man.”

“I'm sure.”

Now, even Jane's smile faded.

”What do you think, Lizzy? Do you think it's going well?”

“I think it's a raging success, Jane!” Lizzy laughed heartily, allowing Jane to change the subject. The conversation ranged around for a few minutes before the shambolically-dressed woman marched at Charlie.

”It's it wonderful?” she asked, clearly having changed her mind- at least in front of Jane. “Jane darling, you've done a wonderful job!”

“Thank you, Caroline. Have you met Lizzy?” Caroline looked down her nose at Lizzy.

“No, I haven't had the privilege.”

“Let me,” said Charlie. “Lizzy, this is my sister Caroline. She works in marketing. Caroline, this is Jane's sister Lizzy. She's a writer.”

Caroline's expression wavered for a moment then changed entirely- apparently for the better.

“Lizzy Bennet? The writer?”

“Yes, the very one,” Lizzy replied wryly, her right eyebrow raised.

“How charming and delightful to meet you. I read your work almost all the time. I think it's simply wonderful. Except what you said about darling Will last week- he has wonderful legs!”

“I didn't say they weren't,” Lizzy replied, rolling her eyes at Jane, who giggled. “I just said they weren't reason enough to sit through ninety minutes of football.”

“Well, I think-“ Caroline stopped suddenly as Will Darcy himself seemed to suddenly materialise from somewhere or other. Charlie, mindful of his sister, stepped in immediately.

“Will, this is Lizzy Bennet, Jane's sister.” Will did not reach to shake her hand, nor did he respond verbally.

“Lizzy, this is Will Darcy.”

“We met over canapés,” she told them.

“I was just telling Lizzy how unfair she was to you last week!” Caroline told Will, making Lizzy's own name sound almost obscene. Her voice had risen half an octave since Will's appearance.

“She's entitled to her opinion,” Will replied flatly.

“I didn't mean anything by it,” Lizzy told him. “I've seen worse. I've seen better.”

She smiled devilishly at him, then she turned on her heel and headed off towards the bar.

*

The next morning, Lizzy met Jane at the Starbucks opposite her flat to discuss the night before. For a while they spoke of the trivia of the night- who wore what, who said what, who snogged what, while trawling through the day's newspapers for reportage of the event.

“I get the feeling you know Charlie quite well already,” Lizzy teased, taking the conversation out of the trivial. Jane blushed girlishly.

“He was very helpful with the party. He made sure the whole squad was coming.”

Jane leafed through the Daily Express and found a two page spread on the Skillz4Life party.

“What does a physio have to do with party invites?”

”Oh, didn't I tell you? He's also on the board of the Annabella Foundation. He was working in that capacity when I met him.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You don't pay attention,” Jane joked. “Hey, there's a picture of you with Davoric and Robbie O'Sullivan!”

“That was so late in the evening! I must look terrible in the photo.”

“Fresh as a daisy,” Jane disagreed and flipped the paper around for her to see. Lizzy glanced over it perfunctorily. There were the usual pictures of the women in skimpy dresses, the famous boys… and the largest was of Will Darcy and two of his teammates. While they looked drunkenly cheerful, Will wasn't even looking towards the cameras.

“I don't get why the country's going crazy over him, you know. I don't see it.”

“You don't see it?” Jane nearly choked on her caramel macchiato. “He's… Lizzy, have you looked at him? He looks like a film star and has the kind of footie skills George Best would have envied!”

“George Best was an old drunk.”

“That's not the point of the conversation, Lizzy.”

“Whatever. Anyway, how much money did you raise?”

“From donations on the night? Don't know yet exactly, but we did really well. Really well,” Jane sipped her coffee. “And oh, Lizzy! I got to talking to some of the Arsenal lads and they've asked us if they can hold some events at their training facility for promising kids!”

“That is cool,” Lizzy agreed, privately thinking that it was the kind of thing that Will Darcy and his ilk would detest.

“Anyway, I'd like you to cover the first event we do with them. I don't know when it'll be, but it'll be soon.”

“All right,” Lizzy replied absently, reading the vapid copy from the article about the ball.

“All right?” Jane asked, surprised. “Are you kidding? You hate football.”

“I don't hate football. I don't love it. I'm entirely indifferent to it. Besides, it'll give me a change from reporting on whichever blonde actress showed her tits at whatever film premiere.”

Jane sipped her coffee again and looked closely at Lizzy. Lizzy, who knew the penetrating look of old, looked away.

“Have you talked to Dad lately?” she asked, hoping to change the subject. Jane nodded.

“On Thursday. They're having a hot tub installed in the pool complex.”

“Pool complex,” Lizzy snorted. “What will they do with a cool complex, for God's sake? Mum can't swim and he wouldn't lower himself to physical exercise.”

“Lydia likes it, and Kitty has apparently taken to swimming laps in the morning and the evening.”

“And Mary?”

“Mary has taken advantage of the piano Dad put in the cellar.”

Lizzy snorted with laugter ungraciously and said, “Along with the soundproofing?”

“Lizzy, that's mean. She practices very hard.”

“And to no effect.”

“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane was interrupted by her phone beeping. “It's Charlie.”

Jane's voice was even but Lizzy could see the excitement in her eyes.

“He's asked me to come to dinner tomorrow night. Sunday lunch at his house.”

Lizzy beamed, delighted on her sister's behalf.

“Wonderful!” she squealed, in an uncanny imitation of Charlie's sister. Either Jane did not notice the insult towards Caroline or ignored it. The phone beeped again.

“Work,” she told Lizzy now. “I need to talk to Sir William about last night. I'd better go… See you soon, Lizzy.”

Jane drained her cup and she hugged her sister briefly.

"Enjoy, Jane!"

She watched Jane leave then settled down to her favourite Saturday pastime- sitting in Starbucks drinking coffee and scribbling endlessly in her notebook.

*

Chapter Two

Darcy awoke late again on Saturday morning, but at least early enough for breakfast to qualify as breakfast. He pushed his food around the plate and read the newspaper without taking much of it in. He read the financial and business sections as his father had trained him to do years ago. Mrs Reynolds had brought him a few different papers today, presumably because she expected him to be in them. He skimmed over the showbiz pages of most, but stopped when he reached a spread about the Skillz4Life event. There were pictures of the rest of the squad, but not of him and he was glad for it right up to the moment he read the copy that went with it:

Will Darcy was there too, but he looked so thunderously grumpy that we didn't dare ask for a photo. We curious types wonder what had handsome Will, 28, in such a foul mood. Maybe he needs to get himself a girl…

Will threw the newspaper down back onto the table and attacked his food with sudden vigour. He found a picture of the sharp-tongued woman with Jane Bennet.

Our columnist Lizzy Bennet shares drinks and a joke with her sister Jane, the brains behind the snazzy charity do.

So, that was Lizzy Bennet? He reached back into the misty memory of the night before and remembered being introduced to her, but no details. He knew the name Lizzy Bennet vaguely- she was the one who managed to force an apology out of the Mayor of London and the Prime Minister by force of personality and the power of a newspaper column. She was prettier in the photograph than he remembered her being… but Will hardly credited himself with having been observant: he remembered only Caroline Bingley (could not have missed or forgotten bloody Caroline) and a brief conversation with Davoric that got cut off when his phone rang.

The phone rang now, in fact, and the person at the other end turned out to be his agent Henry.

“Darce, we need to do some damage control, baby.”

Henry was the kind of fellow who called everyone baby, including his own grandmother.

“What for? I haven't done anything.” Anything related to the press gave Will such a feeling of dread that he could feel the muscles in his neck twisting themselves into knots.

“I know baby, that's why. All the editors are spitting feathers because you hardly posed for pictures-“

“I was in one somewhere…”

“The Daily Express… and you look suicidal. They all want to see you looking happy and vital… it sells papers, baby.”

“Didn't I just do two days' worth of interviews?”

”Doesn't count.”

“Why not?”

“It was too many and they were all too short. We want to put you back up on top where you belong.”

“We? What `we' is this?”

”Don't be funny Darce, this could end up costing you in sponsorship and endorsements.”

“Yes, because whatever would happen if I ran out of money?”

“Never say never again, baby. The question isn't if you'll do stuff, you will. The question is who for and how.”

“I don't care. The Mirror?” he asked, looking down at whatever newspaper he was reading.

“Populist, not too trashy… normally. I'll give them a call.”

Will put the phone down without bothering to hear if Henry had anything else to say. He threw the newspapers into the recycling bin and headed down towards the gym in the cellar.

***

Lizzy had an appointment with her editor at the Daily Mirror on Monday afternoon, so she made her way through London to Canary Wharf, trying not to look at the picture of Will Darcy on the front of The Metro. The man was everywhere. Everywhere, she growled to herself, turning back to her notebook. At Canary Wharf she got off the Docklands Light Railway and began walking past all the yuppies and up into the tower.

“Hi Lizzy, how are you today?” The receptionist at the Mirror was a kind young lady called Emma.

“I'm not bad. You?”

“I'm great. Susie and I went up Camden way on Saturday, saw a great band.”

“Cool. I'm here to see Kevin.”

“I'll let him know you're here. Want a coffee or something?”

“I'm all right. Is Jethro here?”

“Out on a job.”

“I'll use his office then, all right?”

“Totally cool.”

Lizzy grinned at Emma again and wandered down the corridor towards a cluttered office. Jethro was an old school newsman and his office showed it- all bits of paper, books and the least up-to-date computer in the entire building. She settled down in his chair and continued writing in her notebook. After five or ten minutes, the phone rang summoning her to the editor's office.

“Hi Kevin, nice to see you.” Lizzy liked the editor a lot, but being her boss and such, she always felt on edge with the man.

“Sit down, Liz.”

“OK.”

“I got a phone call this morning from Henry du Plessis.”

“Who?”

“Henry du Plessis. He's a young toff who fancies himself as a football agent.”

“Any clients we'd know of?”

“William Darcy.”

Lizzy's heart sank. Either she was getting fired or getting Darcy as an interviewee. She hoped to be fired.

“I've met him.”

“I know.”

“Spit it out, Kevin.”

“Plessis asked us if we'd like to do a feature on Darcy. I reckon they've realised his mean and moody thing doesn't do the trick for football fans like it does women and children.”

She ignored the insult to listen to the rest of it.

“They asked for our best writer-“

“I don't do sports. I wouldn't know sports writing if it hit me in the head with a cricket bat.”

“I know, Liz. But Plessis didn't ask for a sports feature, he asked for a character piece.”

“Does Will Darcy have a character?”

Kevin laughed heartily.

“I knew I chose correctly. I don't want someone who'll fawn over the greatness of Will Darcy. I want someone to find out who the hell he really is.”

“We know who Will Darcy is-“

“Oh come on Lizzy B, don't be contrary! We know he's a posh lad playing footie. We know he's really good at it… but have you seen him with a girl? Have you seen him with a guy? We don't know who he is! We don't know what he likes or doesn't like. Liz, we have a chance at a real scoop.”

She realised from the fervour he was displaying that there was no chance of getting out of this, short of quitting. Quitting was a bit of an overreaction, wasn't it? Wasn't it?

“Fine.”

“He's arranged to meet you at the club Blades tomorrow lunchtime.”

“Blades? Is that a new nightclub?”

Kevin laughed again.

“Lizzy, Lizzy. Blades is one of the oldest clubs in London. It's the kind of club where they still play Chemin de Fer and fence.”

Lizzy thought this was just typical.

“OK. Well, I'll see him then. Thank you, Kevin.”

Thanking Kevin was, she realised as she left Canary Wharf as quickly as she could, the last thing on her mind.

***

Will Darcy was sat at a quiet, secluded table in Blades, the kind of tucked away table with dim lighting more suited to a seriously discreet kind of rendezvous than a formal interview.

“Thanks for doing this, Elizabeth.” Will stood up and held his hand out to her.

“It's… all right. I wasn't sure they were going to let me in, you know.” She shook his hand and sat down opposite him. Before her bag was even on the seat beside her, a waiter had appeared to take her order.

“Diet Coke, please.”

“You shouldn't drink that stuff, you know.”

“Oh really?” her voice was laced with sarcastic derision- was he Doctor Darcy now?”

“I mean, I can't tell you what to drink, but you should know that the sweetener in it, aspartame, may cause any number of serious health problems.”

“Like what?”

“Build up of formaldehyde in your body for one. Brain cancer for another.”

“And where did you come by this fascinating piece of information?”

“My sister did a science project comparing the different soft drinks on the market. Not all of them, but the major ones. At the end, she swore off the lot of them.”

Elizabeth noticed that, for the first time since she'd ever met Will Bloody Darcy, he looked like he might have a heart. She was a journalist, and she wasn't above using a few tricks to get interviewees to open up, and so she said:

“Are you very close to your sister?”

“I am. It's been us alone for so long.”

“How old is she?”

“Georgiana? She's nearly eighteen. Doing her A-Levels at Roedean.”

Lizzy fought the urge to roll her eyes unprofessionally. Of course a Darcy girl would be at Roedean. Well, surely that or Cheltenham Ladies' College?

“It was my aunt's idea,” Darcy said suddenly, in a strangely hard manner. “Georgiana wanted to go to a school nearer home.”

“Where is home these days?” Lizzy tried to keep her voice light and airy, hoping Darcy wouldn't realise how eager she was to get anything about him down in her notebook.

“I live in London. Pemberley is home.”

“From the things I've heard, Pemberley makes Chatsworth look like a shack in a swamp.”

“It's not bad.” Darcy's phone began ringing and when he saw the name on the screen, he apologised to Lizzy and answered it.

“All right. Yes, all right. Yes. Fine. I'll be there. Bye.” Darcy put the phone down and looked over at Lizzy, sipping her Diet Coke.

“We'll have to finish this another time,” he told her. “I have to go.”

Lizzy stared at him- she'd been here all of five minutes!

“I apologise.” He didn't sound sorry. “I really must go. I, er… there's a launch party the Arsenal squad are attending at a club called Slik on Saturday night. I'll make sure you're on the guest list and we can continue this there.”

Will was gone before Lizzy could even think about what he'd just said. She finished her drink, wrote down Slik, Saturday night and went back home, glad to be gone from the cigar-tinted, rarefied air of Blades.

***

“You've forgotten, haven't you?”

“Forgotten what?” Sleep furred up Lizzy's brain as she tried to even remember the phone ringing. It must have, since it woke her up and she'd answered it to hear Jane on the other end.

“It's Friday, Lizzy. Remember?”

“Remember?”

“Football. Little kiddies. Charity. I told you about it yesterday.”

“Oh bugger.”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you now?”

“Shenley.”

“Where the hell is that?” Lizzy now sat up, hoping it might help clear her brain of fog.

“The training ground, idiot.”

“Listen carefully. Get into the shower. Wash. Get dressed. Get into your car. Drive using the directions I gave you yesterday.”

“I-”

“You left them in the glovebox for just such an eventuality as this. You'll be here in half an hour if you're lucky.”

“And if I'm not?”

“Well, then you'll be late.” Jane's mirth was easily audible down the phone.

“Right.” Lizzy hung up the phone and rolled herself out of bed for what promised to be a long day. A very long day.

***

Lizzy arrived at the Skillz4Life Kids Training Day just about in time, and mostly because things were already running late. She silently noted which players were on time and which were not, and conspicuously noted their cars- as if this were the really important thing. She found Jane with Charlie Bingley talking quietly by the side of the pitch.

“Morning Lizzy!” Now Lizzy knew Jane was going out with Charlie- she was too cheerful for anything else and hadn't opened with an `overslept again?' joke.

“Hey.”

“Too early for you?” Charlie asked. Ah, they must be going out if he was doing the jokes. “Jane mentioned-“

“I'm no early bird,” Lizzy joked right back. “But I wonder where in your charity arrangements such a subject would arise.”

Charlie and Jane both turned such a shade of red that she took pity.

“Confess: how long has this been going on?”

“Only two weeks,” Charlie was adorably childlike when embarrassed, Lizzy thought, to the point that she wanted to ruffle his hair or something. Instead, she patted him on the shoulder.

“Ah, you're all right, Charlie. And you can't go wrong with Jane. She makes perfect seem easy.”

“Oh Lizzy,” Jane was blushing madly, begging her sister to stop by the look in her eyes. “And oh look, Caroline is here!”

Sure enough, Caroline Bingley was winging her way towards them, with remarkable speed given the height of her heels, wearing something that might have passed for lycra exercise-wear had some designer not thought to add some gauze and sequins.

“I didn't know your sister was involved in the charity too.” Lizzy, always one to notice a story, kept her tone light and airy.

“She's not.”

“Is she a great Arsenal fan? Or just football?”

Charlie's Jane-related smile faded away and he gave a long-suffering kind of a sigh.

“She likes footballers,” he replied, teeth clenched.

“Ah. I understand.” Lizzy did understand, and would have done even if she hadn't suffered through the first couple of series of Footballers' Wives for the sake of her Mirror readers.

“Caroline, how did you get in here?” From anyone by Charlie, the question would have sounded harsh, insulting and accusatorial. In his jovial, Caroline-handling manner, it sounded merely inquisitive.

“Davoric gave me a lift.”

Charlie rolled his eyes and said, “Caroline, for someone who got his engagement ring thrown in his face, Davoric is surprisingly good to you.”

“Oh, I didn't throw it at him! I just said I needed a break!”

Charlie opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Caroline was all too willing to fill the silence.

“Is Will here?”

“Not yet.”

“He's coming?” Lizzy looked doubtful, not least because he hadn't mentioned it at Blades. Jane poked her in the ribs.

“Shush!”

“Of course he is,” Charlie said. “He's just late.”

“Is he usually late?” Lizzy asked, sniffing for her story.

“Never! Will prides himself on punctuality.”

“Perhaps he found something better to do.”

“Lizzy!” Jane looked almost angry, so Lizzy resolved to say nothing more but to think plenty.

The games and activities began without Will, and a splendid time was had by all. Lizzy talked to the kids and the players, photos were taken and at lunch, the kids got food with their player-heroes.

“He's not coming,” Charlie murmured to Jane at that point. “I got a phone call a minute go. Family thing.”

Lizzy, entirely charmed by both children and footballers (kids much more than players), was incensed at Will Darcy's blasé attitude and assumed `family thing' in Darcyworld was probably a yachting expedition, polo match or day at the races. Charlie seemed genuinely upset about it, so she said nothing, but Will Darcy got another black mark against his name.

***

That evening, Jane called to make sure Lizzy got home safely and to try and dig around to find out how she'd cover the event.

“I'm glad you came today.”

“Me too.”

“What did you think of it?”

“Children were adorable, players well-groomed. The ones that showed up, anyway.”

“Lizzy-”

“The absentees were noted, that's all I'm saying. Mind you, some of the players who were there were very nice. Robbie O'Sullivan was charming and Davoric seems like a really nice, sensible guy. Quite what he ever saw in Caroline Bingley I don't know.”

“How is your piece on Will Darcy coming along?”

“Don't remind me!” Lizzy groaned loudly down the phone. “I have to meet him at some team party at some over-trendy club.”

“He's not that bad, Lizzy.”

“Oh, but he is.”

“When you get it into your head to dislike someone-”

“Hey, don't blame it on me. The man is insufferable!”

“It's impossible to talk to you in this mood, Lizzy. I'll call you once I read your article.”

“All right. Good night.”

“Good night, Lizzy.”

Lizzy put the phone down and, as she climbed into bed, wondered how she was going to deal with interviewing Will Darcy in the middle of a swish party.

Probably not well.

***
Chapter Three

“What did you do to Will Darcy?”

“What? Who is this? What time is it?”

Lizzy opened her eyes after some effort and squinted to look at the clock, the better to scold whoever was calling at whatever time of night this was.

“Will Darcy has disappeared. It's Kevin, and it's nearly five in the morning.”

Lizzy sat up in bed.

“Disappeared? What do you mean?”

“Nobody has seen so much as a hair of his head since Thursday night. Paparazzi we use caught him coming out of Blades, where you were interviewing him. He got in his car and hasn't been seen since.”

Lizzy's mind, fogged up with sleep, was a-whirl. What had she done?

“You really don't think I-“

“Course not,” Kevin scoffed. “But you're covering Darcy. Find him before anyone else does.”

Kevin hung up abruptly and Lizzy, she went back to sleep.

***

When she awoke again at a more civilised time, Lizzy tried Darcy's mobile number and got the generic voicemail message she'd got when she called to confirm their meeting.

“Hi, this is Lizzy Bennet here, just calling to confirm our interview on Saturday night. Uh… see you then. Bye.”

That would do. It wasn't like she was his prison warder.

***

Darcy checked his voicemail and ignored nearly every message with the thought that he needed to change his number again. The important messages were memorised then deleted, the rest were just deleted. He had more important things on his mind.

“Hi, this is Lizzy Bennet here, just calling to confirm our interview on Saturday night. Uh… see you then. Bye.”

He listened closely and then mentally slapped himself for forgetting about the reporter girl. Whatever had possessed him to invite a girl he didn't know to a party he didn't want to attend? She would probably look very attractive, brown eyes glittering and all, but honestly, Slik? Still, she probably had a particular idea about footballers and he wouldn't want to disappoint. He thought on it for awhile and came up with a plan: he would leave here on Saturday night, slip into Slik, chatter some nonsense at Lizzy Bennet and be back here before anyone noticed him gone. Easy peasy.

***

Slik was the kind of bar that Lizzy expected a Premiership club to hold a party at. Everything about it shrieked `modern!'- it was all sharp corners, smooth metal and hazy neon lighting. The seating was all `high-concept', which in this case meant overpriced brushed chocolate-coloured velvet on seats hardly able to support Lizzy, let alone anyone bigger. Champagne (Bollinger, she noted) was served by waitresses picked for their hair colour rather than their customer service skills, young women who believed they were doing you a favour by allowing you to be served by them.

It was a far cry from the Marquis Of Granby where she'd grown up in Meryton, and Lizzy through she'd sell her left kidney for a pint of Real Ale served by Lil or Jeff. Moreover, she came to quickly realise that all that was said and shown in Footballers Wives was pretty much true. Of the creatures she'd been introduced to so far, none had impressed her, although they had all preened once they discovered she was a journalist. She imagined now that football was a ladder for these beings to climb, every higher in finances, status and the rest, until they could ensnare a real star: someone who'd really last in fame and fortune beyond their testimonial match. Someone just like Will Darcy, in fact.

Lizzy was filled with horror at the overloud thumping dance music and gut-numbing horror at the kind of things Darcy (who she was at least coming to realise was far more quiet and stoic than he was utterly arrogant) must have endured down the years from these harpies. She could hardly bear being in the same building so far, so how he'd survived their machinations down the years, she wasn't sure.

She sipped at her drink (they were all American cocktails here) and waited for Darcy to arrive.

“Nice to see you, Lizzy!” She felt a surge of affection towards Davoric, who had broken away from the pack to come over to her.

“Hi Dav. Enjoying yourself?”

“I never do,” he whispered into her ear as he sat down beside her. “I am here only to get my photograph into the newspapers.”

“Why do you want that?” she asked. He looked at her as if she were mad, stupid or both.

“I will get more endorsements and sponsorship if more people know my face on the newspapers and in the TV.”

“Right. Although you'll be on TV and in newspapers.” Dav shrugged.

“The more endorsements, the more money I make,” Davoric paused for a moment, apparently trying to decide whether to continue “and the more money I can send home.”

“Where is home, Dav?”

Davoric closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, there were the beginnings of tears visible.

“Split.”

“That's in Croatia, right?” He nodded. “Do you miss it?”

“Every day. My family is not rich, but we have never been rich. The war stopped the tourists coming and only the braver and richer tourists come now. But my wages from Arsenal have made my family wealthier than most they know.”

“Is it beautiful there?”

“Yes. The blue sea and the mountains…” Dav stopped talking for a moment.

“Dav, the next chance I get of a holiday, I'll go to Croatia!” she told him with a fond smile. He was really such a boy, no more than twenty and far from home. He recovered from his melancholy with a grin.

“You will love it!” He saw someone else he wanted to talk to and Lizzy was left alone again.

“Sorry I'm late.”

She turned and found Will Darcy stood behind her, hands in pockets and looking anything but apologetic.

“You've been a hard man to track down,” Lizzy remarked in a deceptively sweet manner as Darcy took the fragile Perspex chair opposite her.

“I've had a family thing.” His voice was low, measured and without emotion. She pulled her notebook out to remind him it was an interview and that it was all right to talk. Still, the cavalier attitude rubbed her up the wrong way.

“Which was more important than a hundred children who just wanted to see you in the flesh? Is playing football in anything less than the Premiership not good enough for you?”

Lizzy's eyes flashed angrily at him and she sipped at what passed for a Mint Julep in Central London.

“I sent my apologies.” Will remained quiet- it wasn't like he had to explain anything to her.

“What kind of an answer is that?” She apparently disagreed. “You think those kids cared? They wanted to meet you. Not Dav or Robbie or even Alexandros. You, for reasons entirely passing my understanding, are their hero.”

“Do you talk to all your interviewees like this?”

“Those that merit it, sure.” Lizzy smirked triumphantly at him, leaned back and waited for his reply.

“I suppose that kind of vindictive ball-breaking goes down well in the tabloids.” He remained calm and quiet, but she knew she might just be able to push a little harder…

“What the hell would you know about the tabloids?” she hissed.

“What the hell would you know about me from the tabloids?”

She was only silent for a moment.

“If I only knew you from the papers, I might think you some kind of god. As it is, I've been unfortunate enough to be in your divine presence, which is where I learned you're one of the most arrogant, impolite, snot-nosed richboy playboy… muppets I've ever had the displeasure of meeting! I knew within about fifteen nanoseconds of meeting you that you were one of the most POINTLESS people I've ever met!”

Lizzy slammed her glass down and the Perspex shuddered.

“And I've met Peter Andre!”

She pulled her coat on and shoved her notebook back in her bag.

“You can't go, you're meant to be interviewing me! You'll get fired!” he yelled at her, temper now lost. She glared in return.

“You'll make sure of that I suppose? I'd rather be hurled off Canary Wharf than spend another second of my life with you!”

She paused for a moment just to glare again and then stormed out of the club. Lizzy did not notice the stunned onlookers or the onlookers with camera phones.

***

Chapter Four

Two days before Arsenal's first game of the season in mid-August, Will Darcy found himself in Charlie Bingley's physio room having his knee looked at.

“How is it, Darce?” Charlie was in his professional mode and was scribbling furiously in Darcy's notes while the man himself sat on the physio couch with his shorts pulled up to expose his left knee.

“Fine.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“Charlie, I don't lie.”

“I know, I'm just… Is there any chance of you even thinking about smiling?”

“No.”

“I know your summer wasn't the best, but now you're back in the warm embrace of the Arsenal family. Enjoy!”

“Right.”

“Caroline is engaged again, you know.” Charlie knew Darcy wouldn't help the conversation along, so he led it himself as he began tidying bandages and such.

“Robbie?”

“Dav.”

“Again? Is he insane?”

“Not according to the psychologist, but I've never trusted that man.” Charlie continued scribbling on Darcy's notes.

“Right.”

Charlie came back over to Darcy and looked him in the eye for a moment.

“You're fine,” he proclaimed. “You just need to cheer up.”

“Right.”

Charlie sighed and watched Darcy walk out of the physio room. His friend hadn't been right for weeks, since around the time Jane's sister didn't interview him. The photographs in The Sun hadn't been flattering for either, but the story had died away almost immediately and shouldn't have left Darcy in such a mood. Even the other things he knew were going on shouldn't have Darcy so bleakly depressed. Charlie was incredibly concerned and in that vein, he reached for the phone.

***

Lizzy stretched and yawned loudly. It felt like she hadn't had a second's peace since Kitty had arrived to stay and at last, Kitty had now gone home. She turned her computer on and began writing a column about younger sisters. It was done, revised, polished and sent off to her editor within an hour. Sarah-Jane was probably still awake at this time of night, and might even read it immediately. Sure enough, five minutes later, she got an email back:

“Great! It'll be second lead on your page Weds.”

Since being fired from the Mirror, Lizzy had found herself a sought after property. The Guardian gave her a page twice a week that she could fill with politics and what Sarah-Jane called `chick stuff'. She was also given a good number of journalistic assignments, the latest of which had been a curious day shadowing Conservative MP Boris Johnson. Neither of them had yet fully recovered.

No longer forced to write about Jordan's cup size of Shane Warne's box size, Lizzy slept better and felt like an actual writer. It wasn't ideal, not like writing books, but it was more fun than she'd expected. More money too.

It wasn't that she didn't regret the slanging match that led to her dismissal, more that she figured it was for the best. Will Darcy had hardly been seen in public during the off-season and she was hardly displeased about it. Jane gently scolded her about it occasionally, but Lizzy knew it was just because Charlie was best friends with Darcy.

It wasn't Lizzy's fault that Darcy was such a snot, after all. The story that ran in The Sun made her less proud, but it had blown over after about a week's worth of headlines like `JOURNO SLATES DARCY!' and `DARCY GETS MOUTHFUL!' and in one particularly downmarket newspaper, `LIZZY B: I HATE DARCY SINCE HE LEFT ME FOR ZOE LUCKER!'

Kevin hadn't been particularly kind as he held the door open for her departure, but she didn't care about that. Darcy came out of the stories as a patient hero and she came out of them as a maniac. She wasn't stupid: the girls who took the pictures told the stories, and it was certainly in their interests to be pro-Darcy.

At least nobody had tried to paint them as lovers, except in the Star article. That would've been too much, she thought.

Another email popped into her inbox.

“I know you're still awake! Come to dinner on Friday, love J.”

Jane wasn't known for her long, rambling emails, but it was brief even for her. Lizzy replied to say yes and to ask why, but she received no reply.

***

On Thursday, Lizzy was scheduled to meet with the MP for Lambton and Kympton. Callum Fry was one of the leading lights in education reform and Lizzy admired him, so it was a disappointment to be met at the Westminster bar chosen for the meet by one of his aides.

“Terribly sorry, Miss Bennet, but Cal is stuck in a vote at the Commons. He's asked me to keep you company for a bit and answer any questions I can.”

Lizzy looked closely at the aide- a very classically handsome Adonis-type with expensively cut blond hair and an equally expensive handmade suit.

“All right, Mr-“

“Wickham. George Wickham. Do call me George.”

George sat himself down opposite her and ordered himself a double Glenlivet.

“I've been a regular reader of your work for a long time, Miss Bennet. I'm jolly pleased to meet you.”

”Thank you,” In spite of herself, she blushed. “Call me Lizzy.”

“I will,” George smiled broadly. “I especially enjoyed your last assignment with the Mirror!”

“Are you not a fan of Will Darcy?”

“If I'd never met him I'm certain I would be, but I've known him all my life and…” he trailed off to let Lizzy fill in the blanks herself.

“All your life?”

“Practically. I grew up at Pemberley, you know. My father was his father's private secretary. Old Mr Darcy sent me to school alongside Will. No doubt he saw I was more likely to do well in business than sporting-minded Darcy.”

“What do you mean?” Lizzy leaned in, the better to hear this charming man.

“Will Darcy doesn't care about anything but himself. He wasn't willing to even pretend to care about his family's business. He doesn't even care about his sister.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” she said, remembering the look on Will's face when talking about her soft drink experiment.

“It is. Oh, he makes a pretty show for the outside world and makes the right noises, but he shipped Georgiana off to boarding school as soon as his father died. I miss Mr Darcy. He was a great man. You know, he promised me a place in the business when I was finished at university, which he paid for by the way, and after he died I went to claim my apprenticeship and what do you know? Will froze me out. Completely.”

“Why? If his father said-“

”Darcy has always been jealous of me!” George's voice was no more than a whisper, but his expression was fierce and sad. “Dear Mr Darcy loved me more and Will… he's a vindictive man, you know.”

Lizzy thought about being fired and said, “Yes, I know.”

A thought now occurred to her.

“What's Georgiana like?”

George smiled fondly.

”When she was a young child, she was the sweetest little creature. But years of living with Will have poisoned her. She's like every other rich girl with too much money, too much pride and an expense account at Harvey Nichols. I hear she dumped school and went to Mustique!”

“That's…” Lizzy paused. “Why would she do that?”

“What does Georgiana Darcy want with A-Levels? She doesn't ever need to work and if she ever bothers, unlikely, she'll get anything with her surname.”

Lizzy paused to try and take it all in and resolve all the thoughts swarming in her brain. George smiled winningly at her and she continued.

“What happened to you after Darcy refused you the job?”

”Oh, I did this and that and relied on the kindness of friends and strangers… then my old school chum Callum gave me a job. I do all right now, but well... Mr Darcy trained me for business. I'm not a politics person. But what can one do?”

Lizzy agreed heartily and they chatted amiably until Callum Fry, MP arrived for his interview.

***

On Friday as instructed, Lizzy went over to Jane's little flat in Notting Hill for dinner. She was still thinking about her conversations with George and Callum (in his own was as charming as George) when she went up the steps and so did not notice the Aston Martin parked outside.

“Janey, I'm here! I brought red wine…”

“Good, good! Let me take your jacket and-” Jane stopped, for Lizzy was too busy staring at the other guests to listen. Will Darcy was sat in Lizzy's favourite chair and Caroline Bingley was draped over the sofa trying to catch his attention.

“What is he doing here?” Lizzy hissed. Jane glared - actually glared! - at her sister.

“Don't you dare start anything, Lizzy! He's Charlie's best friend and I won't have you upsetting anyone!”

”Hello Lizzy! Charlie called out amiably and also got Will's attention. He looked at Lizzy for such a long time that she squirmed uneasily.

“Now you're all here, we have an announcement!” Charlie looked fit to burst and he pulled Jane into his arms and chuckled.

“Jane's pregnant?” Caroline guessed unhelpfully. Jane went very red and looked at the floor.

“No, Caroline.” Charlie's smile didn't wane. “I asked Jane to marry me and she has said yes!”

“Janey!” Lizzy grabbed her sister and hugged her tightly. “I'm so incredibly happy for you!”

“Thank you, Lizzy.” Jane's composure was as close to cracking as Lizzy had ever seen. She went to hug Charlie, but he was being grasped by the hand by Will Darcy. She waited her turn, nothing Caroline's silent, glum attitude, then hugged Charlie.

“I finally get a brother!”

“Yes, but you're past the tree climbing days!” Jane joked. Lizzy grinned.

“Maybe.”

“Story here?” Charlie asked. Jane laughed and stroked his arm.

“Lizzy always wanted a brother to roam the woods with and to climb trees with. She got four sisters instead, none of whom had the slightest interest in trees.”

Charlie grasped Lizzy by the shoulders.

“When we visit your family, I shall climb trees with you!”

“You don't have to,” she replied with a fond smile. “I probably am too old for tree climbing.”

“Once a tree climber, always a tree climber.”

It was Darcy who spoke and it actually startled Lizzy. She thought immediately of George Wickham.

”Did you have someone to climb trees with, Darcy, or did you not trouble yourself?”

“I climbed trees with my friends.” His face was so neutral it couldn't be real.

“Any particular friends?”

“There were special friends, I suppose. None I'm still close to.” He regarded her carefully.

“Oh no?”

“My childhood friends and I took different paths in life. Charlie here is what I would call my oldest and best friends, my sister and cousins not included.”

“How nice.”

”Dinner everyone!” Jane called airily. There was the un-Janelike glare again, Lizzy realised. Dinner passed easily enough, although Caroline wouldn't stop going on about Georgiana Darcy, her great and accomplished friend. Apparently Caroline and Charlie had accompanied the Darcys on holiday.

“And where is she now?” Lizzy asked. “Surely she'd want to be here with her great friends.”

It had been meant to bring Caroline down a peg, but it only served to cause Charlie and Darcy some concern.

“She's still on holiday at the moment. Not been well, you see.” Charlie answered for Darcy.

“Anywhere nice?”

“Mustique,” Caroline chimed in. “Darcy has a house there!”

“It was built for my grandmother in the Sixties,” came Darcy's sole contribution to the conversation. So, George had been right after all, thought Lizzy.

After dinner and dessert, Lizzy realised she'd missed the last Tube home.

“I'll give you a lift.” Lizzy nearly fell off her chair: Had Darcy had just offered her a ride home?

“I'll get the night bus, it's fine.” That was a lie- it wouldn't be easy, but it would be better than accepting a lift across town from Darcy.

”It's really all right. You live up in Shoreditch, don't you? It's hardly out of my way.”

How did he know where she lived, she wondered? Charlie must have mentioned it.

“Darcy, Shoreditch is definitely out of your way,” Caroline cut in. She turned to Lizzy: “Darcy lives in Belgravia.”

”I know,” Lizzy went involuntarily red.

“It's no trouble. I'm driving to my cousin's in Radlett, you see. I'd be going near your way. Honestly.”

It was the `honestly' that did it and Lizzy found herself in the passenger seat of an British racing green Aston Martin within a minute or two.

“I've never been in an Aston Martin before.”

”I wouldn't call myself a car person, but this is a little slice of perfection.”

Darcy fell silent again as they passed by Hyde Park. Then he asked her if she'd seen the movie playing at Marble Arch Odeon and they managed to pass the rest of the journey discussing the work of Jerry Bruckheimer.

“Thank you,” she said when the Aston purred to a halt outside her building. The silence was suddenly overwhelming as she waited for him to respond.

“You're welcome. Good night.”

There was nothing more for him to say, and so she got out of the car and watched as the Aston roared off into the early summer evening.

***

Will sighed tiredly as the Aston roared along the motorway. Lizzy Bennet was an enigma wrapped up in a mystery boxed up in a curiosity. They had just achieved the improbable act of having a pleasant conversation, only for it to be ruined the moment the car slowed down into the real world. He remembered meeting her the first time only vaguely, but remembered her sharp remark later that night. How he had captivated her earlier in the evening as she entered Jane's home, rosy-cheeked from her walk along from the Underground. She had been smiling at her sister. He remembered bloody Caroline's yammering on about Georgiana and Mustique. He hoped fervently that Lizzy wouldn't think too much of Georgiana being in Mustique instead of in school… but she was a journalist and they did have a habit of picking up on things.

After trying so hard to keep it all under wraps, to have Caroline Bingley's big mouth ruin everything would be too much. Darcy finally pulled up at his cousin Richard's house and let himself in. Visiting Richard had been a lie- Richard was in Dubai until the day after tomorrow, but the thought of this house, with its peace and solitude was enough reason to have driven to Shoreditch. If only he could get rid of the image of leaning over in the Aston to touch Lizzy Bennet's beautiful face….

No! Stop, he commanded himself. It would get him nowhere, absolutely nowhere. Men like Darcy didn't get involved with women like Lizzy. Aristocratic types didn't mix with the daughters of mad inventors and footballers didn't go out with journalists- it was wrong and doomed on all levels, he told himself as he trudged up the stairs to the guest room kept for him. Still, as he finally fell asleep, Will thought of Lizzy Bennet's smile, the hug she'd given Charlie and a little girl climbing trees.

***

Three weeks after Jane and Charlie's announcement, Lizzy awoke to find the papers full of Will Darcy. Not to praise him as was usual, but to report his sending off the night before in an FA Cup fixture against Sunderland. Arsenal claimed he'd been targeted all night and that he'd been enduring verbal abuse throughout, but the fact remained that Will Darcy had punched the Sunderland centre-field so hard the man's nose broke.

What nobody who commented on it actually ealised was that nobody was more pleased to have a three-match ban handed down than Darcy himself.

***

Eight weeks after Jane and Charlie's announcement, Lizzy was sent by The Guardian to do a profile of a young businessman called Richard Fitzwilliam at his home in Radlett. She found him a handsome man of about thirty with a bright, genuine smile.

“My cousin Darcy has mentioned you!” Richard was incredibly jovial and friendly, but his tone was guarded.

“I, er…”

“Don't worry, I know how Darcy can seem. Sit down! Want a drink?”

The interview continued very well and Lizzy was charmed, well and truly charmed by the man who had taken FitzDarcy into uncharted territory.

“Everything we do is Fair Trade, if you want to call it that,” he explained, sipping at his tea. “At first it wasn't easy, but we recovered. We make as much as ever we did, but we can sleep easy knowing people are being paid fairly all the way along the chain and that we're destroying the world as little as we can. Our directors probably have the least impressive Christmas bonuses in the City, but that's how we like it. Ethical businesses can prosper, and we're proof of it. The Annabella Foundation dispenses with our money as effectively as it can-”

“The Annabella Foundation?”

“The charitable organisation set up by my Uncle George to dispose of our profits. He said the Darcys and the Fitzwilliams were rich enough already. He was a jolly good man. Ahead of his time.” Richard paused sadly. “Anyway, we must pause for lunch!”

Lizzy followed Richard into a small dining room where a light lunch was already waiting. The French windows were open and the last of summer was outside to see- acres of untouched and unspoiled land.

“It's nothing compared to Pemberley, of course. Perhaps you've seen it in the papers?”

“No, I haven't. It's probably been in the papers, but I don't read those bits so much.”

“It's a real slice of heaven up there. Shame Darcy doesn't go up very often these days. Still, my aunt's house in Kent is quite a spectacle too. We second sons have to settle for something more modest.”

“Mr Fitzwilliam…”

“Richard.”

“Richard, only the second son of an Earl and the CEO of FitzDarcy would consider a Hertfordshire country manor modest.”

To his credit, Richard guffawed loudly, “Too true, too true! The only thing my family has ever wanted for is a dose of reality.”

“I don't doubt that,” she muttered, thinking of this charming, smiling gent and the contrast with his scowling, dark-eyed cousin. Both were detached from the real world in their own ways, but only one seemed unwilling to try to live in it.

“You know,” Richard began as they started into the food. “If you're really interest in FitzDarcy, you should come with me to Kent.”

“What's in Kent?”

“My aunt's house. She's… since my father died in April, she's the most senior member of the family left and for all that FitzDarcy rakes in the millions, it's still at heart a family business. I shouldn't feel right not including that side of it.”

Lizzy smiled, “I understand.”

“Excellent! I'm going down on Tuesday, until whenever she lets me leave, so…”

“If you give me directions, I can follow.”

“Oh, it's easy. Just Google for Rosings. That big imposing edifice is Auntie Cathy's house.”

***

Chapter Five

On Tuesday evening, Lizzy's car pulled up to Rosings and she realised Richard had been right. It wasn't so much that it was imposing, more that every part of the house seemed to scream its very expensiveness. She grabbed her overnight bag and trudged up the steps to the massive English oak doors. She was not surprised to see a liveried butler open the door, or the liveried young man who took her bags.

“Ah, Lizzy! You made it!”

Richard's entirely unaffected, incredibly friendly manner seemed at complete odds with this museum piece of a house as he led her through the place to the `South Reception Room' where his aunt was waiting.

“You got here in the end, then?” he asked.

“I'm so sorry I'm late- a lorry jack-knifed in Dartford and that was it for anyone's punctuality!”

“It's fine. Now, my aunt is a tricky sort of character so… I apologise in advance for her. She insists on being referred to as Lady Catherine or Ma'am. I just try to avoid any name at all, myself. Now, her daughter Anne is also here: a delightful girl but prone to silence around her mother… you'll see why. And also, oh, that's her calling. Quick march, Miss Bennet!”

They hastened along into a fussily decorated room where a woman of advanced years was sat on an antique chair lecturing whoever was listening about lateness.

“Aunt Catherine, this is Elizabeth Bennet. Elizabeth, Lady Catherine Fitzwilliam de Bourgh, my aunt and Anne, her daughter.”

Lizzy prided herself on her observational skills and so duly noted Richard's new, solemn demeanour and his calling her `Elizabeth'.

“I hear you are a journalist, Miss Bennet!”

Lizzy knew a lot of people weren't fond of journalists, but Lady Catherine made it sound like a filthy word.

“Well, Miss Bennet, your friendship with my nephew may have gained you entry into the refined world of Rosings, but you may not expect any… scoops here! My world is off-record to all the gutter press!”

”Of course, ma'am.” Lizzy looked at Richard questioningly. He just shrugged. “I would not and never have taken advantage of anyone's hospitality for a story. Journalism without honour isn't journalism at all.”

“So you say, but are you not the same Elizabeth Bennet whose tactics forced another of my beloved nephews onto the front page of scandal sheets only a few months ago?”

“I…” Lizzy found that she had no response for once.

“Yes, Aunt Catherine, but as I told you then, it was hardly all Miss Bennet's fault.”

Lizzy's heart stopped as Will Darcy stepped into the room with a funny sort of look on his face. She watched him come into the room and settle down beside the windows.

“It was most unbecoming, William!” Lady Catherine's voice brought Lizzy back to Earth. “You have responsibilities that are better served by staying out of the papers!”

“Yes, Aunt Catherine.”

Lady Catherine made enough conversation for everyone until dinner, which she chose to use for interrogation. Once she'd finished questioning Lizzy about her professional qualifications (“I studied Journalism in Newcastle, Ma'am. Yes, I have the professional qualifications. Yes, in fact I'm a member of the NUJ. I did work experience at The Times before starting with The Mirror, who wanted a younger columnist. Yes Ma'am. Of course Ma'am.”)

“I have four sisters,” Lizzy answered flatly to the latest question. “One older, three younger.”

“Are any married?”

”Jane, the eldest, was engaged only a few weeks ago.”

“To Will's friend Charles Bingley, Aunt Catherine,” Richard added.

“Yes, I remember him. The son of a solicitor who smiles too much.”

“That sounds like Charlie,” Lizzy replied.

“And you Miss Bennet? Haven't you thought of marriage?”

“I haven't found the person who could withstand my personality long enough,
Ma'am.”

“Well, that's hardly a sensible plan for life, Miss Bennet. You're not getting any younger-“

“Aunt Catherine!” Will hissed, but Lizzy laughed.

“As my mother never tires of telling me, any girl of twenty-six with a successful writing career who has failed to also catch a husband has simply failed!”

Richard laughed, Anne laughed, Will stared and Lady Catherine sniffed imperiously.

“What of your other sisters?”

“They are quite happy to be young and fancy free at the moment,” Lizzy answered. “They are still at school and too young to be thinking of real life just yet.”

“They will likely precede you down the aisle,” Lady Catherine remarked so cattily that Lizzy wondered if she should fetch a saucer of milk. So much for the impeccable manners of the upper classes. She smiled politely in response but her reply was firm.

“Lady Catherine, as long as they are happy, I don't care what order my sisters marry in. Or not, as the case may be.”

Dinner did not last much longer and Lizzy was relieved to see Lady Catherine disappear off to her room. Richard showed Lizzy to her room, and he was apologetic over his aunt's manners.

“She… I'm sorry I had to lie to her about your reasons for being here. I trust you to know what's on and off record but she… she has some very decided opinions about things.”

“It's all right.”

“Tomorrow, I'll show you around the park and tell you more about the history of FitzDarcy.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Oh you should, there are pirates in the story!”

***

Rosings Park was vast, but not so vast as once it had been.

“That's Rosings Place over there. Aunt Catherine sold that corner of the park to property developers five years ago and the houses were there within a matter of months.” Richard pointed in the direction of a few clusters of small, uniforms houses in the distance. Then, he was off again, leading Lizzy through woods and meadows, fields and shrubbery. She asked questions about FitzDarcy and how a thirty-year-old skydiving enthusiast ends up the CEO of a multi-million pound company.

“It was an easy choice,” he told her as if it were a silly question. “It was either up to me or the business got taken out of the family's hands. And it's a family business.”

“What about your brother, or Will?”

Richard shrugged.

“Edward has no more understanding of economics than I do of quantum physics, which is why he's a rich-boy scientist and I'm a rich-boy businessman.”

”What about Darcy? In everything I read it seems his father wanted him to take over.”

Richard shrugged again, this time a little less easy.

“Nobody who ever saw Will Darcy kick a ball ever truly believed his place was anywhere but with the ball.”

“There's… forgive me asking, but I met someone who-”

“Don't believe everything you hear. Power, money and privilege attract all kinds of people who deserve none.”

Lizzy wished she could ask what he meant, but Will Darcy appeared, wandering along the banks of the stream they had been following.

”Hi-ho, Will! Giving the old foot a bit of a workout?”

Will nodded vaguely to Richard in answer, apparently choosing to stare at Lizzy instead. When she could take it no more, she excused herself.

“I'll wander along a bit, give you two a chance to catch up or whatever.”

***

Lizzy spent the next two days in Anne's company. Although naturally very quiet and not in the full bloom of health, Anne de Bourgh was lively enough when she warmed up and proved an expert on Fitzwilliam family history. It was from Anne that Lizzy finally heard the story of the Fitzwilliam pirates.

“Mama wouldn't like me to say, but Gregory Fitzwilliam called himself a privateer and lived like a pirate. He's said to have had three wives at the same time.”

So Lizzy passed a pleasant couple of days and began to almost forget she was really supposed to be working, not spending time with friends. At one point, she even managed to carry on a conversation (about mediaeval history) with Will Darcy while Richard took a phone call.

***

On her final day at Rosings, Lizzy decided to take a last stroll through this private slice of the Garden of England. Using the stream as navigation, she walked along, glad that the autumn rain wasn't upon them yet.

She had heard an awful lot over the past few days that made her start to question George Wickham. Richard hadn't said anything but everything he did say seemed to hint at… something. Clearly, FitzDarcy was not set up to easily allow Will Darcy to use it as a personal tool of revenge. Then again, George Wickham had no reason to lie to her about anything, so why would he bother?

“Oh, bloody hell! I'm sorry!” she exclaimed. Lizzy had been so caught up in her thoughts that she had only noticed the figure sat at the water's edge when she fell over him. “Darcy, I'm sorry…”

“Doesn't matter.”

“What are…” she looked down at him. “Why are you dangling one foot in what looks like a freezing cold stream?”

Will looked up at her and blinked, then looked down at his foot, as if he didn't know or had forgotten his bare left foot was in the water.

“Oh,” he finally replied very quietly. “Charlie says it helps the swelling.”

“Helps what swelling?”

“A Fulham defender stamped on my foot last week. Didn't you know?”

“I don't keep up with sport.”

“No, of course you don't. I forget.”

She paused awkwardly, feeling that it would be rude to just walk off.

“Please, do sit down.”

Lizzy did so, and noticed now she was closer, that he looked very, very tired.

“Is it just your foot that hurts?”

He laughed harshly, as if his foot was the least of his troubles.”

“I'm fine.”

“All right then.”

“Do you… do you like The Guardian?”

“Sure. I should thank you for getting me fired from the Mirror!”

“I… I didn't.”

“Yeah, right.” Lizzy realised her snort wasn't ladylike, but she didn't care. Will looked like she'd just shot his favourite puppy.

“No, I… I would never do such a thing. I was rude at Slik and… I would never do such a thing, especially not to you.”

“Me? Why especially me?”

“You're…” he paused and got a curious look in his eye. “Never mind.”

“No,” she pressed. “What?”

“I er… that is… I admire you a great deal.”

“What?”

“I know you feel the same and although we're hardly suitable for each other, me being what I am and you being, well… not like me… I mean, my family has been around for hundreds of years and yours got its money through an ironing board invention… Anyway, I really think it probably shouldn't matter so… Perhaps you'd like to accompany me to Germany when Arsenal plays Bayern Munich next month, if my foot is improved…. Then we can… see how it goes from there.”

Darcy finally stopped to breathe in and then out. Lizzy sat, struck dumb by what she'd just heard. She allowed herself some time to collect her thoughts and to regulate her temper, and then she spoke.

“You really are quite something, Will Darcy! Germany? Bayern Munich! Me and… you admire me? You're sure I feel the same? All I feel for you, Will Darcy, is the same as ever! Contempt and disgust for a man who'll treat anyone lower than him however he chooses! I disliked you once but now I've heard from those who knew you before you were Superdarcy I just despise you! You, the greatest example of what happens when arrogance and old money collide with fame and hero worship. See how it goes? Darcy, I'd rather spend the rest of my life cold and alone than ever `see how it might go' with a man like you!

Will, his swollen foot still in the water could only watch as Lizzy Bennet, face red with what had turned out to be rage, stormed away through the trees.

***

“You're sure you don't want to stay another night?”

Although his aunt seemed pleased, Richard looked genuinely upset at Lizzy's decision to drive home already. She smiled sweetly, for this cousin had all the kindness that the other lacked.

“I need to get back to the real world so I can start writing about how great you are!”

“Far be it from me to get in the way of such a noble endeavour, but… sure I can't persuade you to stay?”

“I'm sure.” She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.

“Well, it's a shame, but… you must promise to come to Radlett soon for dinner. Jimmy will be back and-”

“Jimmy?”

Richard looked serene for a moment.

“My darling Jimmy. Been away in New York for business.”

Lizzy smiled and nodded, before then promising to come to dinner. So, Richard Fitzwilliam had a someone called Jimmy in his life? It made her smile- all this time she'd been worried he was developing a crush on her!

***

Several pairs of eyes watched Lizzy Bennet drive away. One pair of eyes watched with a smile, one pair with suspicion and the other will all the sadness in the world. Will Darcy turned away from the window and hobbled over to an armchair.

He had not seen it coming. One day, Lizzy Bennet was just a sharp-tongued columnist, sister to Charlie's Jane. Next, she had invaded his dreams and started to turn him mad! The things he'd said to her! He would never have said such things to anyone, would he? He might have been thinking them, but never would've said them!

A thought now occurred to Darcy: How was saying it any different to thinking it?

He thought of the past few days and how Lizzy had sparkled in Richard's company. If not for Jimmy, he might have been jealous… but he was jealous! Lizzy Bennet did not smile at him and didn't laugh or chatter with him! She hated him, really hated him! This wasn't a Tracy-Hepburn thing, the girl despised everything about him.

Sod her. Plenty of women would jump at the chance to be noticed by Will Darcy, he thought bitterly. Immediately, he thought of the women who did jump- painted peahens who chose their skin tone at Ronseal, their hair colour at Dulux and their clothes from handkerchief stores. High pitched and wailing women who called Max Clifford before going out on a date. The kind of woman he had nightmares about.

Alternatively, he could go for an aristocratic woman from the same social sphere as his family. A girl like that would be well-groomed, elegant and would have an idea of what his life could be like. Then again, they were as in love with fame as the others, as in love with themselves as the others, but they could tell the difference between fake and real diamonds. More restrained than the others, but no less fake.

Still, he reasoned, plenty of ordinary women loved him too. Didn't he get more fan mail than any other England or Arsenal player? Wasn't a lot of it from women? Darcy puffed up for a moment, before remembering that he disliked his female fan mail. It was either from young (too young) girls in first flush of pubescent crush or lonely women with no one special to call their own. It made him sad to read those letters.

Still, didn't normal, well-adjusted women love him too? He searched his mind to think of the last one of those he'd actually met. Jane Bennet. Bloody Bennets got everywhere! Jane was beautiful, kind, caring, sweet and thoughtful, and on their first meeting many months ago had looked right past Darcy at Charlie Bingley. Charlie, who wasn't famous or filthy rich but who before Jane, had never lacked for genuinely nice female company.

Darcy had run out of excuses and realised that for all Lizzy Bennet's shortcomings, he had nobody to blame but himself. That night, Darcy did not sleep. Instead, he sat replying their sorry excuse for a conversation in his head, trying to work out why she thought the way she did. He knew he'd been rude at the charity ball, knew he'd seemed off at Blades and the training day couldn't be helped… not that she knew that, of course.

What had she meant about talking to people who knew him before `Superdarcy'? On a hunch, he reached out to his computer and looked up Lizzy's recent articles on the Guardian online archive. His blood ran cold: “Callum Fry: Education's Latest Saviour?”

Where Callum Fry went, Wickham was sure to follow, leaving a trail of lies, debt and ill feeling. If Lizzy knew the truth, perhaps she could at least understand, he felt. He reached for a pen and some paper, for he didn't have her email address and couldn't bear the thought of asking Richard for it.

***

Lizzy awoke early the next morning to the sound of the postman making his way down the street. She'd been up most of the night, replaying the sorry excuse for a conversation she'd had with Will the day before. With a yawn, she headed towards the front door, where a pile of newspapers and post awaited her. She ignored the papers and went for the mail- mostly bills for TV, Internet and the rest. One thought, was a handwritten letter with no postage. She dropped all but that and opened it carefully, not recognising the impeccable handwriting. She nearly dropped this letter too when she saw the rather tacky Rosings Park headed paper, but soldiered on. When she saw it was from Darcy, she found the need to read intensified.

Lizzy,

It didn't seem right to start `Dear' anything, so I shall start by apologising for starting so feebly. What you said to me yesterday has left me in a state of confusion and tumult. The passage of a few hours has allowed me to see that what you said is almost entirely all true. I am many things, not all of them good and perhaps more bad than good. My parents were always keenly aware of the legacy they would one day leave solely to me, but they had no idea it would be mine so quickly, or that added to the life of a very wealthy young man, I would also receive the adulation and fame that comes with playing football at the very highest level. I have gone unchecked for so long, Lizzy. As long as I play well, Arsenal leave me to do as I please and as long as I don't destroy the family fortunes, I may do as I please there, more or less. I had thought, believed most genuinely, that I was leading a decent, honourable life, but I now understand that I was leading it in a cold and conceited manner without anything but a token thought of everyone else.

I will never be the life and soul of the party, but I should not be the black hole of it either. I don't remember what I said to you that night to cause such offence, but please accept my apologies and reason- I was in no state to be around people, much less people in a party mood, which leads me to the next element of this letter.

I believe I can trust you as a good, honourable woman, but your profession leads me to beg you, beg you, to keep the following information as secret as one person can. Not for my sake, but for another's.

From what you said to me yesterday, I can deduce that you have spoken to a person called George Wickham. I can't know exactly what he said about me, but as it was no doubt a variation on one of his usual themes, I shall tell you the real truth of it. What I am about to reveal is known in its entirety to only those involved. Charlie Bingley knows much of the story but only as much as he needed to know. If, after reading, you require further proof there is Richard, and I know you like and trust him. You should: he is the very best of men. Now, I must stop dawdling and tell you what I am sworn I shall.

When I was a boy, my father had a private secretary by the name of Edgar Wickham. Mr Wickham was a good and intelligent man. When his wife died of ovarian cancer, his son George came to Pemberley with him on a permanent sort of basis. My father took a shine to George and announced that he would sponsor George's education. He went to Eton on my father's money and remained there on my father's reputation. I was away a great deal of the time with Arsenal and only heard the snippets of gossip that even my friends could not protect me from. George outdid himself in his final year by impregnating the science master's fifteen-year-old daughter. She had an abortion and George was quickly and quietly asked to head for Cambridge a term early- a sign only of the affection felt by Eton for my father, who still saw George as an endearing little boy.

My father was disappointed that my life was in football, but not heartbroken as some would suggest. Instead, he took both Richard and George under his wing. Richard, for all his joking and devil-may-care attitude is an astute and responsible man and flowered under my father's tutelage. He finished his undergraduate studies with a First in Economics from Cambridge. He didn't pause before choosing to study for an MBA while simultaneously working in all the elements of FitzDarcy for my father.

George, on the other hand, spent his time at Cambridge as hedonistically as he could. He strung out his studies as long as he could, hoping my father would simply get bored and offer him an easy, well-paid job. My father did not: he offered George a job only once he had his degree. My father, whom I loved dearly, died before George got anywhere near a graduation cap and gown. As soon as he was dead, George left Cambridge and came to claim his job. Richard and I, having by then discovered George's ineptitude and dishonesty in what he'd already done in the name of FitzDarcy, refused wholeheartedly. George threatened to cause trouble in the press if we didn't give in and so, we gave him twenty-five thousand pounds and hoped this blood money would wipe him from out lives forever.

For a short time, it seemed to have worked. Then, last summer when my sister was sixteen, George appeared in her life. My sister Georgiana is a sweet and trusting girl and had not been told anything of George Wickham's real nature. He visited her when I was out of the country with club or country, always careful to have Georgie `keep it a secret'. The week before she was due back at school, she came to me in floods of tears, begging forgiveness. She had given George some of her own money (nearly ten thousand pounds all told over the course of three months) and in return, he had done to her as he did to the science master's daughter. From what I could piece together, he had gone off radar the moment she told him what she believed would be good news. George Wickham has all the easy manners and charm required to convince a girl he is in love with her. I do not believe he has ever meant it.

Richard and I tracked him down through his old friend Callum Fry (who apparently now employs him) and George demanded more money. This time we did not give it, not after we discovered his real goal was the inheritance Georgie would receive in two parts: at eighteen and at twenty-one. When she reaches twenty-one, Georgiana will be a millionaire several times over in her own right. Richard and I realised that no amount would ever rid us of this blight on our lives.

George threatened us with press coverage, but my savvy cousin Richard countered with a similar offer. I don't believe I'm breaking the terms of the agreement made then if I quietly suggest to you that you take a quick look at Callum Fry's election finances. George disappeared from our lives again, but has now apparently appeared in yours.

As you can imagine, my sister was left shattered by the events of last summer. She had an abortion only after learning of George's many schemes. I do not believe she is over it yet, and I should explain this too, as it may go some way to explaining my actions of this summer. I have always been close to my sister and after our parents died, I became her parent too. My job, my career, does not give me a wealth of free time or privacy but I have tried. I worked with the head at Roedean to give Georgie everything she might need. The head knows something of the situation. Georgie seemed to be getting better when she returned to school last September, and seemed to be getting back to her old self as much as I could hope for.

The night you met me at the charity event, it was one year almost to the day since my beloved little Georgie went into a Harley Street clinic to do something she'd never believed she'd ever need or want to do. The night you met me at Blades (not my idea of a great venue but my agent likes it), I received a phone call, which you may recall. In it, Anne informed me that the formidable Lady Catherine had turned up at Roedean and taken Georgiana away. I apologise for leaving you there at Blades, but my aunt had been muttering about taking Georgiana under her wing since my mother died, and that night after hearing some half-truths, decided the time was right. I had to drive down in all haste and found my sister hysterical with shock, grief and everything else you might imagine. My aunt's ill-thought out intervention did bring things to a head and after hours' talking, I discovered my sister was not improved, merely as adept at pretending as I have been. Together, we decided that she needed rest, time and space, even away from me. She chose our grandmother's house in Mustique because she loves it so. It is not in the busy area and she knows and trusts the family who look after the house. Since then, I have been commuting between Arsenal, Rosings and Mustique in an attempt to save a career I no longer enjoy, pacify an aunt and care for a sister. Perhaps psychologists would attribute my sudden fascination with you as a diversion or a search for happiness where there is none, but… I can only apologise again for attributing to you feelings I wished to see, not ones you possessed.

I am arrogant and I am a snob, but you are the first person to challenge me for it. I hope I can improve and perhaps be worthy of your respect. I have now taken up much more of your time and attention than I deserve, so all I shall say now is this: God bless you, Lizzy Bennet.

Lizzy put the letter down and realised her eyes stung with tears. She reached for the phone.

Chapter Six

Lizzy told Jane the whole story, removing the bits about Georgiana Darcy.

“Oh Lizzy, poor Darcy!”

“I know,” Lizzy sniffled. “You can't tell anyone!”

“Not even Charlie,” Jane promised. “What now?”

“I… I don't know.” Lizzy sat up. “Actually, I do. If Callum Fry is lying or defrauding the public, we should know about it!”

“Now Lizzy, you don't know anything yet.”

”I know, but…” Lizzy looked stunned. “This is what I did to Darcy, isn't it? I assumed and I believed people who I had no reason to trust and… oh my God! I must be the worst journalist in the world!”

“I'm sure there are worse at the Daily Star.”

“I thought I was so incisive, so great! Yet I let some nobody of a man who I'd never met or heard of before in my life tell me all kinds of things about Will Darcy just because I wanted to believe them! And what kind of sham will I find under Callum Fry's smiling education patter?”

Jane listened as Lizzy rambled, mostly incoherently, without pause for some time. Finally ranted-out, Lizzy collapsed onto the sofa.

“I'm a fraud, Jane! A total fraud!”

“No, you aren't,” Jane whispered and stroked Lizzy's hair as she sobbed into a cushion.

***

Lizzy woke up when the sun was setting. She had a heavy feeling in her stomach. She could still barely believe what had happened since opening Darcy's letter. The things she'd learned! It was enough to keep a tabloid in business for weeks, but there had never been any question of her revealing anything of their conversation at Rosings or the letter. She wasn't that kind of journalist, and he seemed to know that. She stumbled over to her computer, eyes stinging from the dry salt of her earlier tears. Jane was in the kitchen, and from what Lizzy could hear, she was on the phone to Charlie. Lizzy rubbed her eyes and trawled through the emails of the day and found one from Richard:

“L, Darce told me what he told you. You know where to find me if you want. Can't wait to read your article in the week. Don't forget dinner. R.”

Lizzy found a smile from somewhere, glad Richard didn't seem to be concerned about the letter- the open and forthcoming manner confirmed to her that Darcy was telling the truth- Richard might well be a tough businessman when it suited him, but he was also entirely honest. Unless she was wrong about him too…

There was one way of discovering the truth and even salvaging her pride and career. She clicked on Google and typed in “Callum Fry”. It was a start, at least.

***

The profile on Richard Fitzwilliam was in Wednesday's paper, and was a great success according to everyone at the Guardian. Richard was so pleased with it he sent her flowers, while Jane said it was the best thing she'd written. She was discontented about the whole thing, but Lizzy was a survivor at least. She quietly pitched her Callum Fry piece to Sarah-Jane, who seemed surprised at Lizzy's u-turn on the MP, but approved her investigations just the same.

For three weeks, Lizzy did nothing but investigate Callum Fry. Invites from Jane, from Richard, from Charlie and home all piled up, but she only ate, slept and worked. Finally, she emailed her article to Sarah-Jane and waited for the storm.

***

“MP INVESTIGATED OVER ELECTION FUNDS SCANDAL!”
“OUT OF THE FRY-ING PAN INTO THE FIRE!”
“CALLUM FRY TO FACE POLICE QUESTIONING OVER CASH FOR VOTES”

Darcy leaned back and read the many articles each of the national papers had on Callum Fry. The MP had been arrested, his aides pulled in for questioning and at the very least, one of them would have to explain the six grams of cocaine he'd had in his pocket when the police came for him. News of other corruption was beginning to leak into the media too.

He would've liked to feel a sense of satisfaction, but he couldn't find one as long as George Wickham evaded custody. Besides that, it was only as it should be… at least Lizzy had taken his hint about Callum. He had no idea how she'd taken the rest of the letter, but the fact it wasn't splashed all over the newspapers had to be a good sign.

The sun warmed him here in Mustique, just as the weather was turning truly bad in England. He'd have to be home within the week now that his foot was now back to normal, and in England he ran the risk of running into Lizzy. He would ask Charlie to not invite him to places and events where Lizzy would be, for her sake more than his. Will felt bad for doing it- it would cause Charlie a certain amount of grief with anything they might plan regarding the wedding… but he knew it was for the best this way.

The more he thought about it, the more his real life back in Britain began to press at the edges of his attention. He had a long list of stuff he had to do when he got home, and first off was, ironically, calling Lizzy Bennet's sister.

***

Given the number of times Lizzy had encountered Will Darcy in the short period of time during the summer, she was surprised she didn't do so again after receiving the letter. Then, the sane side of her brain kicked in and reminded her that Darcy, King of the Britons was hardly likely to go out of his way to see a woman who had lashed out against him so viciously so many times.

Six months passed between the letter and Lizzy's next run-in with Will Darcy. In those six months her article about Callum Fry had been the catalyst for a Guardian-led campaign for political party finance reform. Callum Fry, MP himself was kicked out of the Commons and spent four months with bed and board courtesy of Her Majesty after the true extent of his fraud, embezzlement and even people trafficking had come to light. George Wickham had not been caught up with, but was persona non grata with more or less the entire country after his side of the story (which included some salacious rumours for the Sun reader elements). A BBC documentary team had a lead on the Costa Del Sol that they were following up, and Lizzy hoped to see George dragged back home within a month or so.

Lizzy had also begun negotiations with a well-known publishers for a book deal. Fry-gate had given her a higher profile than ever before and the publisher were going to let her write novels for a living if she also published the occasional political commentary tome. She hadn't mentioned numbers to anyone, but it would mean being able to stop journalism forever (except her column, which she was now rather attached to) and move out of her titchy flat in trendy Shoreditch.

Sometimes in the midst of all this, she wondered where Will Darcy was- his foot injury had healed only to be superseded by groin strain and he'd hardly been seen since. Meanwhile, Charlie and Jane had turned into a two-headed Brideandgroomonster seemingly capable of talking only about weddings. They were really very sweet about it all really, but every now and then Lizzy heard Catherine de Bourgh's remarks about her, and the increasing likelihood that it would come to being.

The Bingley-Bennet wedding at least gave Lizzy plenty of good stuff for her column, and she was gratified to have readers email her with good wishes for her `adorable' sister. The date was set for March and due to Mrs Bennet's insistence more than anything else, it would be held in the vast classical gardens of the mansion Mr Bennet had bought a couple of years earlier on the back of his inventions. So, to Netherfield Park Lizzy traipsed each weekend on one wedding errand or another.

Two weeks before the Big Day, disaster struck, and Lizzy heard about it as she did most things: on the phone.

“Oh Lizzy, it's terrible! I simply can't believe it!”

Lizzy let her mother weep and wail down the line for a few minutes before stepping in.

“Calm down, woman! What is terrible?”

“Oh Lizzy!” Mrs Bennet sniffed loudly. “The house! The house has been… flooded!”

“So? You've got two weeks to dry it out. Get a hairdryer or something.”

“Oh, you don't understand, you silly girl! All my hardwood floors! The entire ground floor… and it wasn't just water!”

Thus Lizzy learned that the whole of Netherfield's vast ground floor had been flooded not only by thousands of gallons of water due to a serious cock up by some engineers working on the main road, but also by a similar amount of raw, untreated sewage.

”That does sound ruined,” Lizzy replied, her heart sinking for Jane and Charlie. She realised she would have to be the voice of reason- her mother was too barking and Jane was likely too upset. “Still, it can go on at another venue, right?”

Lizzy was then forced to listen for thirty-five minutes why nowhere would compare to her Dear Jane being married in her own beautiful home! Lizzy did not point out that Jane had left home before the Bennets moved into Netherfield, having no wish to listen for another thirty-five minutes.

“Mum, listen!” Lizzy used the sharpest voice she had, the only thing capable of cutting into her mother's Joycean stream of consciousness conversational style. “Calm down. I'll drive up now and we can find a way around all this. Is Jane there?”

“Yes! She's in the upstairs drawing room with Charlie. They're beside themselves of course!”

“All right. I'll be there as soon as I can.”

***

There were workmen crawling all over the place when Lizzy got to Netherfield. Some were with the water company, some were with the sewage people and others were there to clean up the mess left behind by the other guys. She made her way around the back of the big house and found furniture piled up on the terrace and her mother sat in an armchair by the fountain. Mary was sat reading under Mr Bennet's giant golf umbrella and Kitty and Lydia were loudly watching the men at work.

“Lizzy, thank God you're here!”

Lizzy allowed her mother to give her an over-fragrant hug and longed for the days when Mrs Bennet used to ration herself on the No. 5.

“What can I do?”

“You must look after poor, dear Jane! Beside herself, she really is!”

Lizzy found Jane quite serene, sat at their father's desk beside the roses.

“Hello Lizzy! You didn't stop anything important, did you?”

“Not remotely. What's up?”

“Oh, Charlie is sorting it out.” Jane smiled softly, full of trust in Charlie's venue-finding abilities.

“Where can he find that will satisfy you and Mother Dearest that is willing to take a booking two weeks before?”

“We're sorted!” Charlie's voice boomed across the garden and Lizzy now saw that he'd been pacing around the topiaries. Everyone watched as he bounded over and kissed Jane soundly. “It's fine, it's all fine!”

“Where? Where?” Mrs Bennet feigned fanning herself with her copy of Bella magazine. Charlie grinned like a Cheshire Cat in a particularly smug mood.

“Pemberley,” he replied. Lizzy's sisters began chattering all at once, and even Jane looked stunned.

“Pemberley?” she asked in something just above a whisper. “How?”

“Easy,” Charlie grinned. “I know the owner, of course. I hope you don't mind moving it up to Derbyshire, Mrs Bennet?”

“Mind? Mind? Of course not!”

Mrs Bennet was clearly lost in raptures over Pemberley and so Lizzy chose to be practical.

“How will we get all the guests up there? Where will they stay? I mean, most were going to travel here by car and go home that evening, but if they're coming all that way some are going to want to stay overnight and…” she trailed off, trying to regulate her thoughts so she didn't sound insane. Charlie grinned again.

“All sorted. There's a golf course a few miles away that's willing to rearrange its hotel bookings for any guests we might need… I was thinking we might charter a coach or two to get people up there… we'll have to call around of course, and see what people want to do.”

Jane snapped out of her Pemberley daydream and immediately headed for her phonebook. Charlie did the same. Within only a short time and with almost frightening efficiency, they had numbers of overnight guests and coach party members and every guest and involved party knew that the venue was changed.

“Pemberley, eh?” Lizzy asked Charlie as they all sat down to dinner in Mr Bennet's library upstairs later. The smell had not pervaded this high up, but Mr Bennet complained bitterly that the smell of Domino's Pizza would linger on his priceless books for weeks to come.

“Yes, Pemberley.”

“What kind of favours did you have to call in with Darcy?” she asked, chewing thoughtfully on a slice of pizza. Charlie looked confused.

“None. I only phoned him to see if he had any suggestions. It was his idea.”

“It was?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn't Pemberley need to have a licence to hold weddings?”

“Yes.”

“And…” she searched her memory for the Windsor Castle chaos of the Charles And Camilla wedding. “Doesn't that mean that anyone will be able to get married there for months to come?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn't he mind?”

“He didn't say.” Charlie took a swig of his drink. “Funny thing about Darcy is that he's got very particular priorities. He probably doesn't think it much of an inconvenience if it means he can help me. I tell you something for free, without Darcy I would've fallen to pieces when my knee did.”

“Your knee?”

“Didn't Jane ever tell you? I was on the Arsenal team with Darcy- we met at the Academy as boys. When I was sixteen, I shattered my left knee and that was my career gone… Darcy asked his father to pull some strings and I finished out my school days at Eton with him. I studied hard and trained in physiotherapy and when the time came I know Darcy helped secure me the job with Arsenal- they weren't that guilty about ruining my knee!” Charlie paused quietly for a moment then continued, “I know how he seems to some people, to you, but he really is the best friend I have ever, will ever, know.”

Lizzy patted his hand softly.

“That's a good enough recommendation for me, Charlie. I promise.”

Charlie's smile nearly cracked his face in two.

“Excellent!”

***

The Bingley-Bennet party arrived at Pemberley three days before the wedding. Caroline Bingley would not stop talking about how she'd been here before as a guest of the family, but stopped when Charlie reminded her loudly that she'd been a guest for one night on the way to Edinburgh to see Auntie Joan.

Lizzy found being at Pemberley overwhelming. It wasn't only the sheer physical presence of the house, which fit so perfectly with its surroundings that it might always have been there. It wasn't the opulence of the place, which while undeniably rich and beautiful was not overly-fussy. It was the house of aristocratic persons so incredibly rich, so incredibly refined that they had no need to announce either their riches or nobility.

The house was filled with fine art and beautiful sculptures, some of which were so exquisite that Lizzy felt she might weep at it. Some she recognised from books and one she recognised from a collection of Raphael paintings she'd seen at the National Gallery.

More than that was the sense that this was Will Darcy's home. “I live in London. Pemberley is home,” he had told her, so long ago now. This was where he had grown up with his mother and father and sister… and where he had quietly battled against the machinations of George Wickham. This was where Richard's tales of their shared childhood took place… Pemberley more than anything else, had made Will Darcy who he was. Like the house, Will Darcy was quietly but definitely everything he was. There was nothing flashy or show-off about Pemberley, and nor was there anything similar of its owner.

As she wandered through yet another fine room, another enormity hit her- Will had taken sole custody of this place at twenty-two. When she was twenty-two she'd been studying hard, partying harder. The idea of being responsible for all this and everything that came with it threatened to overwhelm her. How had Darcy come away with his sanity?

Pemberley made her realise that Will Darcy wasn't so much the devil as he was a saint for having survived it all.

***

Most of the decorative elements of the wedding were in place by the time they arrived and so the guests had little to do but relax and prepare themselves. Lizzy found herself quickly bored by make-up, hair and dresses and on the day before the wedding, took herself off to wander the beautiful halls of Pemberley without the interruptions of her mother, her sisters or Caroline Bingley.

She had been told by Charlie that everything on the ground floor and the first floor was open to them, and she knew from the leaflet she'd seen that this was twice as much as the general public got to see when the house was open. She wandered the first floor, feeling thick, luxurious wool carpet under her nearly-bare feet.

The library caught her attention, and she stood for a while just looking up at the grand spectacle. It was like a library out of a fairytale, one of those halls of learning with high ceilings, balconies and ladders that went up for miles and swung around the shelves. Deliciously comfortable looking leather chairs made for the seating, while a large oak table took up the centre of the room.

A smaller desk caught her attention, tucked away by one of the long windows. It had a number of piles of neatly stacked papers on top, but most of the room was taken up by photographs in fine wooden frames. One of a handsome couple she assumed were Darcy's parents due to the woman's resemblance to Catherine de Bourgh and the man's resemblance to Darcy himself. There were several of Richard Fitzwilliam at various stages of his life, including one with Darcy himself in a canoe somewhere hot. There was one of Darcy with Charlie at the Arsenal Academy, back before Charlie's knee… two boys posing proudly in their shining new kits. There were also several of a pretty girl with long dark blonde hair and a bright smile. Mostly she looked very young in the pictures, but one was quite recently taken in a studio, probably for school. Georgiana Darcy.

“That was taken before George returned.”

Lizzy yelped and jumped so abruptly that she actually felt her feet lift off the ground. Her heart thudded wildly as she turned to find Will Darcy stood a foot or two away.

“Bloody Hell, Darcy!”

“Sorry, I thought you heard me come in.”

“I didn't! I mean-” she stopped herself. “I mean, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be intruding…”

“You aren't intruding,” he interrupted. “If I didn't want people in the library, I would've locked the doors.”

Darcy smiled weakly at her and silence fell between them.

“I'm sorry, really… I just wanted to get away from everything for awhile,” she said. “And then I saw the photographs and… they're really nice, Darcy.”

Feeling thoroughly awkward, she shoved her hands in her pockets and began to make a great show of reading book spines. If Darcy felt at all uncomfortable, he didn't show it.

“Yes. I prefer working in here to in my study. It's a bit too much like the Batcave in there.”

“Batcave?”

“It's dark and dingy and thoroughly depressing.”

“You own the house, why don't you redecorate?”

“I've never had the time. Besides, who wouldn't want to work in here?”

“I think I could live in here!” she joked. Then she sobered up, realising how it might be taken. He did not take it that way and smiled.

“I know what you mean. See that sofa in the corner?”

He pointed to a rather worn sofa tucked between some shelves.

“Yes.”

“The last time an English Heritage tour came through here, they found me asleep on it. Since then… I stopped the public coming in here… I'm sure you think it's snobby of me or something but… I have so little privacy, you know.”

“I know.” Lizzy looked down at her feet rather than risk looking at him. “I may have been a bit quick to judge-“

“Lizzy, there you are! We've been looking all over the place for you!” Kitty appeared in the doorway and seemed to completely look through Will. “Come on!”

“They've got their wedding blinkers on,” Lizzy muttered, and she was gratified to hear Will's low chuckle as she followed after Kitty.

***

Dinner the night before the wedding was a quiet nightmare for Lizzy. Her younger sisters were behaving so raucously that they tried even Charlie's near-limitless, Caroline-tested patience. Her mother wouldn't stop talking about how well Jane had done for herself except to praise the wonders of Pemberley. Her father had not said a word except to mock his wife and daughters and was in fact eating dinner while reading a book on traction engines.

Charlie and Jane both looked exhausted and only had eyes for each other, and this left Lizzy without only two other people to speak to. Darcy had come to dinner, which helped explain her sisters' agitation yet more, but he looked like he was contemplating the best angle at which to jab his fork into his eye. Caroline wouldn't stop talking at Darcy, but clearly had no intention of letting him answer at any point. Lizzy was therefore left at one end of the table listening to the insanity around her, quietly dying of shame as she wondered what the hell Darcy made of her family.

As dessert (a truly divine summer fruits pavlova) came around, silence fell long enough for Caroline to begin her new hobby of Lizzy-baiting. Quite why she'd begun this practice Lizzy wasn't sure, but there it was:

“When will your date be arriving, Lizzy?” she asked, somehow making Lizzy's own name sound insulting while also sounding too sweet to be true.

“I didn't invite one.”

“Didn't or couldn't find one?”

“Caroline!” hissed Charlie. The conversation went a little quieter around them.

“A combination of both, really,” Lizzy admitted without shame. “I haven't had time, what with all my Maid of Honour duties.”

It was a cheap shot to take, but it worked on Caroline, who had been desperate to win the coveted Maid of Honour job. Jane had told Lizzy that she'd even tried crying, but the bride held firm. Now, Caroline's mouth snapped shut.

“Lizzy won't have time for a date,” said Charlie. “What with all the duties she'll have to perform at the reception.”

“What duties?” Caroline snapped, glaring first at Lizzy, then at Jane.

“Oh, a few organisational things, and once Jane and I have our dance, the Best Man and the Maid of Honour will do the same for everyone.”

Lizzy looked at Darcy with horror. His face was schooled into neutrality.

“Charlie really,” Caroline yelped. “That's such a silly American tradition!”

“The Best Man leading the Maid of Honour is a lovely old tradition!” Mrs Bennet cut in. “Why, that's how I met my own husband!”

She smiled rather sweetly down the table at Mr Bennet, who to his credit and Lizzy's surprise, winked in return.

“But… Darcy hates dancing!” Caroline pressed on.

“I wouldn't want to inflict my two left feet on anyone,” Lizzy said suddenly.

“Lizzy is a terrible dancer!” Lydia added with a snort. Jane moved Lydia's wine glass out of her reach.

“I'm sure I can with stand it,” Darcy finally spoke.”

“You really don't have to,” Lizzy tried to help him out of this hole. “I'm sure another bridesmaid-”

“Yes!” Caroline shrieked. “It doesn't have to be Lizzy!”

Darcy glanced at Lizzy for a moment, apparently trying to communicate something to her. Given their past troubles with that sort of thing, she thought it curious- then realised his eyes kept flicking over at Caroline. He was begging Lizy to save him from Caroline!

”Tradition is tradition, I suppose,” she said finally. “But don't blame me if I put you back on the injured list, Darcy.”

“I'll be careful,” he promised with, of all things, a smile!

***

Later, Lizzy curled up in Jane's bed with her sister. It wasn't something they'd done since they were very young, but it was their last chance.

“Are you nervous?” Lizzy whispered.

“No.”

“Really?”

“I'm nervous about tomorrow- I hope it all goes off all right, but why should I be nervous about Charlie?”

“Because people are nervous about this sort of thing.”

“Not when they know they're right, Lizzy.”

“Oh. Must be nice to be you, Jane.”

“It is,” Jane giggled. “I wonder if anyone has ever been this happy and this in love all at the same time!”

“Probably not.”

“Oh Lizzy, I'm going to find you the best person for you, just as soon as we're back from Mustique!”

“Mustique?”

“Will's lent us his house for a month! Can you believe it? He's done so much and… you mustn't hate Will. He's lovely underneath the shell.”

“I don't hate Will Darcy.” Lizzy could feel her face burning and was glad it was dark and she was under blankets.

“You did once.”

“Yes, and I was proved spectacularly wrong. He's a bloody saint!”

“Not quite, Lizzy.”

“It's time to confess, Jane. Will is the reason Arsenal were at the ball, and he's the reason you got them for the training day. He's the reason the Annabella Foundation gives you so much money. Isn't he? I know it's not Richard, so it must be Will.”

“Yes. He saw Sir William on the news a year or two ago and contacted him. He's… The training day was his idea, you know. Even if he didn't show.”

“His idea?”

”Yes. He sponsored the whole day and persuaded Mr Wenger to give us the whole team for the day.”

“Oh.”

“And… you mustn't say anything but he's in the process of arranging at least one more because he missed the last one.”

Lizzy's face burned so hot that she was sure Jane could see.

“I gave him such hell over it and- it wasn't his fault!”

“I know Lizzy, I saw the letter… Did you know his sister will be here tomorrow?”

“His sister? Really?”

“She must be on a plane right now. Darcy told Charlie she went quite overboard making Pella perfect for us.”

“Pella?”

”The house in Mustique. It's meant to be a surprise, but Darcy let slip when he was grumbling about the invoice he got for flowers yesterday! Georgiana sounds like a very sweet girl.”

Lizzy's face now drained of blood as she thought of everything George Wickham had done and said, and she was incredibly curious to see this girl about whom so much had been said.

“Yeah. She sounds nice.”

“Go to sleep, Lizzy.”

“Night, Jane.”

“Night.”

Chapter Seven

The sky was overcast when the day began, and by the time the coaches of guests arrived, it was pouring with rain. The planned ceremony under the gazebo was immediately moved to the ballroom (amidst Mrs Bennet's wailings about the sanity of an outdoor wedding in Derbyshire in March, despite it having been her idea) and Lizzy found Darcy in the midst of chaos, directing people to where they were supposed to be.

“It's all been moved to the ballroom,” he told a woman with centrepieces. “The end of the hall.”

”You're not wearing that are you?” she asked. He looked down at his jeans and his very careworn Arsenal training shirt and smirked.

“I am, in fact, wearing this. However, I will be changing before the wedding in four hours. For a writer, you should know to ask better questions.”

“Yes, I should,” her face burned. “It's been proved my writing, observation and shrewdness leave something to be desired.”

Darcy shrugged and said, “Nobody's perfect.”

She gazed at him for a moment. After everything she'd said, done and written, was he really prepared to shrug it all off?

“Don't stand there all day. There's a wedding on soon.”

Lizzy's mouth fell open. Was he teasing her? He grinned and began instructing the catering manager on some matter of great unimportance. Lizzy made her way back to Jane's room in a daze.

***

Three hours and fifty five minutes later, the panic and chaos were entirely absent. Mrs Bennet had been surprisingly adept at arranging everything as regarded the hair and make-up and they were all now ready and posing for a few informal photographs. When the time came to go downstairs, Jane took Lizzy to one side as everyone else bundled out of the room, chattering nineteen to the dozen.

“It feels like everything is changing,” she whispered, eyes wide.

“You said you weren't nervous.”

“I'm not… but… it won't ever be the same again, will it?”

Lizzy smiled and kissed her sister on the cheek.

“Janey, you'll still be in Notting Hill. You'll always have first refusal on my spare room wherever it is, and no doubt we'll still giggle over your ridiculous crush on Paul Walker.”

“He's handsome!”

“He's a charisma vacuum who can't act,” Lizzy disagreed. “See? Some things will never change, even when you have twenty five grandchildren and I'm the boho spinster auntie. We'll still be the same.”

“I… yes.” Jane seemed to decide on something and was utterly resolved. “Love you, Lizzy.”

“Love you too.”

***

In the days, weeks, months, years and decades to come, everyone present agreed that Jane Bennet was one of the most beautiful brides ever seen. It went perfectly and Mrs Bennet was so truly moved that she forgot to sniffle loudly at prime moments.

As Charlie and Jane left the ballroom to go outside (where it was no longer raining but in fact rather beautifully damp) for photographs, the Best Man led the Maid of Honour in their footsteps.

“You changed, I see.”

“I told you I would. Is it an improvement?” Darcy asked, smiling politely for the benefit of the photographers.

“The last time I saw you this dressed up, I think I insulted you,” Lizzy paused. “Come to think on it, I did that when you were dressed casually, so… Speaking of, Darcy-”

“Come on, it's photograph time.” Darcy grabbed her arm and almost dragged her over to Jane, who was crying so hard she was laughing and Charlie, who was laughing so hard he was crying.

***

Photography took what felt like an age, but it allowed the behind the scenes people to get the ballroom ready for the reception. Meanwhile, guests sipping champagne and ate fine canapés in the cluster of beautifully decorated reception rooms as they swooned loudly of Darcy, King of the Britons and his grand palace.

“I uh…” Will leaned in as he stood beside her during photographs. “I'd like to ask if you'd do me a favour.”

Lizzy raised an eyebrow. What favour could she do for Will Darcy?

“If I can.”

“I'd like to introduce you to my sister.”

“That's not a favour, that's an introduction,” she said, trying to cover her shock at being asked such a thing.

“No, I mean… She stood at the back during the wedding and ran out as soon as it was over. She's… I don't know what to do.”

The sound of Will Darcy admitting defeat might have sounded sweet to Lizzy once but now it all but broke her heart. She allowed him to lead her a slight distance away from everyone else.

“Where is she?” she asked.

“Up in her music room, as far away from everyone else as she can get.”

“I don't know if I'm the best-”

“You exposed George to the world and never mentioned her at all, for which you have my eternal gratitude and admiration.”

Lizzy couldn't believe her ears.

“I'm not a very good journalist. I actually keep secrets and… I'm just not a very good journalist.”

“Georgie read the article you wrote, and all the others that followed. If it weren't for that, I don't think she'd even have come back for the wedding.”

“Wouldn't you rather Jane spoke to her? She knows Caroline, doesn't she?”

Will grimaced.

“Georgie is terrified of Caroline. She's met her all of once when Caroline forced her way onto the trip to Mustique and… the whole time Caroline tried to ingratiate herself with Georgie by bitching about everyone else! It made Georgie paranoid about what Caroline would turn around and say about her. And Jane… I don't know if you noticed but she's busy.”

On looking over, Lizzy realised that the bride was actually overwhelmed by people.

“Even if she weren't, I'd still ask you. Jane is a great lady but like Georgie, is very placid. I… You have… spirit, I suppose. Might help.”

Lizzy could see how hard this conversation was on him and couldn't bear to make him continue.

“Come on then,” she said.

“What? Now?”

“No time like the present.”

“I'll… uh… yeah.”

Lizzy followed Darcy into the house and up several flights of stairs, into an airy music room towards the very top of the building. Georgiana Darcy, was sat at the piano playing what Lizzy actually recognised as Liebestraum by Franz Liszt.

Georgiana was very pretty in her own way, almost too masculine facially to be beautiful, but incredibly striking and somehow also very delicate. She had a sheet of blonde hair that hung around her face even as she played.

“Georgie?” Darcy called out to her in a soft voice. Georgiana leapt off the piano stool in shock.

“Sorry.”

“You startled me, Will!” Georgiana's voice was incredibly soft- more of a whisper on a breeze, as if she'd got used to speaking only rarely and her voice was rusty. She looked at Lizzy with an intense sort of gaze. Lizzy, who hardly had a good track record with Darcy stares, couldn't tell if it was curious, scared, haughty or suspicious.

“Georgie, this is Lizzy Bennet. The writer.”

“Oh,” she continued to stare at Lizzy but sat back down at the piano.

”Well…” Darcy paused awkwardly. “I thought you'd like to meet her.”

“Yes.” Georgie continued to just look at Lizzy.

“Darcy, why don't you sod off? We'll talk or play the piano or something and you can come and get us when it's time for dinner?” Lizzy hated taking over like this, but with Will clearly unable to string words together, it had to be done. She wondered what Georgiana made of her doing such a thing. Will looked relieved and left quickly. Lizzy, dress rustling loudly, sat down near the piano and Georgiana resumed playing quietly.

“Will told you about me, didn't he?” Georgiana sounded resigned rather than accusatorial, but Lizzy flinched guiltily just the same.

“Yes.”

”I don't know why he'd do that.”

“Because I accused him of a few terrible things based on… Georgie, if I can call you that, he needed to tell someone his troubles, even if it was someone who treated him like dirt.”

“You did?”

“Oh yeah,” Lizzy grimaced. “There's nothing in my part of the story that I'm proud of.”

“I don't know why he'd tell you. You're a journalist!”

“He knew I'd keep my word. I haven't told anyone anything. My sister knows part of it, but not your side of it. I haven't told anyone and unless you tell me otherwise, I never will.”

Georgie did not reply to this. Lizzy shifted uneasily in her seat and decided to try and bluster past the awkwardness again.

“Now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk.”

“About what?”

“About why your brother is so concerned about you. Or why you won't come downstairs.”

The look on Georgiana's face told Lizzy that she was not haughty or proud, but incredibly, painfully shy. She sighed as she realised Georgie probably would've been this reluctant even without Wickham's intervention. She then realised that Will Darcy was almost exactly the same.

“Tough love won't work, will I?” Lizzy asked gently. Georgie shook her head and began playing something sad.

“You're a very good pianist. Will never mentioned it.”

“I don't like playing in front of people. When he tells them, they ask me to play, so he doesn't tell people anymore. I don't like it.”

“Then I won't reveal your piano skills either.”

“Is… Is Caroline Bingley downstairs?”

“Yes.”

“When we go downstairs, will you… please don't leave me alone with her.”

“When, not if?”

“I want to see Charlie and meet Jane, but… not yet. When everyone is sat down eating and they won't notice me.”

Lizzy's heart broke as this beautiful girl shook at the fear of being seen.

“People will always notice you, Georgie. You're too beautiful to go ignored.” Georgie's look turned to `dumb terror'. “But you'll learn to ignore the people you don't want to notice yourself. If you give it a try. The longer you lock yourself away, the harder it gets. And I don't just mean today.”

Tears slid down Georgiana's face, and Lizzy dared to sit by her on the piano stool. She handed Georgiana her handkerchief and smiled impishly.

“Do you happen to know Chopsticks?”

“No. What is it?”

“You're a pianist and you don't know Chopsticks? Right then, shove up a bit.”

***

Chopsticks? Darcy could hear Chopsticks? He opened the door to the music room and found his sister in a fit of giggles next to Lizzy Bennet, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. They were thumping out Chopsticks on the piano.

“Now she's a pianist!” Lizzy called to him. He smiled broadly at her, then at Georgiana.

“Dinnertime,” he told them, loathe to break this up happy scene. To his shock, Georgie rose off the stool with only a momentary pause and took his arm. Lizzy smiled softly, almost proudly, and followed them out. She could've sworn there were tears in Darcy's eyes.

They entered the ballroom to find it transformed into a fairytale of a dining room, all glittering lights, glistening crystal and shining white flowers. A string quartet played pretty baroque melodies as everyone dawdled in to take their places, chattering as they did.

Caroline Bingley had been stationed by the doors and now approached the Darcys with the all determination and subtlety of a Sherman tank. After Georgie's pleas, Lizzy wasn't about to let this happen.

“Caroline, have you met Auntie Donna? You really must do before we all sit down!”

If Caroline was confused by Lizzy's sudden friendly manner, she hid it badly. She met Donna, an ageing hippie with a broad Birmingham accent and only realised the Darcys were off across the room when it was time to sit down.

***

Lizzy, as befitted her role, was sat at the head table between Charlie and Robbie O'Sullivan, the Irishman who played for Arsenal and who had been one of his groomsmen. He chattered on to her, apparently suffering from the delusion that if an Irishman is naturally charming, a rich, famous and athletic one must be more so.

Lizzy personally disagreed, and found him nice enough but thoroughly self-absorbed. She allowed her mind to wander as she picked at the beautiful dinner laid before her: all the tension of the day had rendered her not hungry. Jane didn't seem to be suffering the same problem, for she was tucking into her salmon with a vengeance.

The knife-against-the-champagne glass moment came and Mr Bennet made a rambling but amusing speech about Jane and Charlie which ended with his gift to them, which turned out to be the down payment on a Notting Hill house they'd been desperate to secure.

Darcy got up to give his speech and Lizzy found that her mind no longer wandered. He looked uncomfortable with everyone staring at him, but he soldiered on, giving a speech that encompassed a number of moments in his relationship with Charlie. The image of two sixteen year old footballers trying to impress some Imperial College London students at a central London pub would have her chuckling for weeks to come. The last sentiments nearly had her weeping at the table as they all toasted the bride and groom.

***

Lizzy wandered around the rose garden as the sun finally set completely. The reception was in full swing- a DJ having taken the place of dining tables and the string quartet. Somehow, the word had got around that the underage girls were really not to be served alcohol and so mercifully Lizzy's sisters remained only rambunctious and not rat-arsed.

A strange feeling of great happiness, contentment and great sadness had settled on Lizzy as the party continued. She couldn't stand to be told she was “next”, nor could she answer again why she'd not brought someone as a date. At least, she thought, she'd been spared the awkwardness of dancing with Darcy, for when it came time to dance, he was nowhere to be found. She was disappointed not to be able to lord it over Caroline a little, but she hadn't wanted to force her dancing skills on Darcy in the first place. Surely, it was definitely for the best. Surely.

It was starting to get cold, and she rubbed her bare arms rather than admit defeat and go back indoors. Her heeled shoes sank into the ground, which had been softened by the rain and she realised that the hem of her dress was probably now muddy. Well, it wasn't like she'd have call to wear it again- even if any of her sisters married soon, they'd never let her get away with wearing something so tasteful.

Lydia liked pink, so she'd choose something between fuchsia and magenta. Kitty was a big fan of blue and seemed to like puffy dresses. Mary, should she ever lower herself to speak to a boy, would probably get married in a registry office on a Tuesday morning to avoid fuss, bother and nonsense.

She found that she had wandered out quite a distance, and her way was illuminated now only by the moon and the faint glimmer of the house lights. The music was muffled at this distance, but she recognised it as Celebration by Kool and the Gang. She turned back in the vague direction of the house, but continued wandering until she came upon a small nook in the grounds, hidden away by the trees.

A stone bench called out to her sore feet but as she got closer, she found that it was already occupied.

“Lizzy!” Georgiana Darcy leapt up to her feet guiltily.

“Had too much of them indoors?” Lizzy asked. Georgie nodded, unable to meet her gaze. “Me too.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah! Parties are tiring, especially the sort where it's all mostly family or people you don't know. It's not a crime to dislike parties, Georgie, it's just a shame not to try them.”

“I've had a nice time. I like your sister Jane a lot, but Lydia…” Georgie stopped, unable to be rude about Lizzy's sister. Lizzy had no such problem.

“Scares the hell out of you? She does that to me too.”

Georgiana managed a smile and sat back down. Lizzy followed, her feet throbbing.

“Lizzy… about what you said earlier. Why were you mean to Will?”

“I didn't like him.”

“How could you not like Will? He's perfect!”

“Practically perfect, Georgie. He was really rude when I first met him, but… It was my own fault. I realise that all too well now. See… Will hates parties as much as you do and when he goes to them it manifests itself in being very curmudgeonly. You're not the first or last person to be scared of meeting people. Come to that, you're not the first or last to be taken in by George Wickham's lies.”

“What do you mean?”

“I believed every word that man told me at first, just because I wanted to.”

”He didn't tell you about me, did he?”

“All he said about you was that you were just a society party girl content to sunbathe in the sun instead of being at school. When Caroline said you were in Mustique, I took it as proof that everything else he said must be true. But we know better now, don't we? I've never seen a girl less the carefree society heiress than you.”

“You believed him?”

“He's very charming and very persuasive. He knows just what to say and how to say it…. I was trained to see through liars and he got me. Even if I hadn't been predisposed to hearing nasty things about Will, I probably would've fallen for it. You were young, innocent and remembered him from your childhood. You did nothing wrong.”

“I did, though. I… I slept with him and I thought he loved me.”

“He's an excellent liar and he has no conscience.”

“I loved him.”

“No you didn't. True love comes when it works both ways. You gave him a lot, but your heart is still yours to give to someone who deserves you. You're not the first girl to be fooled by love.”

Lizzy got the feeling she was talking too much, and talking too much like a bad film, but she was suddenly desperate to make Georgie realise it wasn't her fault.

“But… Will didn't tell you I… he didn't tell you I had an abortion, did he?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Don't you think I'm a terrible person?”

“No.”

“But I am! I am!”

“No, dear girl,” Lizzy now found herself cradling Georgie in her arms as the girl wept. “You're just young and very very sad.”

“I'm a terrible person. I killed my-”

“No sweetheart, you didn't. I don't think anyone with a heart would condemn you for it. Not if they knew everything. Sometimes life really is a stone-hearted bitch to us.”

“I dream about her, you know.”

Lizzy's heart shattered as this girl, this tiny girl who was younger than her years in the ways that really mattered, told her this. She felt tears running down her own face. She wanted to destroy George Wickham more than she'd ever wanted to hurt anyone before.

In that moment, Lizzy also realised she'd never hated Will. What she felt for George was real hate. She reined it in to concentrate on Georgiana and what she'd just said.

“You do? What's her name?”

“Anastasia.”

“Nice name… You know, she'll be with you forever. Things happen the way they do for a reason.”

Lizzy stopped talking. There was no way to make this better with clever words. No way. Georgiana sniffed delicately and blew her nose on the hanky Lizzy had given her earlier.

“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-”

“It's all right,” Lizzy cut in. “Everyone needs to talk to someone. Even about difficult stuff. Especially difficult stuff, come to think about it.”

“How did you become so wise?”

Lizzy laughed heartily, the irony too much to bear.

“I'm not very wise, not remotely. I'm just further along the road than you are. You know, you'll look back and laugh at some of this one day. Not all of it,” she added hastily. “But you'll go off to university soon and meet all kinds of people and you'll know which ones are your real friends by the way they don't ask to meet Will.”

“Oh, I already know that!” Georgie said. “Most people just talk to me to get to Will. Even at school. It's… I went to Mustique to leave everything behind. I'd rather be alone than be with people who only want Will. Everyone I know is half in love with him. Why, I think you're the first person I've met who isn't!”

Lizzy laughed, but it sounded weird.

“I'm sorry, I've taken you away from the party.” Georgie was apologising again. “And I've ruined your dress.”

“Oh, I'd still be here without you. I'm avoiding my cousin Billy. Very tactile man. And it's not like I'll ever wear the dress again.”

“I'm sorry, though! You only met me today and- I've never talked to anyone like this and-”

“Georgie, don't worry about it! In some ways I've known you since Will's letter. Maybe before… I'm sure I remember him telling me about a great science project.”

“It was called Sweet as Death. Will helped with the title.”

”He was very proud of you. At the time it was the one thing I found likeable about him.”

“I've let him down so much, you know. Since then… I don't know, since George and everything. He's got no reason to be proud of me.”

“Except you're wrong. He told me about that after everything happened between you and Wickham.”

“I don't think so. He's been so… I don't know… He's angry with me and I don't blame him.”

“He's not angry with you, silly girl! He's worried about you, but not angry!”

“But-”

“I'm glad I'm not the only one to get confused by those stares of his! Georgie, I've never seen a brother who cared so much about. He loves you. Half the reason I disliked him was because of what I thought was just being a surly git. It wasn't that- it was him sat there, pretending to care about anything beyond how to make you feel better!”

Georgie's tears began again, but quiet, slow tears.

“Really?”

“Honest to God.”

“Oh, I… I didn't realise.”

“No, neither did I.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Ready to go back inside? It's getting distinctly freezing out here.”

“I look terrible!”

“Nothing some cold water couldn't solve. I bet there's a door into this place somewhere that takes us to a bathroom without anyone seeing us?”

“Yes…”

Lizzy took Georgie's arm and they walked back towards the house. Georgie suddenly stopped as they entered through a small side door.

“Thank you, Lizzy.”

“It's what friends are for.”

“Are we friends?”

“If you want.”

“I do!”

“Thank God for that- I've never seen a girl in such need of a best pal before. Or more deserving, come to that. Now, get inside and let's make you beautiful again.”

***

Charlie and Jane left some time before midnight, suitcases in the back of the car that would take them to the airport. From there it was to Mustique and Will's house, which Lizzy realised she now thought of as Georgie's House.

As the bride and groom left, the atmosphere clearly changed and slowed down. Guests began leaving to go either to hotels or drive home. In the case of the close family, they began trudging up the stairs to their guest rooms.

Georgiana had run up to her room before anyone could notice her or commandeer her into a conversation. Everyone else took things a little slower, except for Mrs Bennet who had just fallen asleep at a table in the ballroom.

Lizzy realised she'd not seen or spoken to Will since his speech, not even for the dance they'd been meant to have. She wondered what he'd think of the things she'd said to Georgie, if it really would help her at all. She thought a great deal.

Too wound up to sleep, Lizzy made her way to the library, which was the only place besides her room where she was definite about the location.

A light was on and she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised to find Will there at his photo-covered desk. He was writing furiously in what looked like a ledger of some kind.

“Do you know it's nearly one o'clock in the morning?” she asked. He wasn't startled, and continued writing.

“Yes, there's a clock on the wall. And I observe that you're also still awake.”

“Ah, I'm winding down from a party, not… accounting? Surely it can wait until tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we're driving back to London.”

“Oh.”

“Training the day after and the day after that… I'd really just rather get this out of the way.”

“What is it? If you don't mind me asking, I mean-”

“Oh, it's just some basic stuff…”

“I think you're lying.”

“I never lie. I bend the truth occasionally, but never lie. It is basic. It's… I'm just trying to balance some figures.”

Lizzy actually leaned over him to see. There were several columns and they all dealt with huge amounts of money. Pemberley, FitzDarcy, The Annabella Foundation and a few others.

“Big figures,” she remarked tartly.

“Yes, they are. It's all relative, I suppose.” Will put his pen down, leaned back and looked at Lizzy.

“You know, there are computers that do this sort of thing for you now.”

“And I'd still have to check and double check. I have accountants that do this sort of thing, but if you think I'm just going to trust the rest of the world with my responsibilities, you don't know me at all.”

“No, I don't,” Lizzy replied, realising the truth of it. “And I'm sorry to say that.”

“Yes.”

“I'm just sorry in general, really. I was incredibly presumptuous and cruel to you just because… Just because. On more than one occasion, too. I made you ridiculous in the newspapers because of that argument and…”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does, though, because-”

“No, it doesn't though. Nobody died because of it, nobody's life is ruined. You said some things that were inaccurate but you said a lot that was. I should thank you for helping hold a mirror up, really. But Lizzy? It wasn't the end of the world that two people had a misunderstanding. If you can forgive the things I said, for which I apologise unreservedly by the way, I can certainly return the compliment.”

“Then… yes.”

“All right.”

“I'm also sorry that I wasn't there to dance with you. My bloody agent rang and started discussing contracts with me… no amount of telling him I was at a wedding shut him up.”

“You did me a favour really,” she told him lightly. “I really am not much of a dancer.”

They remained silent for a moment.

“You've made my sister smile again, Lizzy,” Will whispered. “I'll be grateful to you for the rest of my life.”

“I don't want gratitude, Will. I didn't talk to her because you asked, you know. She's a very lovely girl. You just introduced us.”

Will nodded and cleared his throat.

“We shall probably meet again soon,” he said. “Charlie and Jane, and what have you. I should like us to meet as friends next time.”

“Friends?”

“Yes.”

“Friends it is.” Lizzy held out her hand and after a moment's pause, he shook it gently.

“Friends, Lizzy Bennet.”

“Yes, Will Darcy. Wouldn't The Sun love to see us now?”

“I'm sure they would.”

“Good night, Will.”

“Sleep well, Lizzy.”

Lizzy felt rather lighter leaving the room than she had entering it, even though she hadn't spoken to him about Georgie.

***
Chapter Eight

When Lizzy returned to London, she found that life settled down again very quickly, although she felt Jane's absence rather keenly. Then again, most of her guilt towards Darcy had been alleviated by the man himself and so one part of her life had been resolved somewhat. She made much of her sister's wedding in her column and in the Wednesday column after the wedding, a mysteriously named friend called `G' made her debut:

“I can't mention the wedding without telling you about G… who was the most beautiful girl there aside from the bride- and the best company too.”

Two days later, Lizzy got an email from `G' herself:

“I'm finally going back to school from next week. Would you like to come to a football game with me before I go? You've got to save me from the WAGs!”

The next day then, Lizzy found herself at Highbury Stadium in the players' lounge. Many of the girls were vaguely familiar from Slik, and they all appeared to be whispering about her- no doubt wondering why she was there. When Georgiana Darcy floated in and attached herself to Lizzy, the whispering intensified.

“I persuaded Will to get us a private box for the game,” Georgie told Lizzy. “I don't want to watch with the families.”

“All right,” Lizzy allowed Georgie to take her to the box chosen for them, and found herself pleased at how Georgie chattered on quite happily about going back to school.

“I've missed so much, and it's my final year, but Mrs Lacey has said that I might make it if I work hard… but I don't mind it if I repeat the year. A girl last year did it after she spent six months at home with Chronic Fatigue.”

“Don't overdo it,” Lizzy advised. “You seem awfully cheerful today.”

“I am! When everyone left Pemberley, Will and I sat down and talked and talked and talked! We really… I think you helped a lot, but Will just… I think everything will be all right now. Mostly. Anyway, he gave me this box and said I could invite anyone I wanted to, and I thought of you! Do you like football?”

“I'm…” Lizzy wanted to be honest and remembered a similar conversation, which seemed to have taken place in a different age. “I'm indifferent to it, but I've never seen a game played live.”

“Oh, it's the best! I mean, it's even better out on the terraces but I just couldn't face it, I hope you don't mind.”

“Not remotely.” Lizzy sat back in the comfortable chair and sipped at the coffee provided. “Seriously, how did Will wangle this one for you?”

Georgie shrugged and said. “I don't know. He probably sweet-talked whichever corporate people have it this year.”

“The prawn sandwich brigade?”

”Exactly!” Georgiana giggled girlishly.

Kick off came a few minutes later, and Lizzy had no trouble picking out Will on the pitch- the tall, commanding presence and the increasingly long dark hair. She saw little Davoric, flitting up and down the field like a bird. The newest Arsenal star was golden-haired Alexandros, who had come from Olympiacos in the previous summer and acted like Alexander The Great on and off the field. He was arguably prettier than Darcy, but his playing was erratic.

“Isn't he great?” Georgie asked, eyes wide, mouth open.

“He's a show-off.”

“Oh I know, but he's handsome!”

“I think the fans would prefer it if he stopped strutting about and scored a goal.”

At that very moment, a goal was scored, but not by Alexandros. It was scored by Darcy, who was leapt at by his team mates in celebration. He grinned, hugged them and waved at the crowd, beaming.

At half-time, Arsenal were up two goals (Darcy 19, O'Sullivan 31) to Tottenham's one (Keane, 33). By full time, Darcy had taken the score to 3-1 with a rather well taken penalty.

The atmosphere was accordingly excellent when Lizzy and Georgiana arrived back there, still getting odd glances and whispers as they did.

“Lizzy!” Davoric was one of the first players to emerge from the dressing rooms to greet everyone. “Nice to see you again!”

”And you, Dav.”

“Have you gone to Croatia yet?”

“I haven't had a holiday yet,” she replied, gratified that he had remembered their conversation.

“Who is your beautiful friend?” Dav winked at Lizzy.

“Georgiana Darcy.”

“Georgie? No, I didn't recognise you!” Dav began a riff on the `oh my haven't you grown' theme which Georgie played along with.

“I've been on holiday,” she said, blushing furiously at the attention. Dav smiled and said nothing to this. He did, however, see Caroline Bingley coming over.

”I must go! Bye!”

He disappeared and Georgie's entire being tensed up as Caroline greeted her with an air kiss. Caroline ignored Lizzy entirely.

“I'm so sorry I missed you at the wedding!” she cooed.

“I didn't stay long,” Georgie whispered, back to the version of herself that Lizzy had first met. “Jetlag, you know.”

“Of course, darling! Have you seen what Cheryl is wearing? Honestly, I-”

“Sorry to interrupt, but Georgie, didn't you want to get food?”

This time, Caroline did realise Lizzy's intentions and she was not happy about it. She flounced back over to her table and sipped at her drink.

***

Will was one of the last players to arrive upstairs and was greeted as royalty by all. Lizzy watched, amused.

“Will, you scored! Twice!” George was as excited as the rest of them as she bounced up and down at their table. He slid onto the seat beside her and gave her a squeeze.

“I told you I would, didn't I? I scored for you, just as I said I would.”

“You scored twice, though. Who was the other one for?

Lizzy hoped rather than believed she saw him glance at her.

“Both for you, kid,” he told Georgiana. “For coming today.”

“You looked good out there, Will,” Georgie continued, apparently unable to let the game drop from their conversation. “Like you were having fun again!”

“It felt almost fun again,” he replied. “Almost.”

“Fun?” Lizzy asked. Will shrugged and thanked the barman who brought over a drink for him.

“It hasn't been much fun for awhile now. The drudgery, the schedule, the other nonsense that comes with playing football these days… No I wouldn't call it fun.”

“Isn't fun why you started playing football in the first place?”

“Yes,” Will said in such a clipped, short manner than she didn't press the matter. Another piece of the puzzle that was Will Darcy fell into place for her. Then her curiosity got the better of her:

“If it's not fun, why do it?”

“I can't do much else,” he replied. Lizzy suspected it was meant to be a joke, but it didn't sound much like one.

“You just have to find the fun!” Georgie exclaimed and continued to chatter. It occurred to Lizzy that Georgiana had been so silent for so long that she wasn't going to shut up for a long time. She sat back and listened to Will and Georgie banter affectionately back and forth, and she realised that far from being surly and humourless, Will Darcy was actually in possession of a dry, almost wicked sense of humour. He was sweet to Georgie, but didn't appear as over-protective as he had been at the wedding- perhaps this was one of the outcomes of their marathon conversation.

As they sat there, many women and fans came over to speak to Will, but he ignored the women and dismissed the fans as quickly as he could in order to talk to Georgiana. Even Lizzy, sat right there, felt almost sidelined.

“What do you think, Lizzy?”

“What?” she asked, jolted out of her thoughts. Georgie laughed.

”Will says Comic Relief asked him to take part in a sketch with Alexandros and Danny Buckram from Man. United. Do you think he should?”

“Of course! Nothing like making a tit of yourself for charity to prove you're a human being.”

“Wouldn't that deflate my legend as a demi-god?”

Aha! Lizzy realised then that the left side of Will's mouth quirked upwards when he was joking. Feeling like she'd cracked the Da Vinci Code, she replied:

”Darcy, you'd have to admit to being a closet David Cassidy fan, a Spurs supporter and then be caught in bed with last year's Big Brother runner-up to even begin to dent your legend.”

Will laughed so loudly that people turned to look.

”I've got a good mind to try that.”

“Darcy, David Cassidy? Don't be a fool.”

They sat talking for some time, until most players had departed for Yet Another New Nightclub.

“Alex!” Darcy called over to someone about to leave. Alexandros loped over with the feline grace of a powerful jungle cat, his blond hair all but glowing in the light.

“Darcy, captain.”

“I just wanted to introduce you to my sister. Georgie, this is Alexandros. Alex, my little sister, Georgie.”

From the look on Darcy's face, he was only doing this to humour his sister. Alexandros leaned over and shook her hand politely, receiving a nervous, girlish giggle in return. He turned to eye Lizzy closely, curiously.

“And?” he asked, taking Lizzy's hand in his own.

“Lizzy Bennet,” Darcy replied curtly. “The writer. Friend of the family.”

“Ah, you are the girl from Slik!”

“Right,” Lizzy went red.

“That was ages ago,” Darcy replied too cheerfully, too firmly. “Well Alex, we're off, so… See you at training.”

“You will. Good night ladies, Lizzy.”

Alexandros smiled brightly at Lizzy and then sauntered away. In the spirit of Darcy's `we're off' proclamation, the Darcys and Lizzy wandered through to the car park where Darcy's Aston was parked in one of the best spaces.

“How did you get here, Lizzy?” Darcy asked.

”Tube to Finsbury Park.”

“We'll give you a lift home.”

“Are you sure?”

”It's what friends are for,” he replied, opening the door for her. The car being two-seater, Lizzy and Georgie were rather illegally squished together on the passenger seat. Georgie was so slight that Lizzy was hardly uncomfortable.

“I thought of you the other day when Goldfinger was on TV,” Lizzy said as they left the stadium.

“The DB5 is slow and handles terribly,” he said. “A great car then, but now? She's beautiful, though.”

“Will owns two,” Georgie cut in.

“Two DB5s?”

“No. I've got a DB5 and a DB3. They're both up at the Pemberley garage. Nice for a sunny day's drive when you aren't in a hurry to get anywhere.”

“What is it with footballers and cars?” Lizzy asked, a challenge of a smirk on her face.

”Too much money and not enough brains,” Darcy shot back.

“I'm sure that isn't the whole story.”

“No? Steve Taylor, one of our right backs, reads the Independent and he's considered both high brow and just plain bonkers. As for me, if they ever discovered my subscription to the FT, I'd never live it down.”

”You subscribe to the Financial Times?”

“Of course. I'm not actively involved in FitzDarcy, but I own a large chunk of it. It would be careless of me to not to take an interest. Then there's the Annabella Foundation.”

“I keep hearing that name.”

“It's the charity my father set up-”

“I know. I even know which figure in the foundation has been Skillz4Life so much money, and who arranged for Arsenal to show up at the ball. And the training day.”

“Oh.” Darcy's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “It's meant to be anonymous.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want it to be like `look at Will Darcy doing his bit to get attention.' I don't want it to be about me.”

“Darcy, you're an idiot.”

“Thanks. What for this time?” he snapped.

“You get all that attention anyway! You might as well do something with it. There are people who devour every bit of news about you. You don't think the Annabella Foundation or Skillz4Life or any other charity would turn down your endorsement of them?”

“I-”

“Will, you do realise you missed the signs for Shoreditch?” Georgie asked suddenly, and Will realised he'd driven past and was about to cross into the City of London.

“Oh bugger-” Will turned the car with almost frightening speed and expertise. “Sorry.”

“It's all right,” Lizzy replied. “I didn't notice. And hopefully the police won't have noticed your impression of The Stig.”

“I'm sure it's fine. And as for charity-”

“Do Comic Relief, Will. See if you enjoy it. If you don't, just give them all money instead. Try being a spokesman and if it doesn't work, the world won't end.”

Will nodded, brow furrowed and finally said, “All right.”

The car finally pulled up outside Lizzy's and she bade them farewell.

“Good luck back at school, Georgie.”

“Thanks.”

“Email me any time you like, OK?”

“OK.”

“Night Will.”

“Good night, Lizzy.”

***

Lizzy didn't see anything of either Darcy for some time. She didn't see much of anyone, come to that, having secreted herself away to make a real start on her Very First Novel. She did see Darcy's appearance on Comic Relief, first in a skit with Alexandros and Danny Buckram, but also in Dawn French's infamous usual “if you give us a million quid this hour, I'll get to snog the current heartthrob du jour” stunt. The money was raised with breathtaking ease and Dawn got to snog Will Darcy. Will Darcy took it in his stride although he looked nervous, according to all the reviews the next day.

***

The second Skillz4Life training day at Shenley was planned for less than one week after Charlie and Jane returned from Mustique. They were full of praise for the island, the house and the girl who had been its resident before them.

“Lizzy, you had to see it to believe it! Georgiana arranged for flowers everywhere, and she had the housekeeper light candles for our arrival and… it was like something out of a fairytale!”

Lizzy listened down the line as Jane continued along this particular conversational path for some time.

“Will you come to the training day?” Jane changed the subject abruptly.

“Oh, yeah. OK.”

“Perhaps The Guardian could send a photographer too?”

”I can suggest it to Sarah Jane.”

“You need to be there for half past nine. No sleeping in this time!”

“I'll see you then.”

“Not before?”

“I'm behind on writing and you need to settle yourself back in at home. I'll see you on Friday, bright and early. Your tan won't have faded by then.”

Jane laughed happily and with a final goodnight, put the phone down. Lizzy found herself looking forward to Friday- not least because Darcy, King of the Britons, might actually turn up this time.

***

In fact, Will Darcy's green Aston was already in the car park at Shenley when Lizzy arrived. She had a warm reunion with her tanned sister and her equally tanned new husband. She began an attempt at reporting- a list of those in attendance, important facts and such, but was interrupted when one of the Arsenal team commanded her attention.

“Good morning, Lizzy.”

“Hi Alex.”

“It is very nice to see you here today.”

Something about his tone set her on edge, as it had at Highbury, and she wasn't yet certain what it was. He was charming, polite and friendly, just as George Wickham had been. Of course! She had no reason to suspect Alexandros of anything but cockiness, but she had no reason to think he wasn't a vain, overpaid and arrogant football star.

Moreover, she realised that the way he spoke made it sound like she was only there for him. He would have to be put straight.

“Well, my sister asked me to cover the event, like I did last time.”

“Ah yes, I was unable to be here then. I had to go back to Greece.”

Lizzy shook her head. So Will hadn't been the only one to miss last time- just the only one she'd noticed.

“Why did you need to go back? Nothing awful, I hope?”

Alex shrugged, “I just wanted to get some sun.”

Even at her self-recriminatory best, Lizzy had not felt this ashamed for the accusations she'd thrown at Will. Alex continued talking, mostly about himself, but she wasn't listening. Her attention was diverted first by the arrival of Will Darcy on the field and second by the excited children who sprinted from their bus to greet him.

Lizzy watched as Will stood and allowed them to hug him, chatter to him and thrust autograph books at him. One girl declared her love for him a little tearfully, so he kissed the back of her hand gallantly and advised her to come back in ten or fifteen years time. One boy told Darcy he wanted to grow up to be just like him.

“Well Simon, the best way to do that is to practice hard, study hard and be yourself.”

It was hard enough making peace with being proved wrong. To be proved so utterly, utterly wrong was enough to make Lizzy's insides squirm unpleasantly with the knowledge that she deserved it.

Alexandros did not help matters, having apparently deduced from Lizzy's cold and disinterested manner that she wanted him. Every moment she had spared during the day was taken up trying to shake him off until finally, she said:

“Alex, the kids you came to help are over there. I'm more than capable of sitting here on my own. Capable and willing, in fact.”

She watched him slink back over to the children and he did not bother her again. Towards the end of the day, the photographers sent to cover the event gathered everyone together. This time, Lizzy was not surprised to see Will in the thick of it, surrounded by adoring children. He posed and he smiled patiently- Lizzy calculated that it took forty-five minutes to take all the required shots, and then it was time to go home. The players bid the children warm farewells (Lizzy noted that Will, Davoric and Robbie O'Sullivan were by far the most interested in what was actually going on. Her memory of Robbie consisted largely of his self-absorbed monologue at the wedding, so she privately admitted surprise on this score.)

To her very great surprise, Will approached her before the Skillz4Life bus was even out of the gates.

“Hi.”

“Hey. You look… sweaty.”

“I am. Hardest games I've played in awhile. Also the most fun.”

“It is meant to be fun, you know.”

”I know… Did you… Did you see Comic Relief?”

“I most certainly did. You seemed to have a laugh even covered in gunge. Although I was surprised to see your second appearance of the night.”

“Dawn asked. It was meant to be Colin Farrell, but he was stuck in LA.”

“Hard life, isn't it, Darcy?”

“For some people, it is.”

“The children really got to you, didn't they?”

Will just nodded. He sucked in a deep breath.

“They have nothing. No money, terrible schools, parents that don't care. Nobody that cares or takes an interest in them… but they all know my goal scoring record and how many caps I've won for England… I have everything a person could want and they don't.”

“You helped today, more than you realise. Come back in ten years' time and they will remember today and you, their hero, taking an interest in them and talking to them.”

“I don't know that it would be wise to come back in ten years- that girl might remember too well!”

“Darcy, jolly well done today!” Charlie came bounding over and Lizzy felt a great sense of affection for anyone who still used the word `jolly'.

“Thank you. Mrs Reynolds is cooking this evening. Want to come over and bring the wife?” he paused. “Lizzy, you're welcome to come along also.”

She tried to feel like it hadn't been an afterthought, and gave Darcy an apologetic smile.

“I'm afraid I have a hot date tonight,” she joked.

“Alexandros?” Will asked, brow furrowed. She blinked once. Twice.

“Alex? Are you- Alexandros, the strutting peacock of Highbury? Give me some credit, Darcy! The hot date I refer to is with my computer.”

”Oh.” A hint of red suffused his face.

“My editor wants the report on today for tomorrow's paper. I'll be writing right up to deadline knowing me.”

“Well, if you're sure.”

“I am, unfortunately. I'd better sod off now, in fact. See you both soon, I'm sure.”

Lizzy flashed them her brightest, happiest smile and then bounded over to her car and from there, home.

***

Darcy Scores With Needy Kids

Lizzy bristled at the headline. She'd had no input into it and didn't like her name being directly underneath- too much like her old Mirror days.

“Will Darcy made one hundred children very happy at Skillz4Life's second Arsenal training day. The children met and played with and against Arsenal's brightest stars at their training ground in Hertfordshire. The biggest draw of the day was undoubtedly England hero Darcy, who spent the day teaching the children the skills and tactics of the modern game. Arsenal's Greek star Alexandros was on hand to set female hearts a-flutter but his team lost 3-0 to Darcy's in the mini-tournament staged. Still, it's the taking part that counts!

It wasn't the greatest thing she'd ever written, but it got the point across, and the photographs were what really made the story. The largest in all the papers that day was of beaming Will Darcy surrounded by equally smiling children. It was, Lizzy thought, the closest she'd ever seen Will Darcy to `content'.

***

“Lizzy?”

“Hello? Who is this?”

“It's Will. I know it's late, but…”

“It's…” she opened her eyes to check the time. “Three thirty, Darcy!”

“I'm sorry, but- Georgie isn't there, is she?”

“No.” Lizzy was awake now. “What's going on?”

“I got a call from Roedean about twenty minutes ago. She's not there and they said there was some incident with another girl and-”

Will was in danger of rambling.

“Will, where else have you tried?”

“She's not at Richard's, she's not at home. I even tried Anne, but Georgie would never go to Rosings of her own free will…”

“Will, calm down. Now, when do they think she left?”

“Any time after half eleven.”

“OK, and she'd had to travel, which isn't easy this time of night, so she could be on her way. Tried her mobile?”

“She left it at school.”

“Ah. Is there anyone at your house to see if she turns up?” Lizzy searched her brain desperately for anything they could do.

“Mrs Reynolds. Lizzy, I don't know what I'd do…”

“Shut up, Will. Now, what kind of money has she got?”

“A debit card.”

“What's the limit?”

“High. Very high.”

“Enough to get out of the country?”

“Yeah.”

“Has she got her passport?”

“I don't know. Probably.”

“If she wanted to go to Mustique, could she do it?”

“FitzDarcy has a plane at Heathrow.”

“Call them and tell them to make her wait, if she turns up.”

“Would they do that?”

“You're Will Darcy! Pull rank!”

“OK.”

“Ring me back when you're finished. I'll check downstairs to see if there's any sign she's been here.”

“OK.” He hung up.

Lizzy got out of bed and began dressing, just in case. She went downstairs to see if Georgie had been by and left a note or… anything, really. The phone rang again after a couple of minutes.

“The plane left an hour ago.”

“Oh.”

“If her bloody school had told me earlier!”

“They probably didn't know, Will.”

“Why not? She's in their care!”

“She's… I know. How'd they even find out?”

“Some girl grassed her up.”

“Does she have a name, this girl?” Lizzy asked, a thought forming.

“Oh, er… Ophelia Hayes?”

“Hayes? Like Colin Hayes, the MP for Folkestone?”

“I think so.”

“Colin Hayes was working with Callum Fry on education reform.”

“She must know something. Maybe George-“

“Maybe George exactly. Call Roedean and tell them Miss Hayes can expect a visit from her local constabulary.” Lizzy's mind was a-whirl as it hadn't been for a long time.

“Why?”

“Will, if she'd known anything before know, she'd have said something to Georgie already. I'd put money on her having see Georgie Porgy recently. She might even be his latest conquest.”

“Right.”

“You call Roedean, I'll call my friend at Special Branch.”

“Won't they be asleep?”

“Not to me. Call me back in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes passed quickly and the phone rang.

“Yes?”

“The police arrived at the school as I was on the phone.”

“My friend moves fast. Now, what about Georgie?”

”The plane was headed for Mustique. She'll be safe, but I don't think she's all right.”

“Will, I swear to God, if I meet Wickham again, I'll castrate the-”

“Get to the back of the queue,” he laughed harshly.

“What are you going to do?”

“Go to Mustique.”

“Don't you have a game?”

“Not until Wednesday. I'll be back by then. I've no idea what to say to Georgie in between now and then, but…”

“Will, ask me to come with you.”

“Lizzy, I'm begging you to come with me.”

“I'll meet you at Heathrow as soon as I can.”

Lizzy put the phone down and began to chuck stuff into a bag. She was pleased to see her passport exactly where it was meant to be for once. She was out of the door in fifteen minutes. Her phone rang while she was driving through very early morning London.

“Go to the private terminal,” Will told her.

“Isn't Georgie on your plane? Do you have another one tucked away somewhere?”

“No, I called in a favour.”

“From who?”

“The Duke of Cornwall.”

“Doesn't he have another name? Like the Prince of Wales?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, the roads are clear, I won't be long.”

Lizzy wasn't long, but knew a couple of speed cameras had clocked her- that was trouble for another day.

Will was already at the terminal, without a bag.

“Haven't you go any stuff?”

“Passport.”

”Fair enough.”

“I've got clothes and stuff at Pella.”

“All right. Lead on, Macduff.” Lizzy yawned, it being too early for anything civilised.

“I can't begin to thank you…”

“Do it later when I've had some sleep, Will.”

The plane was elegantly appointed as she'd expected, although everything was emblazoned with the Prince of Wales' crest.

“I didn't know he had his own plane these days,” she remarked, buckling herself into a seat.

“Apparently it works out cheaper for him and he makes money out of renting it out.”

“What favour did you call in?”

“Don't ask.”

“OK.” Lizzy settled into her seat. Will spoke to the captain on the phone and they were in the air within minutes. When she could, Lizzy lay back and fell asleep. Will's voice on the phone to various people was still going when she found oblivion.

***

Chapter Nine

When she awoke on the plane, Lizzy found Will typing away rapidly on a laptop. He had a mug of coffee beside him and it didn't appear he'd bothered with the triviality of slumber.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm emailing Richard about George. We'll have to keep it from Aunt Catherine.”

“Why? Georgie's eighteen now, isn't she?”

“Next week. And although Richard and I are Georgie's legal guardians, such things like law and my parents' wishes mean nothing to bloody Catherine de Bourgh.”

Lizzy had never heard him spew such venom at anyone before, not to mention a member of his family. She said nothing in response.

They finally touched down in Mustique and with breathtaking efficiency were into a car and driving down towards Pella.

“Mustique's privately owned you know,” Will said, feeling the need for conversation that didn't involve any variation on the name George.

“Really?”

“Some villas rent for twenty thousands dollars a week. Princess Margaret's old villa Les Jolies Eaux isn't far from Pella.”

“What are you going to say to Georgie?” Lizzy apparently didn't feel the same need to avoid the G word.

“I have no idea.”

“Don't shout at her.”

He looked at her, confused, as if shouting hadn't even occurred to him.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just… never mind.”

“It's all right.”

They arrived at Pella, a beautiful white villa built in the early 60s. The gardens were bursting with beautiful and exotic plants, and Lizzy could hear the ocean lapping against the beach close by.

“It's only on the other side of the house,” Darcy told her, guessing her train of thought. The sun was already rising in the sky and they went inside, looking for Georgie.

Georgie was, it turned out, sat on a chair on the soft white sandy beach. In the hour she'd been ahead of them, she'd changed into something white and gauzy, and she looked almost unreal.

“Georgie!”

She jumped in her seat at Will's voice. He ran over to her and knelt down in the sand.

“I just left a message on your voicemail,” she whispered. “Please don't be angry with me.”

Will pulled her to him and stroked his hair.

“I'm not angry with you. With Roedean, perhaps.”

“It's not their fault.”

“What happened?” he asked.

“Someone… Ophelia Hayes said she knew the real truth about me. She knows about George and Anastasia and… she threatened to tell everyone! I just… I couldn't face it, Will! They would… nobody would give me the time of day if they knew.”

“Have you got the internet, Georgie?” Lizzy asked, hating to interrupt.

“In the Sunroom.”

“All right.” Lizzy ran back into the house.

“Why is Lizzy here?” Georgie asked.

“She was worried about you.”

“How did she know?”

“I phoned her. I thought you might have gone to her house.”

“I wanted to, but I didn't know how to get to Shoreditch.”

“What a sister- you can get yourself to Mustique but not Shoreditch! I have failed you in so many, many ways.”

“No, you haven't!”

“Yes, I have. If you could remember our parents better you'd understand. I'm sorry, my sweet, darling girl.”

Georgie threw her arms around Will and began to cry.

“I think you did all right.”

“I couldn't protect you from George.”

“No, you couldn't. But I've been thinking about it, a lot, and neither could Daddy. He should've seen George for who he really was.”

“Yes.”

“Will, I'm not on drugs, falling out of Chinawhite nightly… I don't think you did too badly. It was my own fault-”

“No Georgie, you were so young!”

“Stop blaming yourselves and listen to this!” Lizzy called as she ran out towards them, waving a print out at them. “Police picked up former parliamentary aide George Wickham at a remote cottage in Dorset in the early hours of this morning. Mr Wickham, 29, is wanted in connection with financial misdeeds, but it has also been revealed today that the police are investigating claims he had a sexual relationship with a girl of 15.”

“Who?” Will asked.

“Ophelia is only fifteen,” Georgie replied, reading the piece of paper herself.

“She must have told the police when they called her in,” Lizzy suggested.

“Why did they do that?” Georgie asked, handing the paper to Will.

“Because I called the police,” Lizzy told her. “The only way Ophelia could've known about you and George was if he'd told her.”

“You called the police? For me?”

“Of course.”

Georgiana was very quiet and very still for a moment, then she spoke:

“I don't deserve either of you, I really don't. I don't deserve any of it.”

“Yes, you do,” Will murmured in her ear. “You deserve the very best of everything.”

Such absolute and unconditional love had an obvious effect on Georgiana: she burst into tears, big hacking sobs that required gallons of air to sustain.

Lizzy stood awkwardly watching, feeling horrible for witnessing it. Will glanced up at her and she realised he had no real idea what to do. Remembering too many occasions where she had to console inconsolable sisters, Lizzy bent down and took Georgie by the shoulders. She slowly helped the girl to her feet and, hugging her tightly, led her into the house and into her bedroom. There, she guided Georgie into bed and sat with her until the crying finally ceased and she slept.

***

Lizzy found Will outside on the lounger Georgie had been using. She was surprised- she expected him to be inside on a computer trying to stay connected to his world. He was grim-faced and staring out into the blue sea.

“Darcy? Will?”

“Is she all right?”

“She's asleep.”

“Does it get better?”

“Does what get better?”

“This. Will she ever be able to look at this without crying?”

“I think so.”

“I don't… I don't know what to do. I went to school with boys, worked with boys. I have no idea what to do, even for my own sister.”

“You're not expected to.”

“Yes, yes I am! I am expected to do it all and do it better than anyone else! Football, business, family, Georgie! Anything less than perfect and I've failed. I've failed my own sister!”

It took Lizzy a moment to realise that Will had tears streaming down his face.

“I don't know what to do, Lizzy. Tell me what to do.”

“I don't… I can't tell you how to live, Will.”

”I'm too tired to carry on,” he told her. “I hate football, I don't want to do business and… tell me what to do.”

Lizzy crouched beside him as he had done for Georgie.

“Right now, I advise you to cry.”

“Cry?” he asked, offended at the suggestion he would do something so unmanly, having apparently not noticed the tears already pouring down his face.

“Weep like a bloody baby. You'll feel better.”

“But-”

“Stop holding it all in. You're wound tighter than a spring. Stop being so brave and noble and Darcyish, Darcy.”

”You haven't always believed me brave or noble.”

“I was wrong.”

“Perhaps you're wrong now.” Will hiccupped from crying, but didn't seem to notice. She reached out and tugged on a lock of his hair.

“I'm not, though.”

Will's defences broke at last and he began crying just as Georgie had been a short time before. Lizzy cradled him against her shoulder and, as one might a child, rocked him gently until the cries ebbed away.

***

Will emerged from his room in fresh clothes and found Lizzy in the expansive kitchen making coffee the old-fashioned way.

“I couldn't work out how to use the space age coffeemaker, so it's done this way,” she explained, waving the spoon accusingly at the shiny coffeemaker. Will took the offered cup.

“I'm sure it's great.” He took a sip. “Well, I can be wrong.”

”Sorry.”

“It's all right. I should be apologising for-“

“No, you shouldn't. If you don't like football anymore, don't play. If you don't want the business, leave it to Rich. You don't owe your aunt anything and Georgie will be fine eventually. You're the luckiest bastard in Britain, so stop apologising for the things you can't control and concentrate on the things you can.”

He nodded tiredly.

“And get some sleep. You always look so bloody tired.”

Lizzy took a sip of her own coffee and poured it immediately down the sink.

***

Over the course of her stay on Mustique, Lizzy saw little of Will, but George took up a great deal of her attention. Georgiana was a very different sort of person here- not confident necessarily but certainly assured. It was her home as Pemberley was Will's home, and she got her strength from being there. She knew and loved Mustique, and Mustique seemed to return the favour. Georgie took Lizzy cycling around the island and introduced her to some neighbours. They went snorkelling and on Tuesday, Georgiana even treated Lizzy to a piano recital. Will was present for this, but silent. He barely said a word to anyone until it came time to him to go home for the next football game.

”Wait for us, Will!” Georgie's voice shook the house and he froze, his hand on the car door. He turned around and found her yanking her suitcase behind her.

“What?”

“We're coming with you.”

Will looked at Georgie, then at Lizzy following behind, wondering what had been said over the last three days to enact such a change in her. Lizzy shrugged.

“Besides,” Georgie added, “I want to spend my birthday with my family! I'm sure you've got all my presents there at home.”

“Absolutely,” Will managed a smile for her and held the door open for her.

***

It appeared though, that one Darcy had solved her problems, only for the other to fall into a pit of silent despair. Will said very little on the plane and, when it finally touched down at Heathrow, they discovered the massed media waiting for them.

As they left the plane and tried to make their way to Lizzy's car, the shouting began:

“What do you say to Wickham's claims, Darcy?”

“Who's the dark girl?”

“Didn't you know about Wickham and your sister?”

“Will this affect tomorrow night's game?”

Lizzy, glad to have pulled her car keys out on the plane, pushed Georgie into the back and pulled Will by the arm before he could attack anyone. She drove like a madman away from the terminal and didn't lift off the accelerator pedal until they couldn't see flashbulb lights any more.

“Will, what happened?” Georgie begged.

“I have no idea.” He looked just as confused as everyone else in the car. That in mind, Lizzy skidded the car into the first petrol station forecourt they found and bought copies of some of the papers. She screeched away and hoped the light she saw wasn't from a speed camera.

Will strained to read by the rapidly passing streetlights:

“Arsenal captain Will Darcy was today accused of fraud by a childhood friend. George Wickham, who is in custody on fraud and paedophile charges, made the extraordinary claims outside Bow Street Magistrates Court-”

“He's not protected by privilege there. You can sue for libel. Well, slander, but if you feel like it you can sue the papers for repeating his claims,” Lizzy told him.

“Wickham also claims to have had a year long relationship with Georgiana Darcy while she was at an exclusive private school although he denies breaking any laws.”

“That's a lie!” Georgiana shouted. “He… I wasn't sixteen yet!”

Will looked like he'd been shot in the chest.

“It really went on that long?”

Georgiana nodded. Lizzy kept on driving. Will turned to stare out of the window.

As they got towards Central London, Will stirred.

“I'm going to call my solicitor, then I'll call Henry.”

Due to traffic and the like, it took them some time to make it from Heathrow to Belgravia. When they did arrive, there were photographers and such gathered out the front of Darcy House, and Lizzy drove past.

“Go around the back. I'll direct you,” Will told her. She steered the car through an overgrown gateway around the back of Darcy House and once there, they rushed into the house.

There, they found Richard waiting with Catherine de Bourgh.

“William!” she shrieked the second Will crossed the threshold into the drawing room. “I have come for Georgiana!”

“Not now, woman,” Darcy snapped.

“William, I demand you-”

“NOT NOW!” he bellowed. “Go away, you nasty little woman!”

”I have never been spoken to in such a way in all my life, William Darcy! I will take your poor sister this instant, away from you and your ways!”

“No, you won't,” Richard's voice cut in, cold and harsh.

“I will!”

“Look at the time, Aunt.”

Lizzy, a slightly bemused bystander, looked at the clock as Catherine did. Twenty-three minutes past midnight.

“Happy birthday, Georgie,” Richard said quietly. “Are you staying or going? It's entirely up to you.”

“I'm staying.”

“Good night, Aunt Catherine,” Richard was firm, as Will paced up and down behind him trying not to attack his aunt. Catherine left defeated, but not silent.

“Oh Georgie,” Richard took his cousin into a warm hug.

“Are they back, Richie?” a voice floated into the room a moment or two before a tall, stunning woman. With her Pre-Raphaelite red hair, Amazonian build and sculpted face, she would've looked exotic if not for the tracksuit bottoms and faded Blondie t-shirt.

“Oh, Georgie, come here!” she took Georgie from Richard to hug her herself.

“Who is-“ Lizzy asked Richard.

“Jimmy.”

“Jimmy. But I-” she stopped. He smirked, knowing exactly what she'd thought.

“The Honourable Jamesina Victoria Louise Katharine Rathbone Montague, daughter of Lord Montague, Viscount Chiswell.”

”Ah.”

“Jimmy. She's forever jetting around. She's a warrior for UNICEF, you know, when she's not designing clothes. Or is it the other way around?”

“She seems nice.”

“She is,” Richard smiled goofily. “What happened in Mustique?”

“Everything went fine once we found her. But now this?”

“I've already instructed our legal team… looks like Darcy is following up.”

Lizzy followed his gaze to where Will was talking rapidly into his phone.

The doorbell rang. Only Lizzy noticed, for the rest were not the type to answer their own front door even in ordinary circumstances. She went over to Jimmy and Georgie.

“I can't believe it, Lizzy!” Georgie was dry-eyed but red faced and shaking. “After everything he's done, now this! And Will too! He'll never forgive me now!”

“Don't say that,” Lizzy commanded. “Your brother has endured Wickham's plots and schemes since before you could talk!”

“I take it you're Lizzy?” asked Jimmy. Lizzy nodded.

”And you're Jimmy. Nice to meet you.”

“And you. I very much liked your feature on Richie. So many journalists try to paint him as either a playboy prince or a hardnosed bastards.”

“Whereas he's both,” Georgie retorted. Lizzy laughed and stroked her hair.

“Right. And you are-” Lizzy stopped as two plainclothes police officers were ushered into the room by Mrs Reynolds.

“Detective Chief Inspector Steven Ladbroke and Detective Inspector Jennifer Tyler, Mr Darcy,” she said. Darcy looked up and continued to speak into the phone:

“It seems I need you at the house right now…. You will? Thank you.”

Will hung up and greeted the police with handshakes.

“My solicitor is on his way. Can you wait half an hour before carting me off to jail?”

Will was cool, collected and every bit the mannered gentleman of breeding. Except, that was, for his left hand, which was curling into a fist and then relaxing over and over again.

“We're not here to arrest you, Mr Darcy, we're just here to ask some questions,” the DCI told him.

“Before you take me away.”

”Only if you've done something wrong, sir.”

Darcy smiled nastily.

“I haven't done anything knowingly wrong, but the facts never stopped Wickham in the past.”

“That's why we're here, Mr Darcy,” the DI told him in a very low, steady voice. Darcy nodded.

“Perhaps some tea is in order,” he retorted tartly, although not directed at the DI necessarily, “We'll be here for some time if you want the full account of my long history with that cu-”

“Tea, Master Will!” Mrs Reynolds came in bearing a trolley with enough tea, coffee, biscuits and cakes for everyone in the room.

“I'd like my cousin to stay for this, if you don't mind,” Darcy told the DCI. He nodded.

“Everyone you want to stay can do so. This really is only an informal sort of chat.”

“If you don't want to stay, you don't have to,” Will told everyone assembled, sipping at a cup of coffee.

“Oh, I'll be staying. I've got a few tales to tell myself,” Richard told him firmly as he settled into a chair and made himself comfortable. Everyone else did the same.

“Georgie?” Will asked. She looked tired, but firm.

“I want to stay.” She sat down beside him on the sofa and took his hand. “Will you need to speak to me too?”

”Yes, Miss,” the DI told her with a slight, supportive smile. “Mr Darcy?”

“Well, I first met George Wickham when I was six years old…”

The solicitor arrived not long into the story and began making copious notes. Over the course of several hours and sustained only by the refreshments brought in by Mrs Reynolds, Will told his stories of Wickham, things Lizzy had hardly imagined and didn't really want to know.

The time George had pushed six year old Will into the fast flowing river that ran through the grounds at Pemberley: “Had my older cousin Edward not pulled me out before I reached the white water, I probably would've drowned.”

The time at school during PE when George nearly broke Darcy's neck in a scrum: “It looked like an accident, but he told me later he was disappointed that rugby practice had been so boring.”

The time George attempted to set Darcy up on a cheating charge: “I avoided it only because I was away with Arsenal the night the papers were stolen. They never caught George, of course.”

He told them about the Science Master's daughter. He told them about George's FitzDarcy apprenticeship, backed up by Richard, who had even more detail on that to give- sums paid to mysterious customers in cash, the affairs he had with a married secretary and the wife of a board member, the Porsche 911 he gave himself as a company car. The list went on, and on, and on a bit more.

“And then, he latched onto my sister,” Will finished.

“How old were you when Wickham re-entered your life, Miss Darcy?” The DCI was trying to sound gentle, but he was so unused to the idea that it didn't sound quite right.

“I was fifteen,” she whispered. Lizzy moved over from by the fire to sit beside her. She took the hand that Will didn't already have and squeezed it.

“Why had he reintroduced himself to you?”

“I saw him, I thought, by chance. I was out one Saturday from school just after my birthday. I really did think it was a coincidence that I should run into him near Roedean.”

“Did you ever talk to him about your brother?”

”Only when George said how sorry he was that Will had cut him out of his life. He said he didn't know why.”

In a halting voice, Georgie told the police and her family the long story of how she came to be under George Wickham's spell.

“Let us be very clear, Miss Darcy,” said the DI. “You were fifteen when you first had sex with George Wickham?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any way he didn't know that?”

“No, he's known me all my life.”

“He was living at Pemberley by the time Georgie was born,” Will added.

“How many times did you have sex with Wickham?” the DCI asked.

“Not very many… I held out against the idea so long and we didn't see each other very often towards the end… and then I told him about Anastasia.”

“Anastasia?”

“Oh yes, sorry,” Georgie blinked. “I was pregnant.”

“By George?”

“Yes, of course.” Georgie was too surprised by the question to be offended by it.

“What happened then?” DI Tyler pressed. Georgie rested her head on Will's shoulder tiredly.

“I told George and he shouted at me like a madman. I ran off because I thought, I really thought he might hit me. Actually, I ran straight back to school and phoned Will right away.”

“And then?”

“Will came to get me and we… No, I decided to have an abortion. We spoke to Richard and he agreed and… so I did.”

“Have you seen George Wickham since then?”

“No.”

Georgie then explained about how she had run away to Mustique to recuperate, and took them right up to the present day.

“Will you be willing to say all this on record and in a court of law?” DCI Ladbroke asked? George looked utterly petrified for just a moment.

“Did he… did he tell his lies to Ophelia as well?”

“Yes,” said the DI. “And very, very confidentially, the poor girl is in an interesting way.”

“Three of them, the bastard,” Will snarled.

“Three, Mr Darcy?”

“Georgie, Ophelia Hayes and the girl at Eton. Who else don't we know about?”

”We may yet find out, sir.”

“Yes, I will testify,” said Georgie very suddenly.

“Georgie, you don't have to,” Richard began.

“I have been a grown-up for three and a half hours. I should act like it, I suppose. I don't want… If I'd said something before, Ophelia wouldn't have to do it… she must be awfully hurt.”

Will kissed her on the cheek.

“Whatever you think, Georgie.”

“I would like to go to bed, actually.”

“Of course. Inspector?”

”Yes, of course. Sleep well, Miss Darcy.

”I think I might,” Georgie rose from her seat and left quickly. The mood became serious again.

“You'll have to testify of course, and we'll need to see all this written evidence, “ Ladbroke told Will and Richard.

“Whenever you like. Tomorrow? It's all in the FitzDarcy archives and I've got copies of everything, and so does Darcy. And the solicitor too, come to that,” Richard told them. The inspectors shared a look.

“You don't trust him at all?”

“Not remotely. I wouldn't put anything past him. If he gets any cakes, you'd better check them for files. If he gets any files, you should check those for cakes, come to that,” Richard snarled his joke, rendering it less humorous.

“Tomorrow at nine at your offices then. I think that's everything for tonight. Good night.”

Will shows the police out of the house and saw the tell-tale flashlights of paparazzi outside, even as it reached 4am.

“Well Darce, what a palaver.”

“If only we'd shopped him back then.”

“We didn't have the evidence then, despite what we told him. We've got enough now to throw him away for years.”

“But Georgie-”

“I know,” Richard admitted. “But we couldn't have seen that coming. We couldn't.”

“It's late,” Lizzy spoke for the first time in a long time. “Do get some sleep Will. You should be playing in like sixteen hours.”

“Yeah. We're up in my room so I'll bid you both a good night.” Richard hugged Will and then he and Jimmy left the room. Will slumped back down onto the sofa.

“I…”

“Don't speak, Will, sleep. I'll go home and-”

“You can't leave! You're as tired as I am. Take a guest room.”

“All right. If you promise to sleep.”

“Yeah.”

“Good boy.”

“Why are you doing this? Helping me? Us?”

“Friends, Will. Georgie needs a girl to talk to. I'd put money on Jimmy being too remote, and you're her brother and a boy and therefore unqualified.”

“But…”

“No buts, Darcy. I have an interest in seeing Wickham go down. He made a fool of me and made me think ill of you and Georgie. He lied and perpetrated fraud against the people and democracy of this country. Him and his mate Callum Fry have sent education reform back years thanks to their stunts…. But mostly because of Georgie. I swear Will, the idea of it all makes me want to kill him.”

“I nearly did.”

Lizzy coughed on the cold tea she was trying to finish.

“What?”

“Kill him. I took the shotgun my father used to use for pheasant shooting and hunted him down…”

“What stopped you?”

“I sat in the car for ages. Then as I was about to get out of the car, Mrs Reynolds rang and told me Georgie was asking after me. I drove home, of course.”

“There are greater ways to get even than murder…” Lizzy began slowly. He nodded and yawned again.

“I realised all of that when the red mist cleared. I don't know that I ever would've hurt him but… I wanted to. Please, don't tell anyone, especially Georgie.”

“All right.”

“You're a very good friend, Lizzy Bennet. If only I hadn't cocked it up so badly at the start.”

“If only what?”

Will leaned over and kissed her. The moment stretched on until he finally pulled away.

“Sorry.” He strode out of the room, leaving Lizzy both very dazed and very confused.

***

Chapter Ten

Lizzy, on discovering the family was already at FitzDarcy with DCI Ladbroke, made a quick exit from the house early the next morning. She found a long list of messages from family and people at work on her answer-phone and voicemail, at first demanding to know where she'd gone, and then to demand to know why she was where she was and with whom. She'd kept up with her work commitments via email, so there was no concern on that score… but her mother was another story altogether. She got rid of all her messages, made a mental note to call her mother at some point and headed straight for a hot bath and to resume the sleep she'd had interrupted at a previous 3.30am.

Still, as she soaked in the bath, a number of different, incredibly confused and intense thoughts swirled in her mind, each fighting for primacy.

***

Lizzy was awoken by the phone and swore to pull the bloody thing out at the bloody socket.

“What?”

“Lizzy!” It was Jane, and Lizzy felt immediately less angry. “You're home! I've been a bit worried, you know-”

“Sorry, I'm just tired and stuff.”

“It's all right, but Charlie called and said Darcy has called a press conference for before the game tonight.”

“What for?” Lizzy's journalistic spider senses were tingling.

“Charlie said it was about the recent allegations. I doubt he's calling it to discuss whether he should have his hair cut or not.”

“You're strange when you're sarcastic,” Lizzy told her with a yawn. “And he shouldn't.”

“You still haven't told me about you and him-”

“Can you get me into the press conference?” Lizzy blurted, either suddenly aflame with journalistic desire or eager to keep the subject on anything that didn't involve the phrase `you and him'.

“Charlie's already put your name on the list. Just turn up with your press card and a notebook.”

“You're both angels.”

“It's not until six and you sound tired. Get some sleep.”

“I was trying to.”

“What stopped you?”

“The phone rang.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It's all right.” Lizzy put the phone down, set her alarm clock to 5.15 and went back to sleep.

***

At just before six o'clock, Lizzy arrived at Highbury to find the place already heaving. When she gave her name to the doorman, she was not shown to the room used for press conferences, but was let through to a small, soulless room deep within the stadium. Georgiana Darcy was there, sat quietly composed.

“Georgie?”

“Oh, you're here! Charlie said you would be.”

“Are you all right?”

Georgie nodded.

“Really?” Lizzy asked again. Georgie nodded serenely.

“I'm all right, honestly. I mean it this time. No more running away for me. I think.”

“It's all right to still get upset about things.”

“Oh, I know, and about some things I always will. Anastasia. But not George Wickham. I shan't be sad about anything to do with him ever again.”

Lizzy felt like applauding. Although Georgiana had made similar statements to her several times, even in their relatively short friendship, this had the ring of reality about it. She sounded firm- her voice no longer a frightened ghost of a whisper, but firm, clear and warm as a church bell on Sunday morning. Her posture and movement had always had the sense of the very well-bred, but as Lizzy followed her out of the soulless room, Georgie's back was straight and her head was high.

“You should turn eighteen more often, Georgie.”

“I only needed the once.”

“How do you know where you're going?” Lizzy asked as Georgie ducked around a corner. “It's like a maze in here.”

”I've been hanging around for a very long time.”

Georgie led her through the stadium and finally into the room usually used to club-related press conferences. It was large but packed full of people with notebooks, cameras and other tools of the journalism trade. On the dot of six, Will Darcy, Richard Fitzwilliam, the FitzDarcy solicitor and the Arsenal manager filed in and sat down at the table.

“Good evening, everyone,” said the Manager. “We'll be talking football soon, but there are other matters to clear up first. Darcy?”

Darcy sipped at a glass of water and shuffled the papers he'd brought it.

“Good evening. I'd like to read out a statement regarding allegations aimed at myself and my family. I am not and I have never been involved in any wrongdoing at FitzDarcy, nor has my cousin Richard and nor was my late father. I believe I am the victim of a long-running campaign of hate, deception, slander and attempted blackmail. The matter regarding my sister is one of many incidents over the years and if I have any regrets, it is not doing something about it sooner.”

He paused to drink some water and Lizzy, busy taking it all down in shorthand, took a few moments to realise that Georgie had edged through the crowd to stand off to the side near her brother.

“It is my hope,” Darcy now continued, “that this will be resolved as quickly and successfully so that my family- especially my sister- will be able to move on at long last. In the meantime, I'd like to play football for this team and my country.”

More questions were yelled out, but the solicitor now intervened.

“It would be unwise for any of us to comment further while a criminal case is active.”

“Yeah, we want to hear about the game anyway,” Richard interrupted. His attempt to ease the tension worked remarkably well (largely because none of the journalists present wanted to ask anything that would get them held in contempt of court) and the talk from there was about the game

***

Arsenal won 2-1 although Darcy did not score. The papers the next day were full of Darcy's statement, and there was a definite pro-Darcy bias evident everywhere- Lizzy would have bet that if the Tottenham Hotspur fan magazine covered the story, even they'd be on his side. Things moved quickly- a court date was set only three months in the future. Georgie went back to school, although she had no intention of taking A-Levels yet. Lizzy did not see Darcy, and she did not hear from him. Occasional updates from Richard kept her quietly informed that they were working to get ready for the trial.

Lizzy was busy herself- she had all her writing and her mother was busy arranging her sister Mary's wedding to a young man called Gerald. Lizzy wasn't sure of the details (mostly because she hadn't been listening on the phone) but her mother's ramblings hinted that Gerald's family were rather religious, which could only mean a handful of things.

She was writing to satisfy two editors- Sarah-Jane at the Guardian and Tom at her Random House subsidiary, but she tried to keep an eye on coverage of the Wickham trial. It wasn't hard- barely a day passed without some tidbit or nugget- how Will Darcy had ended his football season a little early to deal with it all, much to the consternation of Arsenal fans, who cared less about justice than the Premiership. Nobody at FitzDarcy would speak to the press for legal reasons, so the press made it up as far as the defamation laws would allow.

Some detail about the blackmail leaked out (Lizzy suspected Wickham's lawyers trying to make a bad deal a little less awful) and so scurrilous rumours spread like the proverbial wildfire.

George Wickham caught Will Darcy in bed with Zara Phillips!
George Wickham caught Will Darcy in bed with Princess Anne!
George Wickham caught Will Darcy in bed with Prince Edward!
George Wickham found out about Will Darcy's Dad's affair with Princess Margaret!

It was funny that 99% of the rumours involved sex and the royal family- it certainly summed up both the public's interests and their perspective on aristocratic Will Darcy.

***

Darcy threw the newspapers into the recycling box, thoroughly disgusted. He hadn't thought to read them until receiving a number of phone messages from Richard, from Henry du Plessis and from Zara. Fortunately, his old friend Miss Phillips had taken a humorous view of the whole thing, but Darcy was privately worried about how her boyfriend had taken it- an England rugby player trumped an England football player in most forms of combat.

He was beginning to regret taking a leave of absence from football- Will had discovered life without football was slow and left him with more energy than he knew what to do with- he'd spent a lot of his time on treadmills and rowing machines just to get to a point where sleep was a possibility. He had gone from exhaustion to the opposite end of the spectrum and Darcy realised that exhaustion was preferable. So, he went down into his state of the art home gymnasium and set himself up for a few hours' mindless slogging.

As he ran untold miles without leaving the room, Darcy's mind trudged through the many things on his mind until it finally rested on a single subject: Lizzy Bennet. She hadn't mentioned the trial in her column- the Guardian on a Wednesday was the only paper he was making a point of reading- and he wondered if he'd completely and utterly offended her beyond anything before.

Still, as the memory of the stolen kiss was the only bright spot in his life at the moment, he refused to regret it.

***

While the British judicial system is rightly revered the world over, it is not by and large, known for its efficiency and speed. In George Wickham's case, the reverse was in action: the Crown Prosecution Service wanted this particular scalp as soon as it was possible and his own defence team were more than eager to get the case out of their lives and reputations. So it came to be that the Wickham Trial began in the so-called Silly Season in August, only three months after his arrest.

Some in the media screamed that this was all happening too fast for justice to be done… but nobody was listening.

Lizzy had been trying to find an excuse to attend the trial, but in the end, Sarah-Jane took the matter out of her hands:

“Will Darcy has agreed to let one of our writers shadow his family during the Wickham Trial and given you already know the family, we arranged to send you.”

“Did Darcy agree to it?”

“Well, it was his cousin I spoke to, and he put your name forward. Take it. You'll be expected at Darcy House tomorrow morning. You know the way there, I'm sure.”

As Sarah-Jane hung up, the full force of a months-old kiss smashed through Lizzy's memory to the forefront of her mind. It had taken such effort to ignore Will Darcy's sudden burst of affection that she couldn't fight it now.

Will Darcy had kissed her. Will Darcy, King of the Britons, had kissed her. He could have his pick (and probably had, the bitchy side of her brain thought) and he had chosen her, if only for a moment. Lizzy did not sleep well that night, tormented by a memory unwelcome but not disliked.

***

“I haven't seen you round these parts lately!”

Richard Fitzwilliam was as cheerful as ever, but he looked stressed and tired as he led Lizzy into the Darcy drawing room.

“I'm surprised you're all so involved in the mechanics of the case,” she remarked on finding the room full of lawyers with yellow notepads and boxes of papers.

“It's not for the criminal case. This is for the civil suit we're going to bring if he goes free.”

“You think it's a possibility?”

Richard sighed and shrugged.

“He's wily and has solicitors that make Satan look like Santa,” Richard's cheer dropped a few notches. “We don't want anything left to chance.”

Lizzy nodded sympathetically and put her notebook away.

“Richard, do you want me to make you some coffee?”

He nodded. She paused.

“Do you want to go out for coffee?”

He nodded more emphatically and she took his hand.

“I'm sure Jimmy won't mind if you take me out,” she joked.

“She'll probably thank you. Last time we spoke I was so wound up she ended up hanging up on me.”

The conversation was put on hold as they walked through the leafy streets towards the nearest Starbucks. Instead they found a local coffee shop and settled down by the windows to watch the world go by.

“Are things that bad? How is Darcy?” Lizzy asked. Richard stirred three sachets of sugar into his coffee, sipped and then answered:

“Standing solidly on his own two hands going crazy. But Darcy copes better than most of us.”

“No he doesn't,” Lizzy replied without thinking. “He just does a better job of pretending than any other human being I've ever met.”

Richard looked at her as if this was the first time it had occurred to him. He looked so shaken by this idea that she changed the subject to give him time to think.

“How's Georgie doing back at school?”

“It's August, Lizzy.”

“Oh yeah. Where is she?”

“Mustique, just until she needs to be back here.”

“She does love it there.”

“Yeah. Darcy and I thought she was just going there to hide but… it's her home, I suppose.”

“When is she due back?”

“In a couple of days.”

“Cool.”

The conversation stalled there for a few minutes as they sipped their coffee and tried to think of nice, perfectly normal conversation that didn't involve the Wickham Trial. Richard drained his coffee cup.

“I should get back.”

“All right. I er…”

“Come by on Wednesday, when Georgie's back. I'll be no fun with all the legal bores and Darcy is up at Pemberley.”

“Oh. OK. Wednesday, then.”

“Yeah. Ta ta for now.”

A little startled by Richard's sudden departure, Lizzy could only babble a sort of farewell before he was out of the door.

***

On Wednesday, Lizzy arrived at Darcy House only to find Mrs Reynolds there with an apologetic smile and a cup of tea.

“They all went to meet with the solicitors, dear.”

“Oh, it's entirely fine.”

“I'm sure you won't have to wait long.”

“Please, don't worry on my account.”

“It's not right. You're a guest and-“

“Mrs Reynolds, I'm not a guest on this occasion. I'm a pesky journalist.”

“I don't see the distinction. You were invited and it's only right that-”

The phone rang, and Lizzy was glad Mrs Reynolds rushed to answer it. Over the past few days, she had come to realise that she didn't relish a Darcy reunion, not least because she had no idea how she would react, let alone how he would.

“That was Miss Darcy. She apologises for making you wait and hopes to be home soon.”

“Thank you.”

As it turned out, it took a rather long time, and in the end Georgiana rang again and suggested she meet Lizzy at the courthouse. A voice in the background said he didn't think that was a good idea.

“Georgie?” Lizzy asked. “How about I meet you afterwards? We can do some perfunctory stuff for the newspaper and then you can tell me everything you've been doing lately without the Sword of Damocles hanging over us.”

“All right.”

“And tell Darcy to stop fussing over you.”

“All right. I'm so sorry you've had another wasted journey.”

“Don't worry about it. See you soon.”

“All right. Bye!”

Lizzy hung up the phone and pushed her teacup towards Mrs Reynolds.

“I'm sorry to have put you to any trouble, Mrs Reynolds.”

“Not your fault, not your fault.”

“Well, good bye for now!”

As Lizzy drove away, she realised that the next time she saw Georgiana Darcy, she'd be in the witness box.

***

Chapter Eleven

Georgiana clung to Darcy's arm as they got out of the car and ran the media gauntlet between the car and the courthouse. He squeezed her hand but remained silent and granite-faced until they were in the quiet of the building. There, his face softened a little.

“Are you all right?” he whispered. She nodded mutely, eyes trained on the floor. After a moment or two, they were joined by Henry du Plessis, their solicitor and their barrister. Georgie knew the family solicitor, Gerald Tasman-Smyth well enough- he'd first been retained by her father. The Crown Prosecution Service barrister, on the other hand, had only been introduced to Georgiana a few days earlier. She was a very tall, thin woman who looked to be in her mid-30s but was probably older. She had a very firm look to her, but a quick smile was designed to put Georgie at some ease.

“Just remember,” Carmen Butler, QC, told Georgie. “You aren't the one on trial. You haven't done anything wrong.”

Again, Georgie looked down at the floor and nodded.

***

It didn't take long for the case to start for the day, and very soon Georgiana herself was called to give evidence. She sat down in the box, swore the oath and waited for the questioning to begin.

As the legal people shuffled papers, Georgie took a moment to look around. She saw Will and Richard sat in the full-to-bursting public gallery. Her heart sank that Lizzy was not there- their plans to meet had constantly fallen through until today… but then she saw the familiar mop of brown hair in the press box, falling over the notebook Lizzy was scribbling in. Somehow, when Lizzy looked up, she managed to convey a smile to Georgie without moving her lips.

Carmen Butler, QC, having ceased paper shuffling, rose to her feet and cleared her throat dramatically, as if auditioning for Judge John Deed.

“You are Georgiana Eireann Darcy, are you not?”

“Yes.” Georgie's own voice felt high and unfamiliar to her ears.

“How old were you when you first met the defendant, George Wickham?

“I don't know.”

“You don't know?”

“I've always been told that I met him when I was three days old, but I don't remember.”

Titters of laughter fluttered through the room, and even the judge seemed amused.

“So you have known the defendant throughout the course of your whole life?” asked Carmen Butler, QC.

“Yes.”

“Did you know him very well as a child?”

”No, not very well. I was much too young to be noticed by anyone who came to our house, and boys don't tend to spend a lot of time with babies if they can't help it.”

“And later, when you were older?”

“Well, when I was twelve my father died and George, the defendant I mean, disappeared quite abruptly.”

“Did you remark upon this disappearance to anyone?”

“Oh yes, I asked my brother about it.”

“What did he say about it?”

“I don't remember the exact words, but he told me there had been something at FitzDarcy and George wouldn't be seeing us any longer.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“Confused, I suppose. My father liked George very much so I couldn't believe he'd do anything wrong. Then again, my brother tries never to lie.”

“So your acquaintance with Mr Wickham was terminated when you were twelve years old?”

“Yes. I last saw him at my father's funeral.”

“And then, later, when did you see him next?”

“Three years later. I remember exactly because it was the weekend after my fifteenth birthday.”

“Where were you?”

“I was in town, near school with two of my friends. I went into Millie's-”

“Millie's?”

“Oh yes, it's a local shop that sells homemade chocolates and sweets. I was in there because I wanted to buy a selection for my friends and I, for a sort of post-birthday party, and as I was shopping, George, the defendant, came in.”

“Were you surprised?”

“Oh yes.”

“What happened then? Did the defendant approach you?”

“Yes, he called out my name. He seemed surprised to see me.”

“What happened next, Miss Darcy?”

“He remembered that it had been my birthday. I remember he declared he simply had to take me for a slap-up birthday lunch because, as he told me, you only turn fifteen once.”

“He knew how old you had been on this recent birthday?”

“Yes, of course.

“What did he do for your birthday?”

“He took me to Capri, which is a very nice restaurant near school. He made a great fuss of me, and even had the staff bring me a slice of birthday cake with a candle in it.”

“Did you both make plans to meet again?”

“Not firm plans. George said he hoped to run into me again the next Saturday.”

“Did he?”

“Yes. We went for a long walk along the seafront, around the marina and such. He told me that he was working for an MP now. He wouldn't tell me why he'd fallen out with my brother and my cousins, although I tried to ask.”

“When did he first indicate that he might interested in you beyond what might be considered acceptable for childhood friends?”

“After about three of our Saturday meetings. He told me that I was `bewitching'. That's what he said: bewitching.”

“Did he kiss you that day?”

“Yes, just once as I was going back to school.”

“When did you meet next?”

”Not for another two Saturdays.”

“Why two weeks?”

“My brother came to visit the next week and George said he didn't' want to upset things.”

“Did he tell you to keep your meetings with him a secret?”

“He didn't make me promise, but he made it clear that it would be best that Will not find out.”

“When you saw him after two weeks, what happened?”

“He said he'd missed me terribly and we walked to his house. That is, he said he was renting it from a friend. It was a very nice little cottage sort of place by the seafront, out on the edges of town.”

“Did he tell you that he loved you?”

“Objection!” the defence counsel's voice rang out. “Leading the witness!”

“I'll rephrase,” said Carmen Butler, QC. “What happened at the cottage?”

”He kissed me. More than once. Not very… He was very… ardent, I suppose. And he told me, yes, he told me he loved me.”

“What did you say to that?”

“I told him I loved him.”

“Were you sincere, Miss Darcy?”

Georgie looked down at her wringing hands and felt her face burn.

“I believe I was, yes.”

“There is no polite way to ask this, Miss Darcy, so I shall be blunt: Who asked who for sex?”

“He asked me.”

“When? That same day?”

“No. The next Saturday. He brought me chocolates from Millie's, he said he knew it wasn't really right but that he couldn't help himself, that he was in love.”

“Did you agree?”

“No. Not… not that day.”

“The next week?”

“No.”

“The week after that?”

“No.”

“Then when, Miss Darcy?”

“A few weeks later…”

“Did Mr Wickham pressure you? That is to say, did it feel like he was pressuring you?”

“At the time, he made it sound like it was all right at first… but then he got impatient and I thought he might leave if I… if I didn't.”

“When did you first have sexual relations with the defendant, Miss Darcy?”

“The sixth of July. It was a Friday night… I sneaked out of school and met him at his cottage.”

“How old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“How many more times did you have sexual relations with the defendant? Do you know, exactly?

“Ten times, I think, always on a Saturday but not every Saturday. We didn't see each other at all during the summer holidays because I went back home. In September, he met me outside school and said he'd gone nearly out of his mind waiting for me. Then I didn't see him at Christmas or so regularly afterwards. After… after the tenth time… I told him I was pregnant.”

“You were pregnant. How did you feel about that, Miss Darcy?”

“At the time I was scared, but I was also happy. By then I had been with him for what felt like a long time. I thought… I thought it would be all right.”

“How did the defendant react?”

“He shouted. He was very angry. He told me I was just an irresponsible child. He yelled and yelled and threw me out. I ran back to school and tried to phone him. The next day I went back to the cottage, hoping he'd calmed down, but he wasn't there.”

“What did you do next?”

“I went back to school and I phoned my brother and begged him to come and see me. He arrived a few hours later and I told him everything.”

“How did your brother react?”

“He was angry, but not at me. He asked me what I wanted to do and I said I didn't know. So, he took me home and then I went to a doctor who talked to me about all the things I could do.”

“What did you decide to do, Miss Darcy?”

“I had an abortion.”

“How old were you?”

“It was done a week after I turned 16, almost a year to the day after meeting George again.”

”What then, Miss Darcy?”

“I tried to pretend everything was all right. It wasn't, of course. I ran away in the end.”

“Ran away?”

“I went to Mustique, where my family owns a house. I was there for a long time. I missed most of Year 12 and a chunk of Year 13.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Mostly sad about what I had to do in the end.”

“Do you feel the defendant took advantage of you?”

“Objection!” barked the defence.

“Answer the question, Miss Darcy,” the judge instructed in a gentle voice.

“Yes, I do. But not just because of my age, but because of the history between us. Without that, I don't think I would have been… sucked in, so easily.”

“Thank you, Miss Darcy. No further questions, M'Lud.”

Carmen Butler, QC, sat down and the barrister for the defence stood up. Dougal Rowe, QC, was a squirrelly looking man and to Georgie at least, looked as nervous as she felt.

“Miss Darcy,” Dougal Rowe, QC, cleared his throat. “Did the defendant ever force you to engage in any sexual acts against your will?”

“Not physically, no.”

“Not physically? Are there any other ways?” he looked smug at the question and something like anger flared in Georgie.

“There certainly are!” she cried out. The room hummed with hushed noise at her outburst.

“Do you care to expand on that?”

Georgie stopped wringing her hands and clasped them together hand. This, she understood, was the proverbial It. She took a deep breath.

“George used my childhood memories of him to suggest something deeper that I now see did not exist. He claimed deep romantic feelings he did not possess. He pestered, pleaded and begged for more than I was willing to give, then he used guilt, fear and intimidation to induce to me to agree. I may have said yes, but I don't think an agreement made under such circumstances is an honourable one. I think it's what my cousin refers to as a hostile takeover.”

The courtroom exploded with laughter to the point the judge slammed his gavel down and demanded quiet.

“You seen very composed, Miss Darcy,” the defence sneered. She sat up very straight and inflicted upon his the full force of the Darcy stare, derived as it was from the unyielding Fitzwilliam glare. Dougal Rowe, QC, wilted a little.

“I am composed now. A year ago I was not. Even a few months ago I was not. Perhaps I didn't really make peace with myself until I walked into this room. Perhaps I'm not allowed to say this here, but George Wickham ruined my life for a long time, but I shall not let it continue. He doesn't deserve my fear, guilt or sadness.”

Georgie now fell silent, praying that the judge wouldn't tell her off. He said nothing.

“No more questions, M'Lud.”

“You may step down now, Miss Darcy.” The judge's voice was warm and gentle and relief ran through her as she walked out. Once in the safety and seclusion of a room given over to witnesses, Georgiana Darcy fainted.

***

“Georgie?” She opened her eyes and found, as expected, Will stood over her.

“Hello.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine,” she said, sitting up.

“I am terrifically proud of you, little one.”

”You haven't called me that in a long time.”

”It doesn't fit any more. You wiped the floor with that horrible squirrelly man. Everyone's saying how well you did.”

“They are?”

“Yes. Recess for lunch now. Then it's Ophelia Hayes and the Science master's daughter.”

“Ophelia? I thought she wasn't going to be here.”

“She changed her mind, but she'll be giving evidence via video link.”

“Will… do you suppose I'd be allowed to see her?”

“I don't know. I can go and ask someone. You should drink some water.”

Will patted her hair affectionately and went out of the room.

***

Only a few minutes later, Will came back and told her that she would be allowed to meet Ophelia, with counsel present. Georgie found Ophelia in a small witness room as the video equipment was being set up. Ophelia's parents were sat at the other end of the room and the girl herself looked utterly, utterly terrified.

“I don't know what to say,” Georgie whispered to Will. He shrugged, so she went inside.

“Ophelia?” she asked quietly. A pair of familiar brown eyes stared widely up at her. Although she opened her mouth to speak, Georgie said nothing. Instead, she darted forwards impulsively and gave Ophelia a warm hug. It last for several moments, then Georgie released the other girl and walked briskly out of the room.

She walked with Will for a moment in silence, then to her surprise, he spoke first.

“We should get some lunch.”

“Is Pizza Express good enough for you, Will?”

“It most certainly is not, but for you- anything.”

***

“We're in Pizza Express, just around the corner,” Georgie had been chattering away on her phone for a full five minutes while Will waited for her to order, and he had no idea who she was talking to. “Do you have time to come and join us? Excellent!”

Georgie hung up and immediately asked for a third place to be set.

“Was that Richard?”

“No, he's staying behind for the afternoon session. It was Lizzy.”

“Lizzy Bennet?” Will sipped sharply from his glass of iced water.

“I don't know any other Lizzys, do you?”

“I don't think so.”

“I'm sure everyone had already said it, but I'm really proud of you Georgie!” In this manner did Lizzy herald her arrival in Pizza Express, only a minute or two after the phone call.

“I saw you in the press box.”

“I know you did. Quite aside from this shadowing thing I'm doing a terrible job of, I'm covering the trial for my Frygate book. How did you feel up there?”

Lizzy and Georgie kept up a steady stream of natter, barely pausing to give their orders to a harassed waitress. The pizza arrived and they continued to talk

“I thought you were wonderfully calm. I don't want to give away any trade secrets, but from what I heard today you impressed most of the ladies and gentlemen of the press.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. `Poised' was the word I heard a lot.”

“I don't know what to say.”

”Say you're back to school soon to finish your A-Levels. Say you're going to study piano or something after that.”

“I am going back in September, and I've already applied to the Royal Academy of Music for next year.”

“That's great.”

“Thank you. I mean, I still don't want to play in front of lots of people…”

“So don't. Learn for the sake of knowledge and getting better at it.”

”You're very wise.”

Lizzy snickered and even Will, who'd had very little input to the conversation, smiled.

“No, I think it's from a film I saw once.”

The meal carried on in such a way right through to the end of actually eating, when Georgie suddenly said:

“I think Will wants to say something.”

“Well, we've given him every opportunity so far. Spill, Will.”

“I…” Will stammered, taken by surprise. “I just wondered if you and Jane would like tickets for the England friendly against Greece next week.”

”I'll ask her, but I'm sure the answer is yes.”

“I'll drop some tickets off at your house tomorrow.”

“You don't need to do that. Leave them at the door or something.”

“It's all right, I'll do it before training.”

“Fine… but if it's early don't expect to get an answer at my door!”

“All right. Well, perhaps I'll see you tomorrow.”

“I doubt it- I don't like the early mornings very much.”

Will laughed, gaining the attention of a few diners who then realised they were dining in the illustrious company of Will Darcy, King of the Britons. He reacted as he always did with sudden ill humour, silence and the request they leave as soon as possible.

After the afternoon court session Will, as always, offered Lizzy a lift home.

“You drove here? You only live a couple of miles that way!” Lizzy waved a hand in the general direction of central West London. “And I live even nearer that way!” She now waved a hand in the direction of Shoreditch.

“You're not going to walk are you?” Darcy couldn't have sounded more surprised if she'd announced she was going home by way of Uzbekistan in a hot air balloon.

“I'm going to walk part of the way and then I'll get on one of those big red things they call a bus.”

“You're just openly taking the piss now.”

“Yes I am and you deserve it. You need teasing and often, and by someone who knows how.”

“That's definitely from a film.”

“Yes.”

Each became suddenly aware that they were on a public street with Georgiana and the conversation halted.

“I will await some tickets tomorrow, and I expect the best seats the Darcy name can get me!” Lizzy said with a grin. “Drive safely all the way to Belgravia, won't you?”

She was at least gratified to hear Darcy's laughter as he walked away arm-in-arm with Georgiana.

*
Chapter Twelve

In preparation for Wednesday, Lizzy looked up information on the World Cup preliminaries on the internet. She'd always intended to catch a game or two when they were on TV, but she always seem to have just got into a very juicy part of one, two or more of her writing projects and missed them.

From what she could gather, England were doing very well in their group. They'd beaten the might of Croatia 1-0, taken the legends of Azerbaijan 3-1, drawn with Poland 1-1 and had trounced the Faroe Islands 5-0. Now there was one last qualifier- Greece. England were through to the World Cup finals themselves, but it was all about first and second place now- England were likely to win the group, so Greece had to win or score a lot to secure a place in the finals above rivals Poland or Croatia.

Lizzy was privately hoping for a big England win for two reasons- she wanted England to win, but she also wanted Croatia to go through because she liked Davoric. She knew this wasn't the accepted way of choosing teams, but it seemed as good a way as any other.

Will did drop her tickets round the morning after their dinner, and she was asleep when he did so. She awoke, stumbled downstairs in search of coffee and saw a red envelope on the doormat, her name written on it by hand- presumably his.

On first arriving home (she'd walked the entire way in the end), Lizzy had felt frustrated that Will had been so quiet at dinner. Then her sensible side reared its rational head and told her a number of things- that she and Georgie had been talking so much he'd never get a word in; he'd had something of a trying day; they were in one of the most public places Will Darcy had been in for some time.

In fact, Lizzy found pictures of them in the newspapers. She was not discernible in the long-distance photographs, but it was obviously Will and Georgie stood outside Pizza Express.

“Because `Will Darcy Eats Food' is absolutely in the public interest,” Lizzy snarled, her real journalistic reflexes offended by this sort of `reportage'. Disgusted, she opened the red envelope. Out fell two tickets and a note, which she read:

Lizzy,

Early morning is quite a sight to see. I bet you've never even seen a sunrise! Wish me luck for Wednesday,

Will.

Quite taken aback by his incredibly friendly tone, Lizzy gazed down at the tickets… which she quickly discerned were not for ordinary seats. In fact, if she was correct….

***

“Lizzy, these seats are amazing!” Jane was completely taken aback at being seated in the section given over to family and friends of the team. She'd already recognised some of the wives-of-England-stars from the papers, and despite being a well-connected woman herself, she was still jittery from the experience.

Lizzy was, as she'd always been in the presence of people like this, all too aware that she was being talked about. If only she'd never screeched at Darcy at the nightclub whose name escaped her! If only… She stopped that thought in its tracks and used her energy to block out the whispers she could hear. To that end, one woman, with very blonde hair and skin so St Tropez that Lizzy wondered what colour Dulux called it, made her way over to Lizzy and Jane.

“We haven't met,” she announced, her syrupy sweet voice far too good to be true.

“No, we haven't,” Lizzy replied quietly, noncommittally. “And `hello' is still the customary greeting in the Anglophone west.”

Jane nudged her sharply and gave her the `behave' glare

The WAG blinked, then deciding Lizzy's own syrupy tone had been for real, held an expensively manicured hand out to Lizzy.

“I'm Martika Winceby.”

“Lizzy Bennet.”

“The writer chuck, right?”

“I'm a writer, yes.”

“I love your stuff in the Mirror!”

“I haven't worked for the Mirror in over a year, but thank you just the same.”

”Really? That's a shame!” Martika didn't sound entirely sincere and moved straight onto the real reason she'd approached Lizzy. “You're here with Will Darcy, aren't you? I remember seeing you with his sister at Highbury. Where is Georgina, anyway?”

“Georgiana is at school at the moment.”

“Oh. It's weird that Darcy should invite you here on your own.”

“Why so?” Lizzy gritted her teeth and ignored Jane nudging her again.

“Well, why would he invite his little sister's friend?” Martika's real aims were becoming more marked with every word she spoke.

“I'm friends with both Darcys and have been for some time. If you insist on my entire life story, read my blog.”

The tone said `conversation over' even to a hint-immune girl like Martika, and she left Lizzy to fume.

“I can't believe some people!” she hissed to Jane, who patted her hand.

“Don't worry. Just smile politely and watch the game.”

“And until the game starts?” Lizzy snapped? Jane just smiled serenely and pointed down at the pitch, where the two teams were being led out. Lizzy leaned forward, quietly marvelling at the great seats Darcy had got for her. She watched the two children chosen to lead their teams out come nervously out of the tunnel, followed by the two national teams. England were in white, Greece in blue, and she picked Darcy out immediately, even in the mass of long dark hair that was the combined English and Greek squads. He stood just that little bit taller than most, was just a little more gracefully poised and confident. Even if he hadn't, he was wearing the captain's armband.

Lizzy allowed herself to be swept up in the spectacle of the national anthems, the kick-off (Greece won the coin toss) and the beginning of the game. Alexandros was the only Greek player she recognised, and she certainly recognised his hair-tossing, strutting peacock style of football. Within five minutes, she was engrossed entirely in the game, swept up by the atmosphere of being in the stadium with tens of thousands of fans.

By half-time, the score was one-nil to England (Buckram, 43) and Lizzy's programme was shredded to bits.

“I can't take this stress!” she shrieked to Jane as the fans milled around and, presumably, the players got a rest. Jane laughed at her.

“Welcome to the dark side, Lizzy.”

***

A liveried steward approached Lizzy just before Full Time and after quietly inquiring if she was in fact Lizzy Bennet, slipped a note into her hand. She excused herself to Jane - not daring to read it where a stray WAG might peer over her shoulder. Once in the cool quiet of the ladies' toilets, she opened the note.

“Please come to Room U120 after the game. I might be a bit late but I will be there. W.”

“Well,” Lizzy said aloud. “That's interesting.”

As she returned to her seat for the end of the game, she saw Will on the pitch as he raced towards the ball. She smiled at the sight, for nothing is more beautiful that seeing someone living their great dreams. Somehow, she felt like he could see her even from down on the pitch, and she resolved in that moment to meet him. As she sat down, Will surged forwards, the ball now in his possession. With one almighty kick delivered with almost divine precision, Will powered the ball past the helpless Greek goalkeeper, into the back of the net. Two-Nil.

The whole stadium erupted, whether with joy or despair. There were three minutes left, with another two for injury time. It was possible Greece might recovered, but it was highly unlikely now. Lizzy said as much to Jane, her heart racing. Jane looked suitably horrified.

“Shush, Lizzy! England have lost entire games in that amount of time!

This news stilled Lizzy's heart, and she spent the next five minutes allowing her nerves to shred themselves, and willing and begging the ball to stay away from the England goal. It did, and at the final whistle, England bounced off the field and Greece trudged.

“Well, would you like to come and have dinner at home?” Jane asked. “Charlie said he'd have something ready.”

“I've got Frygate stuff to write,” Lizzy half-lied. It worked and Jane bade her farewell. Instead of leaving the stadium, Lizzy made her way towards the parts not seen by the general public, or even by those in the hallowed Friends and Family section. Flashing her press pass got her in and then it was a case of finding room U120. A steward noticed her, but instead of turfing her out, led her to the very room. It was empty and she imagined Will, jubilant and sweaty, celebrating with the team.

Lizzy was only left waiting about ten minutes, and then the door opened. Will Darcy, King of the Britons, entered after a slight pause in the doorway. The moment the door was shut with a click, he was there, kissing Lizzy with a ferocity she hardly knew he possessed. The wall was cool against her back and Will smelled of clean water, expensive shower gel and a little lingering sweat.

After a moment, he broke away and left her gasping, not unpleasantly, for breath.

“Will, you know, you can't just keep on grabbing me and kissing me. One of these days we'll have to actually have a conversation.”

”I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I opened the door and there you were. I wasn't sure if you'd be here.”

“I can't work out if it's me or you that you have so little confidence in.”

“I didn't mean- I meant-”

“I understand.”

Will calmed down a little and leaned against the table.

“I'm sorry I was late. I had to talk to the BBC.”

“Of course. Congratulations, Darcy.”

“The stats mean that we'll finish top of our group. Croatia will probably be second if they win or draw at Azerbaijan on Saturday.”

“It was a nice goal.”

“It was because of you.”

“Me? How?”

“I saw you up in the stand and you smiled at me.”

Will went very red and looked down, at the ceiling and anywhere but at her.

“That's very sweet,” she now approached him and stroked his damp hair. “Thank you.”

Now she kissed him, a very sweet kiss on the cheek.

“I thought,” she whispered. “that you wanted to be friends.”

*

Chapter Thirteen

Darcy shrugged over-casually and said, “I was willing to take whatever I could get.”

“But, after what I said, I thought-“

“You should think less.”

“I thought you wouldn't ever forgive me for what I said!” Lizzy wasn't sure, but she suspected a few stray tears were escaping down her face. Darcy, for his part, looked rather stunned.

“Forgive you for what? I was an arrogant, insulting arsehole!”

“With all the social skills of a newt,” she added.

“A grumpy and taciturn newt,” he finished.

“Yeah.”

“I… I adore you, Lizzy. I think about you all the time, even when I shouldn't. I mean, the only reason Kristatos got a tackle in earlier was because I wondered if you'd received my note.”

“You adore me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, then. Well. Then.”

“This is the part where you use those linguistic skills of yours.”

“I should never have taught you how to tease people.”

“Yes, you should,” Darcy moved close again and wiped away the stray tears with his thumb.”

“I'm sorry, Darcy.”

“What for?”

“I've been horrible to you since we met.”

“Not all the time. You came with me to Mustique-”

“That was for Georgie.”

“But we were able to converse amiably, weren't we?”

“Yes.”

“And at Jane and Charlie's wedding, too. You haven't been horrible to me for so long I can't remember what it was like.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe.”

“I adore you too,” she said, rather surprised at it herself. Will's face was transformed into an open, broad smile. The furrowed lines disappeared. She smiled, rather sweetly, back at him.

“So, er… Would you like to go out with me, Lizzy?” he asked, suddenly nervous and uncertain again.

“All right. Although given the paparazzi's ability to find you anywhere, you might want to take me out without leaving the house.”

Will looked very much like he wanted to make a remark to answer that, but he just said, “True. Dinner at Darcy House, then?”

“All right. When.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight? What can you sort out in like, three hours?”

“I'll phone Mrs Reynolds.”

“You can't do that!”

“Why not?”

“Ask her to have a restaurant deliver something, Will.”

“She'd rather do it herself, I assure you.”

Having met Mrs Reynolds, Lizzy had a sense that this was quite true.

“All right then,” she agreed after a moment.

“I'll phone her now.”

“I'm going home.”

“Whatever for?”

“To get ready, Wilhelm, to get ready.”

“You look fine.”

“Will Darcy just asked me out to dinner at the most exclusive venue in town,” she teased. “I don't think `fine' is good enough.”

“It is for Will Darcy,” he retorted quickly. She rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, Darcy. I'll see you later.”

“All right then. I'm supposed to be with Charlie about my knee right now.”

“You'd better go. I don't want to scupper England's chances, do I?”

“Certainly not.”

Lizzy got up and grabbed her bag and went to open the door. He stopped her and suddenly pressed a kiss against her lips.

“I adore you,” he told her again. Then, Will opened the door and sauntered down the corridor back towards the England dressing room. Lizzy grinned rather stupidly and went in the opposite direction.

***

“Lizzy, what are you going to wear? Do you need me to come over? What did he say? Did he kiss you? Are you going out or staying in?”

“Hello is still the usual greeting, Jane,” Lizzy replied down the phone dryly. “What could possibly have you in such a tizzy, sister? Aside from the fact that your husband clearly can't keep a secret.”

“He didn't want to keep it! Besides, Will didn't say it was a secret! I knew you didn't have Frygate things to write, you awful liar! So what are you going to wear?”

“I do have Frygate stuff to write, actually,” Lizzy bristled. “And I don't know yet.”

“Oh Lizzy!”

“Janey darling, I don't think Will asked me out for my sartorial genius.”

“Oh, he won't notice what you're wearing, but-”

“Fine! Black trousers and a top of my choosing!”

“No need to get shirty, Lizzy.”

“I'm not getting shirty, I just don't like the smug, gloating thing in your voice.”

“Well, I've known since the start-”

“Oh, and what is this `start' of which you make mention?”

“The ball, Lizzy!”

“Yeah right,” Lizzy openly scoffed.

“Honestly! You didn't stay long enough to see him once you'd stomped away, and the next day you were- Well, I was right, anyway.”

“You're not right yet.”

“Oh please, Lizzy,” Jane now scoffed, most uncharacteristically. “Charlie and I have been watching you both for months. I've got my hat picked out for the wedding. Even Georgiana asked me the other week!”

“She did not.”

“She did. Just before she went back to school after the trial. I mean, not in so many words, but she was asking what you were like as a sister. But it's all right: I lied.”

“Thanks very much.”

“And you know, just the other week, Mum mentioned how eligible Darcy is. I think she wants him for Kitty.”

“When Kitty turns nineteen, perhaps.”

“I don't think Kitty is Darcy's type. He likes girls who use their brains.”

“Jane, that is the meanest thing you've ever said about one of your sisters!”

“Lizzy, she stayed with us last weekend. Charlie is thinking of telling Mum we're decorating and can't take guests. For the next twenty-five years.”

“Well, he's always been a man of action.”

“Go and get ready. Have a wonderful time and tell me all about it tomorrow. Don't miss anything out! What you don't tell me, Charlie will get from Darcy.”

“Whatever. I'll phone you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Lizzy!”

Lizzy put the phone down and went back to deciding what to wear- despite her dismissive tone on the phone, she'd been fretting for some times about it.

***

Lizzy knocked on the kitchen door at Darcy House at exactly two minutes past eight., having decided to use the paparazzi-free back gates of the house. Darcy had apparently anticipated this, because he opened the door himself before her knuckles had finished knocking on the door.

“Come in, come in.”

“Is it the butler's night off?”

“We don't have a butler,” Darcy said without any irony. “We have people who clean and we have Mrs Reynolds the housekeeper, but my father pared down the staff years ago… he didn't like having people around all the time.”

“A trait he passed on,” she teased. “Where's Mrs Reynolds?”

“Oh,” Darcy looked sheepish. “I forgot.”

“Forgot?”

“It's her night off.”

“So dinner will be…”

“Bought from Waitrose?”

“What have we got?” Lizzy asked. Will opened the fridge and pulled out several upmarket ready meals.

“These.

“Okeydoke.” Lizzy flicked on the oven and put two of the meals inside according to the instructions, then set the timer.

“I knew how to do that,” Will sniffed.

“Realy?”

“I wasn't wholly sure about the timer setting, but I'm not completely inept.”

“We have twenty-five minutes,” she told him and he grinned.

“Just enough time for a tour of the house.”

“I've been here before.”

“Not really, you haven't,” he told her firmly. Will grabbed her hand and led her through the house to the front door.

“Our tour of Darcy House begins at the beginning. The front door is fashioned out of a piece of wood from a tree in Sherwood Forest.”

“Tour Guide Darcy is very odd,” Lizzy told him.

“Shush, Miss Bennet. Anyway, the current house was built in 1821 by the Darcy of the time and the correct name is Villa Elizabeth, either after his mother or his wife, depending on which version of the legend you get told.”

“Maybe his mum and wife were both called Elizabeth?”

“Could be. Anyway, if I could continue, the current decoration scheme was overseen by my great-grandmother in the 1920s, hence the very definite Art Deco feel to many of the rooms. Only the dining room, which retains its mid-19th Century appearance and some of the rooms upstairs, differ from Grandmere Marianne's plans.”

“The dining room hasn't been decorated for a hundred and fifty years?”

“It's been redecorated, just not changed. Finding that wallpaper is impossible now- we have it handmade to order.”

“And is this a special hallway?” she asked, making reference to the fact that the tour hadn't actually moved yet.

“No, although George VI would've come in here when he came to visit my grandfather.”

“King George VI?”

“Yes, they were friends.”

“Oh. Oh.”

“Anyway, if you come through here, this is the main drawing room. King George and his wife-”

“Another Elizabeth.”

“Yes. They were received in here. And also some other important people. Through here we have what was my father's study. I don't use it.”

“Why not?”

“It's his.” Darcy seemed almost confused by her curiosity as he showed her the very masculine, very exactly designed room. He led her back out and through another door.

“This is the dining room. You can see the difference, can't you? It was decorated in a very bright manner reminiscent of French Second Empire, but the Darcy of the time wouldn't have ever admitted to such a thing, I'm sure.”

“Have you done this before? Tour Guide Darcy, I mean.”

“No, I haven't, not really, but my mother used to love showing the house off to guests. Not to show off, but… she loved it here, you understand.”

“I do understand. Has anyone cool eaten in here?”

“Well, a few prime ministers. Lloyd-George and Winston Churchill for two. Churchill ate here regularly with my great-grandfather. Before he was PM, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

“You're teasing me!”

“Not remotely. Please continue.”

“Oh, by the way, my dad once threw a party here and in attendance were two Beatles, three Rolling Stones, a Kink, Steve Marriott and all of Led Zeppelin.”

“Cocaine everywhere?”

“My parents weren't the type, but… I see what you mean.

“Which two Beatles?”

“John and George. It was just before John left for New York. The way my dad used to tell the story, he knew a few of those people, but managed only to have to throw one party at his own home. My mother took one look at the house afterwards and told him it would be the last.”

“She sounds like a very fine, sensible lady.”

“She was. A little strict and very proper most of the time, but yes, she was very fine.”

Will led her up the stairs and through a small, unassuming door.

“This is the library.”

It was a vast room, nothing compared to the library at Pemberley, but vast when one considered it was in a private house in Belgravia.

“Many of the books are duplicates of those at Pemberley, but Georgie and I use this house almost all the time, so the things we want these days is all in here.”

“Why don't you go to Pemberley very much? Surely not because of the English Heritage?”

“It might be hard for you to believe this, but for all its grandeur, Pemberley is still just a family home and… since my father's death we didn't feel like being there very much. Leave it to English Heritage as far as I'm concerned. For now.”

“That's very sad. I've never seen you more at ease than you were there.”

“Oh, it's more home there than here. It used to be like this:” Will sat down in one of the squishy chairs and Lizzy followed suit. “My grandparents lived here and we lived at Pemberley. Even in the seventies and eighties it was possible to conduct business from home, and so my father did so whenever he could. Then my grandfather died of a heart attack. Then my mother's body just failed a couple of years after Georgie was born. Then my grandmother's liver seized up after fifty-five years of ordering Shirley Temples for breakfast, Manhattans for lunch and Cosmopolitans for dinner. We left Pemberley semi-permanently only about a year before my father died and… never went back except for special occasions. We had Christmas there every year until Uncle Wilco died.”

“Uncle Wilco?”

“Yes, oh... Richard's father Roger. You know the phrase, `roger, wilco and out?' I'm sure it was a funny joke when it started out.”

“It's still a bit funny. Do you… I don't want to sound flippant but-”

“Have I got any family left? Well, there's Aunt Angela, Richard's mother, she's just passing sixty-five, but Uncle Wilco's death nearly killed her. She lives in her little cottage in Scotland. Then there's my mother's sister Catherine, who you've met already. And Anne, of course.”

“What about Darcys?”

“Oh, my father was an only child.”

“You're the last of the Darcys?”

“Georgie and I, yes.”

“Bloody hell, Darcy! Every new thing about you makes me…”

“Makes you what?”

“Admire you and feel sorry for you all the more.”

“I don't mind the first, but you don't need to bother with the second.”

“Well, I do. That's a lot of sadness and responsibility-”

“It's all right.”

“If you don't get yourself an heir, the name dies-”

Lizzy had never believed herself the sort to care about `names' and `great families', but faced with this family name dying, she cared greatly.

“Georgie will have children one day, even if I never do. Besides, I increasingly believe I may do so one day.” He stopped suddenly and went red.

“It's all right,” she replied quietly. “I get it.”

“Yeah.” Will stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “Let's resume our tour, shall we?”

“Certainement, monsieur.”

They left the library and went down the wide corridor, now hand in hand.

“These are guest rooms and such. This here is Georgie's music room,” he opened a door. The room was large and airy, with a piano in one corner, an Irish harp in another and several bits of expensive music technology here and there.

“Georgie applied to the Royal Academy of Music, I hear,” Lizzy remarked. Will beamed proudly.

“Yes.”

“It's great, isn't it?”

“Yes. After everything, I really wasn't sure she'd do it. I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for her.”

“Will,” Lizzy pulled at his arm gently. “I didn't do much. Really, I was just an ear and a shoulder.”

“Maybe so, but thank you just the same.”

“You're welcome, just the same.” Lizzy was suddenly struck by how formal the conversation had become. Perhaps the little black dress had been a mistake. They wandered through a few more rooms, including Georgie's very green room, and the cavernously huge, museum-piece master bedroom, complete with a gigantic four-poster bed.

“I never liked it in here,” Will told her. “I've never used it.”

“This is your house, Will. You're allowed to change things.”

“No. I'm just the latest keeper of the flame.”

“I'm sure you can- What is that smell?”

“I don't- Oh fuck!” Will's uncharacteristic obscenity caught her attention. He took off at a run through the house and she could only follow him into the kitchen as the acrid smoke of burning chicken wrapped in bacon with sage and onion stuff swirled through the kitchen.

With a screech, Lizzy grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the little metal trays out of the oven.

“I think,” Will remarked of the blackened sludge “that it's ruined.”

“Yeah. I'll let it all cool down then chuck them away.”

“In the meantime,” Will began scrabbling around in a drawer by the phone. “There's a thing in here. Aha! The menu for San Lorenzo's. They deliver.”

“Do they deliver soon?” she asked, but Darcy was already on the phone.

“Yes, hello, good evening. I'd like to order some food for delivery… Excellent! Well, I'll have one order of bruschetta, a portion of pollo al marsala, tiramisu and whatever…” Darcy trailed off and looked at Lizzy.

“Sounds good, I'll have the same.”

“Two of all that,” Darcy said down the phone. “Darcy House, you have our details. Thank you. Good night.”

He put the phone down.

“Ready in another thirty minutes or so,” he told Lizzy.

“This time, let's make sure we can hear the appropriate bells,” she remarked, one eyebrow thoroughly arched. Will nodded, feeling a little defeated by the whole cooking thing, and led her back to the main drawing room.

“I think we'll be safe in here.”

“I sometimes wonder if I'm safe with you at all.”

Will looked wounded, really wounded by this remark of Lizzy's.

“In a good way, Darcy. Usually. The other times I say something terrible. Like now.”

“You haven't said anything terrible.”

He sat down on the sofa and beckoned her to sit. She did so.

“There isn't much you could say to make me think less of you.”

“I'm a Spurs fan?” she snickered.

“Not even that.” He reached out and stroked her hair. “I've been waiting for you for… I don't know how long.”

“Waiting?”

”Yes. There was a time I thought I'd never had a chance, but then you were so kind to Georgie.”

“You asked me out because I was nice to your sister?”

“No. That isn't what I meant. I… It gave me a hope that you might… you know.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Will now leaned in.

“You're one of the most astounding people I've ever met,” he said.

“You're… I don't think I've ever met anyone like you at all,” she replied.

“That's because there's only one of me,” he replied with a dashing grin. “You know what I really love about you, Lizzy?”

“What?”

“You don't like me. The famous me, I mean.”

“It's only football, Darcy.”

“Most people don't think so.”

“I'm not most people.”

“That as one of the very things I first noticed abut you.”

“I dread to think what the other things were.”

“There were two of them,” he said, straightfaced. She smacked him in the arm.

“Darcy!”

“Your eyes. Big and brown.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.” Will leaned in, probably to kiss her, but the doorbell rang. “That was quick.”

He disappeared out of the room for a minute, and returned with two bags of food.

“Formal dining room or warm and cosy kitchen?” he asked.

“Kitchen,” she replied without a moment of hesitation. Will smiled warmly.

“I'd hoped you'd say that.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, plates were scraped lean, a bottle of very fine white wine was empty and Will Darcy, King of the Britons was doing the washing up.

“Mrs Reynolds would've done it,” he grumbled. Lizzy grabbed a clean fork and dried it on an Arsenal tea towel.

“Darcy, it was four forks. It's not like you're the bottle-washer at the Ritz.”

He flicked a little soapy water at her.

“Baby,” she snorted, wiping the suds off her nose.

“Yes I am. A spoiled baby. What are you going to do about it?”

“I can think of a few things…”

“Like what, exactly?” As Will took the tea towel out of her hands, they both became aware that the atmosphere had changed.

“I should get home,” she said. Will looked a little hurt and a little confused.

“Why?”

“Because of a few things. Because I don't shag anyone on the first date, not even football gods.”

”This isn't really a first date, you know.”

“Oh really? We've been secretly going out for months, I suppose? So secretly I didn't even know?”

“No, it's just-” Will stopped. “You're right, of course. Will you be all right getting home?”

“Yes.” Lizzy looked down at the floor for a moment. “Sorry, Will.”

“Don't' be. I shouldn't have- Would you… There's an Arsenal game on Saturday. Will you come?”

“All right.”

“Arsenal versus West Ham at Upton Park. I'll… I'll pick you up?”

“Won't we be photographed together?”

“I don't care. Not if you don't.”

Lizzy had been in the real world of the press to know that such a thing was almost on a part with an engagement announcement as far as celebrity commitment went. Her heart nearly stopped, but she managed to stutter:

“No, I don't.”

Will leaned in and kissed her very deeply for what felt like an eon or tow.

“Night, Lizzy.”

“Night, Will.” She now kissed him. He watched her walk out of the kitchen door and to her car. He didn't close the door until the electric gate had closed behind her car.

***

On Saturday morning, Will knocked on Lizzy's door just before lunchtime. As she came out, he felt all the air leave his lungs.

“You look-”

“I look marvellous!” she squealed most uncharacteristically. “Everything went right for once!”

Will opened the car door for her and she slid in. Within minutes they were on their way along the relatively short journey to West Ham. They talked only a little, but found it a most pleasant sort of quiet.

“Beware the WAGs, Lizzy,” he warned most solemnly as the car pulled into the Upton Park car park. “They'll know you came with me and the claws will be out.”

“I know. I can either handle them or ignore them.”

She got out of the car carefully, having no desire to show anyone the view up her skirt. By the gates to the car park, a dedicated cluster of fans were calling Darcy's name. Some were in Arsenal red, some in West Ham maroon.

“Go to them, Darcy. I'll head up to the players' lounge.”

Regardless of the people watching, Darcy planted a kiss on her cheek. Now, that was practically an engagement announcement, she thought. Still, with a silly smile on her face, Lizzy asked for directions to the lounge.

She didn't see him before the game and where she'd previously been regarded as a curiosity by the WAGs, they now looked upon her with narrowed eyes and sharpened claws. Before it came time to head out to the terraces, she busied herself by writing notes in her battered, well-used notebook. She became so engrossed that she failed to notice a stray WAG sidle over to her- as best as anyone wearing an ill-fitting pair of too-high Jimmy Choos can sidle.

“What an unexpected surprise!”

Lizzy looked up and found Caroline Bingley stood over her.

“Hello Caroline. How are you? I haven't seen you for awhile.” Her tone was the same kind of pleasant she'd used on Martika Winceby at the England game.

“Well, I suppose you've heard I'm engaged to Davoric?”

“I hadn't, no. Congratulations, Caroline. Will the wedding be soon?”

“Oh, you know,” she waved a hand rather casually, as if doing so would pluck out a date from thin air. “We're not too concerned about that just yet. Lovely ring though, don't you think?”

“Yes. Is it the same one he gave you the first time?”

Caroline's face hardened and she said, “No, of course not! We bought this from Tiffany's last week. It's the first public outing.”

Lizzy thought it rather ridiculous that an engagement ring should get a public outing, but she did not say so.

“How are Dav's family in Croatia?”

“I don't know. I've never been.”

“Never been? Dav says it's very beautiful.”

“Oh yes, it is, but I wouldn't want to go there. It's a very poor country.”

“But if a woman of your fame was to be seen holidaying there, more people might visit and the people wouldn't be so poor. And you'd be seen as a trendsetter.”

Caroline mulled this over.

“Yes. I think you're right.”

She clearly decided this was enough of a conversation to make, and sidled away. Lizzy smiled- she'd managed to dodge the `why are you here with Will Darcy?' question well enough. She was left alone until the game, but she had no place to escape in the family section, and could hardly write notes during play.

“You're here with Darcy, aren't you?” purred a voice from behind her. An expensively made-up face stared down at her. Lizzy recognised her as Shannon-Lucia Stafford, the current girlfriend of Robbie O'Sullivan. She had, Lizzy remembered from her Mirror days, been linked with a number of different Premier League players. She was what Lizzy called a Professional Footballer's Girlfriend. She also knew that Shannon-Lucia's real name was Emily.

“Yes, I am,” she replied shortly.

“I'm Shannon-Lucia. If you need anything, let me know. I know this can be strange and intimidating for new people.”

The words were kind, even warm, but the mouth was twisted unpleasantly and her eyes betrayed her. Lizzy laughed lightly.

“I'll survive.”

“Will you?” The venom inched closer to the surface.

“I'm sure I will.”

Lizzy hoped that kick-off would distract these peahens, but she became aware as she hadn't before, that most of the people in family-and-friends had less interest in football than she did. Three times during the first twenty-nine minutes she was forced to stop watching the actually rather good game to parry remarks from catty women.

“Don't let the bitches get you down. Once you do, it'll be open season on you.”

Lizzy turned to find a woman with dark red hair had moved into the seat beside her. From the size of the bump, Lizzy put her at five months pregnant. Her hair and nails were as exquisitely done as any WAG, but her eyes were keen and her clothes were too elegant to be truly Footballers Wives.

“Justine Taylor. Nice to meet you.”

This time Lizzy did take her hand, although she couldn't quite bring herself to trust her.

“I used to be one of them and I know how it works. Ride out the initial storm and they'll finally realise you don't give a shit.”

“What changed for you?” Lizzy realised how rude it sounded and went red. Justine just laughed.

“I met someone I really loved, not just someone to provide flashy cars and column inches. Although those can be nice, I won't lie.” Justine shifted to make herself more comfortable. “You've got no reason to trust me, but if you need someone to talk to who really knows the score, I'm here. If you just want to talk, let me know. And if al you want is friendly face in the lounge, I'm that too.”

Lizzy smiled genuinely for the first time since leaving Will in the car park.

“Thank you.”

***

Full time came and went with a nil-nil draw. Will looked shattered as he drove Lizzy away from the stadium.

“I'm getting too old for this. The next World Cup will probably be my last.”

“Darcy, you're only twenty-nine!”

“Yeah.”

“You'll be thirty-four in two World Cups' time. That's not old, even for footballers.”

“Maybe.”

“Haven't you found the fun again?”

“Not really. Not on the field, at any rate.”

“Perhaps if life off the field improves, so will life on it.”

“That's what I've been hoping. How did you deal with the witches, anyway?”

“Piece of cake.”

“I knew you'd be OK.” Will leaned over and took her hand.

“I saw the photographers. We'll be in the papers tomorrow, Will.”

“I don't care.”

“You hate publicity.”

“Yes I do, but… there are things I'm willing to brave it for.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“I can… I can hardly believe it.”

“Believe it, Lizzy.”

“You don't talk very much, but when you do…”

“I try.” He was still holding her hand when he turned onto her street. “Lizzy, er… I though I'd drive up to Pemberley tomorrow. I don't have to report for training until Wednesday and-”

“Yes, I'd love to,” she interrupted, unable to make him stammer this way through an invitation.

“I'll pick you up at about eight. Earlier we get started, the better the traffic will be.”

“I look forward to it,” she leaned over to kiss him on the cheek but was rewarded with his lips.

“Sweet dreams, Lizzy.”

“I'm sure they will be.”

*

Chapter Fourteen

Darcy and Lizzy were on their way to Derbyshire by 8.05am. They talked of many things, of fools and kings, of love and hate, of football and writing and of friends and family. Of those caught in an early morning motorway snarl-up, the two in the green Aston were likely the only two who hardly noticed it.

They arrived in good time, traffic notwithstanding, and Darcy wasted no time in taking Lizzy on a tour of the grounds.

“I've seen some of it, but in the dark,” she told him.

“You have?”

“Oh yes, my second encounter with Georgie took place on that very bench over there.”

“I didn't know that.”

“You were ferreted away somewhere. You cheated me out of my dance.”

“I can only apologise,” Darcy grabbed her around the waist and began twirling her around the little clearing.

“Darcy, what's got into you? You don't just grab girls and start dancing with them!”

“No, I don't. But you're not just `girls'. You've got into me Lizzy. I find myself doing many things out of character.”

“Like?”

He dipped her low and kissed her, then said: “Like that. Come on!”

Darcy took her hand and continued the tour of Pemberley Park. Just as they were reaching the lake, it began to rain.

“We should get back know if we don't want to get soaked,” he told her gravely.

“Perhaps I do!” she called, her arms up as the rain began to get ever heavier.

“You'll get a cold. Or the flu.”

“What happened to Spontaneous Darcy?”

“He knew how long it takes to walk back from here. You'll get wet enough on the walk back, trust me.”

His expression was so dark that she didn't want to press the matter, so she followed him as he marched swiftly towards the house. Of course, he was right and they arrived back at the house soaked to the skin.

“Told you so,” he teased as they ran through the grand entrance of the house onto fine but slippery marble.

“We won't run into any tours, will we?”

“Not open at the moment. Follow me.”

She shivered and Darcy pulled her to him.

“You're freezing. Come on upstairs.”

They made their way upstairs and he led her into a room she had not seen before- a beautiful (and large) bathroom with some kind of `fire and water' decorating scheme. He passed her a fluffy turquoise towel and used one on his own hair.

“What is this room?” she asked, gazing down at the massive bathtub set into the floor.

“My bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“You can, er, change through that door. Your bags should be waiting.” Darcy looked nervous again, so she just did so, wishing also to get out of her now-chafing wet jeans. She went through the door into a large airy bedroom dominated by an almost giant bed. Lizzy had spent too many hours being dragged around shops by her mother to not recognise the Egyptian cotton in the sheets, or the hand blown glass in the lampshades, nor the thick Axminster carpet. It was no mere bedroom this, more a cathedral of sleep.

“Is everything all right?” Lizzy heard Will's voice come through the open door.

“Oh, yeah,” she replied absently, still taking everything in. In order to focus herself, she busied herself with getting out of wet clothes and into dry ones. Her hair was a mess, but there wasn't much to be done about that… and she had a warm, fuzzy suspicion that Darcy didn't care about that much.

After five minutes of this slightly pointless faffing around, Darcy knocked on the still-open door.

“Everything better now?”

“Warm, dry, marvellous. This is a beautiful room.”

“It is. It used to be for the Mistress of the house, back when wives weren't supposed to share a room with their husbands.”

The expression on his face told Lizzy exactly what Will thought of that particular tradition.

“Anyway, it's been sort of a guest room for years, although my father used it in the weeks before my mother died… to give her enough peace and quiet and… Anyway, you're welcome to use it while you're here.”

“Thank you very much.”

“I thought we could-” Will stopped speaking as Lizzy launched herself at him, quite without warning. She went for his mouth in a manner not dissimilar to John Mills and the pint of Carling at the end of Ice Cold In Alex, as if Darcy was a favoured delicacy she'd gone too long without and had endured hell to get back to.

***

Lizzy awoke with the feeling that something was very odd indeed. Not bad, necessarily, but very odd. The morning sunlight was beaming onto her bed from entirely the wrong direction, the sheets felt strange and-

She turned over and found herself staring at the long, messy dark hair of Will Darcy. He was sprawled out on his stomach, one hand dangling over the side of the bed. Lizzy sat up, then promptly tugged the sheet higher, and waited for her memories to resurface with the lifting of the fog of sleep.

They had not made it out of the room, and her dry clothes had not stayed on long. It was his fault for entering while shirtless, but she was fairly she she'd started it. From there it was an increasingly jumbled cacophony of terrifically good thoughts. They had not had dinner, had not even informed anyone they were there, although clearly the staff must have guessed…. Whatever would they think of her?

She was suddenly paralysed with fear of something. Not Will, not even anyone who worked at Pemberley. Of what, she couldn't tell.

“It's only seven o'clock, Lizzy,” he mumbled.

“What?”

”Whatever you're worrying about, don't.”

”I just…” she lay back down and allowed him to stroke her face with one hand and her stomach with the other.

“I love you, Lizzy.”

She tensed up, as if by reflex and he tensed in return, probably terrified at her reaction. Nobody had ever said that to her before- nobody that wasn't obligated by an accident of birth. Certainly nobody had ever said it with such intensity.

“Sorry, I…” There went Will, apologising again.

“Don't say sorry, Will. I don't mean to be confused or anything, it's just, you know I don't get asked out very often and I certainly never… It's never been this fast or intense or… anything.”

“According to Charlie and Jane, this has been going on since the night we met, over a year ago.”

“I didn't like you then.”

“I wasn't entirely fond of you.”

“I'm glad things changed,” she admitted, reaching up to push his hair out of his eyes. “Your hair was so much shorter then.”

“Which way do you like it best?”

“Longer is nice.”

“I'll never cut it again,” he promised, and she laughed.

“I wouldn't go that far.”

“So you're not my Delilah after all?”

“I hope not.”

”There are worse things to give up your strength to than love.”

“You're more philosophical than I give you credit for, Darcy.”

“I hide it well… and do you need to call me Darcy when you're naked?”

Lizzy blushed and giggled a little girlishly.

“Will,” she whispered. “Will.”

“Will you come for a walk with me?” he replied.

“Dressed like this?”

“No. I mean, we'd get dressed, eat some breakfast and then go walking.”

“What's the weather like? You know how it ended yesterday!”

He quirked an eyebrow and she saw the left side of his mouth twitch.

“We won't be going outside.”

“Only you have a house you can go for an actual walk in.”

***

Breakfast was simple and casual- the blue regency period Breakfast Room was not.

“It was designed by a namesake of Georgie's. Georgiana Darcy Mark One never married and instead devoted her life to charity and to the upkeep of Pemberley. Most of the really beautiful things to be found here are down to her.

“Why didn't she ever marry?”

“I don't know. I asked Grandmere once and she said the story had always been that of a disappointment, a suitor who died in the Peninsular War or a combination of the two. I suppose we'll never know, although I hope the same doesn't happen for my Georgie. Not after everything.”

“The world is a very different place now. She's going to be fine.”

”Anyway,” Darcy put his fork down. “When you're ready I'll take you for that walk.”

“I'm ready now.”

“Excellent.”

***

“You're being Tour Guide Darcy again, aren't you?”

“If you were to do this tour with English Heritage, you'd have to pay and they wouldn't do this.”

“Do what?” she turned to ask and was answered with a soft kiss. Darcy cleared his throat and began the lecture.

“Parts of the house can be dated back as far as 1512, but archaeological digs have shown that there has been a house here since at least 1100.”

At his particularly bad impression of a tour guide, Lizzy giggled.

“I bet your ancestors came over in the Norman invasion.”

“They certainly did.”

“Well, I bet mine were Saxons.”

“Which makes us Robin Hood and Maid Marian.”

He kissed her again and when she pulled away, she snickered.

”Actually Will, it makes me Robin and you Marian.”

“Anyway,” Will continued swiftly on, “This front section of the house was built in around 1786 and most of the house dates back about that far. There was a fire in the mid 1700s that necessitated such a large-scale building project.”

Lizzy thrust her hand in the air and bounced on her heels.

“Excuse me, Mr Tour Guide, but is it true that Will Darcy, the England hero, lives here?”

“He does sometimes,” Will played along with very good humour.

“And how does one tell when Darcy, King of the Britons, is in residence?”

“Well Miss,” Will thought for a moment. “We fly a pair of his underpants from the flagpole.”

“Calvin Klein or Ralph Lauren?”

“Depends which day it is.” Will grabbed her around the waits and swung her around for a moment. He stared into her eyes for such a long time that Lizzy wondered rather poetically, if perhaps he could see into her mind.

“Next,” he finally whispered, “is the Long Gallery.”

Lizzy half-expected him to carry her back upstairs, such was the look in his eyes, but he did in fact take her into the Long Gallery.

“This is based on a design used by the Medici family at the Palazzo Pitti in Florence. It's a gargantuan building, if you've ever been, you'll notice that it's a drab on the outside but quite beautiful on the inside.”

“I've never been.”

“I'll take you,” he said hurriedly. She smiled.

“All right.” They wasted unknowable minutes on gazing at each other, before Will remembered his purpose in bringing her here.

“Well, this is the Long Gallery, like I said. It was built in 1804 and since then has been the primary home of the Darcy art collection. Most are family portraits, but there are a few paintings of note and some very nice sculptures.”

“Is that a Degas?”

"Actually, no. An ancestor of mine studied alongside him and picked up some of his tricks. I'm afraid an Alfred Darcy isn't worth nearly as much, but some would say it's just as pretty.”

“It's nice.”

Darcy took her arm and led her through a pictorial history of the Darcy family.

“This is another William and another Elizabeth, actually. This is the fellow who built the London house.”

“What happened to them?”

“Family legend has it that she died… er, died in childbirth. The women who marry into my family don't have an excellent record on that score, for some reason.”

He squeezed her hand suddenly. Desperate to alleviate his fears, Lizzy snuggled closer to him.

“We've come a long way since then.”

“Georgiana is only eighteen.”

“We've come a long way since then, too.”

“Maybe.”

“Darcy… Will, have you ever thought that they were willing to go through that for their children? Mothers are like that. Even mine.”

“Perhaps.”

“No perhaps about it,” she insisted. “Who are these alarmingly attractive people?”

“Ah, well that's my Great-Aunt Anna-Sophia and her husband the Grand Duke Schleswick-Erschenspee. He was German. When the First World War broke out, she went to Germany with him. She never returned. I'm told they lived in some German castle until she died in 1941.”

“See what people will do for love, Will? She left everything behind.”

“Have anything but love as your master,” he said quietly, and she rolled her eyes.

“I never had you pegged as a Cleopatra fan, Darcy.”

He went red and began examining a priceless vase as if seeing it for the first time.

“We watch a lot of stuff on the team bus,” he told her.

“I'll bet. Did you see to the end of Cleopatra? She admitted she was wrong.”

“And they both died.”

“Oh please Will, give up. If I'm to believe you, you've hung out with me, played at being friends with me, put yourself through the ordeal of having my family here and… Will, it sound to me like love already is your master.” Lizzy paused and snaked an arm around his waist, before she planted a single kiss on the left side of his mouth. “But that's all right, because it's mine too.”

“I don't know why I love you, Lizzy, but I… I do.”

“And vice versa, dear Will.”

Will pulled her into a crushing hug.

“You won't… betray me, will you?”

“What? Not if I can possibly help it! This has been a very strange conversation, you know.”

“I'm sorry. But you-”

“Honestly Will, did you really think I'd shag you then call Max Clifford?”

“It's what most girls do!”

“I'm not most girls!” Lizzy's voice bounced hollowly off the walls of the Long Gallery as it hitched up a decibel. Seeing the look on his face and remembering all too well the way she'd leapt to conclusions in the past, she forced her flaring temper to heel.

“What's bothering you, Will?”

He took her hand very gingerly, and led her through a door concealed in the panelling. From there they went up a rickety iron staircase and into a dark room. When he switched on the light, it was revealed to be a large cavern of a room and contained all manner of... what appeared to be bric-a-brac.

“What is this place?” she asked, trying not to trip over a large antique pram.

“My dad used to call it the Top Secret Darcy Vault. It was originally constructed to hide gold and the like from thieves. There's no gold these days, but it holds the most treasured possessions of my family. Come here.”

Will led her through the piles of stuff to an only slightly dusty antique sofa, where she sat, bubbling with curiosity. He rummaged around in the boxes until he found a large, relatively modern photograph album. Inside, in very beautiful, immaculate handwriting, someone had written `Fitzwilliam Lancelot Darcy' on the frontispiece with his date and place of birth.

“Fitzwilliam Lancelot Darcy?” she choked, trying not to laugh.

“My mother named me so.”

“How did you not get beaten to death at Eton, or Arsenal for that matter?”

“My father talked her down to Fitzwilliam Roger.”

“Still, Fitzwilliam.”

Will shrugged and said: “It's never really been my name. I've always been Will or William. My father returned the favourite to Mum by naming Georgie after himself. And the ancestral Georgiana of course.”

“How many people know your real first name?”

“Me, Mrs Reynolds, Georgie, Richard, Charlie. You.”

“In the whole world right not?”

“Yes.”

“I'm flattered to be part of such an exclusive group. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I'm glad.” He was incredibly solemn as he turned to the first page:

A hospital room (private), where a tired but very beautiful lady with all of Catherine de Bourgh's fine features (but none of her haughtiness) cradled a small baby, who already possessed a tuft of dark hair.

“I was very small and my mother was convinced I was going to die. I stayed in hospital for a few weeks being pumped full of vitamins and stuff. My current doctors are still amazed I grew to be so tall, let alone that I'd have the strength to play professional football.”

“She's very beautiful, Will. And you were very cute.”

She pointed to the next photograph of Darcy at (according to the beautiful handwritten caption) three years and two days old. He smiled openly at the camera from his position on a fine wooden chair. His dark hair was combed but unruly and Lizzy imagined he'd messed it up himself just before the photo was taken. The next was of young Darcy with his father, a handsome and kindly-looking man with greying hair even in the 1970s. There were photographs both formal and candid of little Darcy with his cousins, his grandparents and one were six-year-old Darcy was clearly squirming out of the iron grip of Auntie Catherine de Bourgh. More photographs of the boys fishing and camping, riding and playing- including George Wickham.

“I haven't had the heart to cut him out, “Will said. “After everything, it would still be a lie to pretend he wasn't one of us.”

More photographs of Darcy as he grew and aged- with his brand new sister when he was ten, one with his incredibly frail mother days before her death according to a less beautifully written caption in Darcy's own hand. Then followed press cuttings from her funeral. Then came school photographs, Arsenal academy photographs and press cuttings of his first games. Photographs of high society teenagers, including one of a group that including a striking red-headed girl.

“Patricia Suzanne Devlin,” Will told Lizzy. “She was two years older than me and when I was sixteen, she asked me to ask her out. I'd never done anything of the sort before and so I agreed. Two days after the `date' which consisted of me meeting her in Hyde Park and kissing her once… I heard her friends talking about me at a Season event. She'd asked me out because she wanted my cousin Edward to notice her. He didn't, of course.”

He flicked to the next page and to a brunette.

“Charlotte Louise Mary De Vere Montague. A cousin of Jimmy's. I asked her out when I was seventeen. I was enchanted by her. She said yes, then dumped me for George Wickham as I arrived to pick her up.”

He flicked to the next page, and another pretty brunette.

“Eleanor Hastings-Marchbanks. She asked me out and given how beautiful she was, I said yes. We went out for three months, in which I lost my virginity after my first Arsenal game… then she tried to sell her story to the papers. I wasn't important enough yet, and my father negotiated a deal and the story will never come to light.”

He turned the page again. A brash blonde, a real WAG.

“Honey Starkey. The only time I've ever attempted to go out with one of the football set. It was just after my dad died, and she did sell her story, although there really wasn't much to tell.”

The next photo was of Charlie, Will, Robbie and Caroline.

“Caroline Bingley has been after me since she was sixteen years old. She'd like nothing more than to marry me for FitzDarzy, Pella, Darcy House and Pemberley. She's gone out with a number of Arsenal players since she was legal and has been engaged to Davoric twice.”

He closed the photo album and his eyes.

“Every girl I've ever been remotely close to has betrayed me in some form. I couldn't go through it all again, Lizzy, not with you.”

”Darcy, I'm a journalist. Not a very good one, but I am one. But I'll only ever write about you in a professional capacity when I'm asked to by an editor, unless you ask me to do otherwise.”

“We never finished that profile,” he reminded her.

“Yeah, well, least said. Are you going to show me the other photographs you have, or just the pretty girls?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He reopened the book and she snuggled closed, the better to see pictures by.

***

That evening, Lizzy and Darcy were able to eat their first dinner at Pemberley together, in a very cosy room called the Green Salon. Small and intimate, it felt closed off and detached from the entire world. Darcy's phone proved that it was not. Henry du Plessis had been `trying to reach you all day' and was hopping mad about the press Darcy was getting.

“Haven't you seen the papers, Darcy?”

“No, I'm at home.”

“They have papers in Belgravia!”

“I'm at Pemberley. I left home before the papers arrived yesterday.”

“They have papers in Derbyshire!” Henry screeched. Darcy held the phone away from his ear and allowed Henry to rant for a moment. Very coolly, he said:

“So Henry, what's up?”

His agent let off such a torrent of angry abuse that Will hung up.

“We can check the news online,” Lizzy suggested. Will nodded.

“Henry's reaction suggests we should.”

They headed wordlessly up to his study, which as he'd told her some time ago, was a bit like the Batcave. After switching his computer on, Darcy was bombarded with mail alerts, each declaring he had no less than fifty emails each.

“How many email accounts do you need?” she joked.

“Need or have?” he retorted, clicking each link. “I think the cat is out of the bag.”

“I knew the cat was out of the bag when you planted a smacker on me in front of a bunch of adoring fans.”

“There were no cameras there.”

“Not that you saw, but there were people with cameras. The paparazzi are really good at their jobs. And a picture of you with a girl is probably the Holy Grail.”

“Yeah, and not one of these people seems happy about it.”

“What's this account for?”

“It's an Arsenal one and I think a lot of fans guess at it.”

“[e-mail] isn't exactly Bletchley Park level code-breaking. It's not even Krypton Factor level code-breaking.”

“True.” He exited the window and moved on. “FitzDarcy people want to know if I'm jeopardising the company by consorting with an, and I quote `a known journalist'. Anne says hello to you, Richard an Jimmy say it's about time and… I can't be bothered any more.”

“Better check the papers. Tabloids first and work up.”

Darcy obliged and typed in web addresses.

The Sun: `Darcy Scores Column Inches!
The Mirror: `Thin Line Between Love and Hate!'
Daily Mail: `England Hero's Wordy New Girl'
The Guardian: `Will and Lizzy: What Changed Between England Captain and Guardian Columnist?'
The Times: `Arsenal 0 - West Ham 0 - Darcy 10.'
The Independent: `Middle East Road Map Quietly Abandoned By Western Governments.

“Nice to see the Independent still doing its bit,” Lizzy remarked, trying to forget the unflattering angle of the photos. “What does the Times mean, Darcy 10?”

“No idea.” He clicked the link and read aloud: “`England football captain Will Darcy unveiled his latest girlfriend before the Arsenal game.' Latest? Charming!”

“Keep reading, Will.”

“`He chatted with fans before the game and when asked about the woman, replied that her name was Lizzy. He then made reference to the Dudley Moore- Bo Derek film 10 and said he'd found someone just as perfect.'” Will went red. “I forget myself so easily these days.”

“And I bet your fans love you for it.” She kissed him warmly and snickered. “So, I'm a perfect ten, you say?”

“I think you are.”

“You're very sweet… you really do watch a lot of crap on the team bus, don't you?”

“We do, but I remember watching 10 with Richard when we were much younger. He was convinced he was in love with Bo Derek. It broke his heart to find out the film wasn't exactly current.”

“Yes, I'm sure it was his heart that broke.”

“I don't want to waste any more time on this,” he declared.

“What do you want to waste your time on?”

He stood up, lifted her into his arms and carried her away to find out.

***

“I didn't think this was what you were thinking of,” she said. Will had carried Lizzy out into the grounds and they now stood at the food of a mighty, ancient tree.

“I have to say, so far, it's not as good as what I had in mind,” she added.

He grinned.

“Once a tree climber, always a tree climber. Get up there!”

“What? Do you remember every single conversation we've ever had?”

“Yes.”

“OK.” Lizzy stretched a little and then sized up the tree. It would be difficult, but not beyond her abilities. She jumped for a branch and got herself a foothold. Will had taken another route up the other side of the tree and was already within the branches.

“If you fall and hurt yourself, I won't take the blame from the club and your maniac fans.”

“I wouldn't expect you to,” he replied calmly. “You get a nice perspective from up a tree, don't you?”

“Are you insured for tree-climbing?”

“No.”

“What happens if you fall and hurt yourself?”

“I don't know, but it probably involves a breach of contract.”

“You should get down, then.”

“I like it up here.”

“Will…”

“I've only just got up here.”

“But I don't want you to hurt yourself.”

“The ground's all slushy mud. Even if I did fall, it would be like falling into a vat of jelly.”

“It wouldn't, you know.”

“Do you dare me to find out?”

“I most certainly do not!”

“You're a lot more stick in the mud about this than I was expecting.”

“Well, I've never been up a tree with the most prized sporting commodity in the country!”

“Is that all I am, a commodity?”

“To me, no. To everyone else on this bloody island, you are. Although I bet the Scots would love to hear you got injured by falling out of a tree.”

“You're right.”

Will began very carefully climbing down out of the tree.

“Thank you. Now, help me down, please.”

At some point in the helping down, Lizzy's foot slipped and Will Darcy, King of the Britons and his Perfect 10 ended up flat on their backs in wet, cloying mud.

“Well, this was fun, Darcy. Thanks for suggesting it,” she said dryly, still lying in the mud.

“Ah yes, but what comes next?”

“We go and clean up?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh. Ah. I see.”

“Yes.”

***

The press were not leaving. The late hour, the thundering rain and the howling winds could not dissuade those who'd already negotiated a price for the photographs they were determined to get. Some were on step ladders, ready to snap a frame or twenty over the wall the second the front door opened. Some were around by the back gate. Others had bribed or charmed their way into nearby homes for both warmth and the elevated angle of a first or second floor window. They waited, and waited, the green Aston Martin still not home yet. Darcy's other `every day car', the black Lamborghini, had been seen driving into the back garage, but nobody was certain Darcy had been the driver.

At ten minutes past midnight, the front door opened and Richard Fitzwilliam exited with a black umbrella and his fiancée Jimmy.

“If you're looking for Darcy, he isn't here!” Richard bellowed over the media yelling. “Go home and dry off!”

“Where is he?” someone yelled. Richard merely smiled and drove Darcy's Lambo away.

***

Pemberley looked very beautiful in the rain. Even when everything was covered in the dull and claustrophobic grey of an English winter, it seemed that Pemberley was a fairytale away from the rest of the world. As she looked out of the gallery windows towards the South, Lizzy felt a very great sense of being exactly where she should be at the very right moment in time.

“I've found you at last!” Will's voice was serene, even happy, as he came into the gallery from the rough direction of the kitchen. He carried with him a king-size bag of Maltesers.

“I wasn't hiding,” she replied absently, not yet able to tear herself away from the view. He offered her the bag and she took a handful.

“They're rock hard!”

”They've been in the fridge.”

“Why?”

“I like them that way,” Will said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“You'll break your teeth on them.”

“But they won't melt in my hand. I hate that.”

Lizzy took his hand and kissed it gently.

“Darcy, King of the Britons. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, chocolate never melts in his hands.”

“You're teasing me again, I can tell.”

“How?”

“Your lips are moving.”

“Touché.”

“Want another Malteser?”

“Yeah. Shouldn't you be on a strict football diet?”

“Not today.”

“Do you love football, Darcy?”

“I… that came out of nowhere.”

“Yes, it did. Do you?” Lizzy grabbed another few Maltesers and crunched them loudly.

“Love football?”

She nodded, mouth gummed up with honeycomb.

“I don't know how to answer. Do I love football the game, football the dream, football the business, football the bread and circuses? The first is my great passion, the second faded years ago, the third I despise and the fourth I'd much rather live without.”

Darcy took a breath and his shoulders slumped. “That's it. That's your answer.”

“That's a better answer than I was expecting. I thought you'd say no outright.”

“Bill Shankly once said this: `I don't think football is a matter of life and death. It's much more important than that.' I can understand that. There isn't a rational explanation- it really is just twenty two men kicking a ball around for ninety minutes… but it is everything I've ever dreamed of, longed for, wanted and lived for since I can remember.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair and said, “Except now I have you as well.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I sometimes wish I didn't love it, or that I was no good. I spent last season that way.”

“You were injured most of last year, weren't you?”

“Yes.”

“A coincidence?”

”That depends on whether you believe in mind over matter. I didn't go out intending to get hurt, but I certainly didn't mind. I'm surprised the fans haven't turned on me.”

“You're Will Darcy. They wouldn't.”

“Oh yes, they would! All it would take is one missed penalty or a red card at the wrong time. I know the papers keep calling me King of the Britons, but they'll tear me down the second it starts selling copies.”

“Not if the people love you enough.”

“The people?” he scoffed. “The people? They don't care about me, they care about the vicarious thrills of watching us play football.”

“They care about Danny Buckram. People care about him.”

“They don't care about him, they like reading about what he eats for breakfast and what he wears in bed.”

“You're very cynical for so young a man, Darcy. I'm sure some people only care about the inane trivialities of celebrity life… but a lot of them care about the person. They cared about Bobby Moore and the Charlton Brothers. Didn't you see the reaction when George Best died? People were so upset you'd think a favourite uncle had died.”

“People like an excuse to weep and wail.”

“I don't believe that's true.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the cynical journalist and I was supposed to be the wide-eyed idealist.”

“Well, I'm not a very good journalist and you're not much of an idealist.”

“True.”

“Will…”

“You know, when you say my name in that very slow, wheedly way I know you're going to ask me something that I won't want to do.”

“Oh, you think you're so hip to my ways, do you?”

“Yes, I do. Spit it out.”

“You know, people would quite willingly adore you if they knew you. Surely I'm proof of that?”

“Do you want to share me, is that it? I have some issues with that.”

“No, I don't want to share you, I want you to show the rest of the world that you're a very good man.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I want the rest of the world to know that you're not just an aristocratic football automaton, that you're funny and kind and the rest.”

“And how do you propose I do that? Go on daytime television and pour my heart out? I don't think so! I'll play football. I'll go to the occasional charity ball. I will not sell my soul to Hello!”

“Did I say you should do that? I didn't say that. The last thing I want is for you to tell the world everything about you… but would a little bit kill you?”

“Probably not.”

“Just think about it… I mean, you liked doing Comic Relief, didn't you?”

“I didn't hate it, but I don't know about like.”

“You're so adorably intractable sometimes.” Lizzy leaned over and ruffled his hair, so in return he smiled at her and offered some more Maltesers.

“When are we going back to the real world?” she now asked, chomping on some more Maltesers.

“Tomorrow morning, I suppose.”

“You don't sound too keen.”

“Now that you're here at Pemberley,” he said, as he took her hand and kissed it, “I feel like the whole world belongs here. I don't want anything else.”

“You'll soon tire of me, dear Will, if I'm the only thing you have to look at and speak to for the rest of your life.”

“Never.”

“Never say never, Will.” She was, if truth be told, a little unnerved by his intensity. It felt as if it might swallow her whole and she'd never be seen again.

***

Chapter Fifteen

Will and Lizzy were forced away from Pemberley and back to London far sooner than he wanted and perhaps surprisingly, not before time for Lizzy.

“You're very quiet,” he remarked as they passed by Luton on the M1. It was true- she'd hardly said a word since they'd got into the car. Will, being the kind of naturally quiet man he was, hadn't really registered the lack of chatter until the silence became oppressive.

“I'm just tired, Will. It's been a hectic few days.”

“It's been a hectic few months,” he corrected, leaning over to take her hand. “I hardly feel like I've stopped since… I hardly even remember. Yet, I feel better than I have in years.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Everything feels… better. It must be your doing.”

Lizzy shifted in the passenger seat, and if he hadn't noticed that, he certainly noticed the way she pulled her hand away from his. Will's jaw clenched and he put his hand back on the steering wheel. Not another word was said until the car pulled up in Shoreditch.

“I'd better get inside before any photographers see me,” she said quietly. Although she leaned over to kiss him, he moved away. Feeling awkward, tense and guilty, she didn't make another attempt and once she'd retrieved her bag, she ran inside.

***

She woke up just before lunchtime on Wednesday, refreshed and wide awake at last. There were only two messages on her answer machine, one from Jane and one from her mother, shrieking about her `good fortune' at snaring someone like Will Darcy.

Darcy had made no contact, but Lizzy found an email from Georgie waiting for her.

“Lizzy, I made a rather terrible assumption that you'd be coming here to our house before the game, so I've got your ticket. Will said if I asked nicely, you'd give me a lift to Highbury. By the way, I'm really glad you've sorted it all out with him- he's been mooning over you for far too long. See you later, G.”

So, it appeared that she had no way of getting out of going to Arsenal Vs. Tottenham Hotspur tonight. It also appeared, though, that Will wasn't incredibly angry, or surely he wouldn't have let Georgie cadge a lift with her?

Anyway, she had a better idea as to transport.

***

“Isn't this more fun than the rush hour?” Lizzy asked Georgie with a grin full of cheer she didn't really feel. They were stood up on a northbound Victoria Line train full of commuters and football fans. Lizzy was squashed between the door and a middle-aged gent in a cheap, ill-fitting suit from Burton's, while Georgie was being crushed between an ample-bosomed woman and a chav in Burberry. They'd been on the train since Green Park, and it had been approximately this busy all the way up. Finally, the train slid into Finsbury Park and as the doors opened, most of the people on the train forced their way off it and up to the street.

“Keep hold of your bag, Georgie,” Lizzy murmured in her ear as she pushed her way through the crowds, her grip on Georgiana's hand firm and unyielding. They were pushed and pulled along by the crowds of Arsenal and Tottenham fans, and feeling the waves of hostility rolling off the old rivals towards each other, Lizzy began to regret, very much indeed, using tonight of all nights to introduce Georgie to this side of life. She pulled Georgie close to her, and they inched towards the stadium together in the midst of the crowds.

“I shouldn't have brought you this way today,” Lizzy told her.

“It's all right. I liked the tube, although it was awfully busy.”

Georgie's eyes were bright, and she appeared to be genuinely excited by the whole experience… if a little scared by the decades' long nastiness between the two North London sides.

“You should see it at half past eight on a Monday morning. The Victoria Line is like riding a train into the bowels of Hell. When it's not busy, it's pretty cool. It must be nice to have the option. We really shouldn't have done this today. Your brother will kill me if anything happens to you.”

“I'm sure he'd do many things, but killing isn't on the list.” Georgie snickered quickly.

“You overestimate my power over him.”

“I don't think I do. Although he was in a terrible mood when he got back last night. Did you have an argument or was he just in post-Pemberley withdrawal?”

“Neither, but I was a bit… offish, I think you'd say.”

“I'm sure it'll all be fine,” Georgie said with all the confidence of youth. “Talk to him after the game.”

Lizzy doubted Georgie's confidence but said nothing.

***

The game was a goalless draw, and for the crowds, it was ninety minutes of boredom in the frigid cold, followed by another half an hour of outright hostility between teams and fans alike. When the players finally trudged muddily off the field, Lizzy let out a breath she'd more or less been holding since the game began.

“I'm glad that's over,” Georgie told her as they went into the players' lounge. “It was like having teeth pulled.”

She and Lizzy settled down in a quiet corner to wait for Will. The bad feeling had spread across everyone, and it was remarkably quiet in the lounge. Nobody came over to bother them, not even Caroline Bingley, who settled for glaring over at Lizzy every now and then.

Will seemed to take forever to arrive, and when he did, his face was practically thunderous.

“Come on Georgie, let's go home.”

“Will, sit down. I'll get you a drink-” Georgie looked at Will, then Lizzy, clearly confused.

“I just want to go home.”

“Fine, fine. Lizzy, are you coming?”

“I'm sure Lizzy has better things to do,” Will snapped. “Did you park in the stadium or outside somewhere?”

“Oh, we came by tube, Will!” Georgie twittered happily, hoping this might bring a smile to his face.

“The tube?” It did not bring a smile to his face. “You brought my sister on the tube? On the night of the North London derby? Were you trying to get mugged or attacked, or just hoping?”

“Will, calm down-” Lizzy started.

“What's the matter, Will?” Georgie looked suddenly distraught, having not wanted to cause more tension. He took his sister's hand and began to pull her towards the door. She struggled out of his grip and glared at him.

“Will, not here,” Lizzy hissed. The lounge was mostly empty of people, but not entirely and she had no desire to cause a scene in front of anyone. “We came by tube and had no problems at all. It's not the eighties, you know.”

She didn't mention the tension between the sets of fans as they went into the stadium.

“That doesn't matter,” he hissed back. “Georgie's young and-“

“Oh!” Georgie now re-entered the conversation. “I can spend months on my own in Mustique surrounded by rich people but I mustn't stray past Bond Street? Well fine! I've got a return ticket, you know!”

She ran out of the lounge and Lizzy knew she would be stomping towards the tube station. She glared at Will for a moment, and followed after her in a run. Will was over-protective, but Georgie was young and didn't know the area well.

***

Georgie and Lizzy got back safely to Belgravia, and found police swarming over the house next door.

“Burglars struck while they were out at Sadlers' Wells,” Mrs Reynolds told them. Will was not yet returned and Lizzy had elected, with advice from Georgie, to wait to speak to him. “There's been a spate of such things. They wait until they know the family are out. That's why I'm glad Will always has someone here, even if it is just me.”

“It's not just that, Mrs R. It's the high-tech security alarms he's had installed too,” Georgie said with a grin. They heard the front door slam shut and after a moment, Will came in looking concerned.

“What happened? Are you all right?”

“The police are next door, Will,” Georgie told him quickly. “We made it back in one piece. Well, two separate pieces, obviously. One each.”

Will did not crack a smile. Mrs Reynolds poured him a cup of tea and left rather quickly.

“Bad game tonight, Will,” Georgie remarked. He sipped his tea and did not reply.

“Grow up Will,” Lizzy said rather sharply. “By all means be snotty and grumpy with me, but don't take it out on Georgie. Not only hasn't she done anything wrong, she doesn't even know why you're in a strop with me.”

“A strop?” he snapped. She smirked.

“Yes a strop. You're in a strop because I was in a bad mood on the way back from Pemberley. I assume you're thinking that I'm looking for the back door, the easier to leave by before stopping by Max Clifford's house. Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but a bad mood is just a bad sodding mood and I'm not going anywhere. Or am I not entitled to be entirely overwhelmed by the reality of being Will Darcy's woman every now and then?”

She sucked in a deep breath and sat down- having not even noticed that she'd stood up to begin with. Georgie snuck out the door.

“You could've talked to me,” he said quietly. She sighed.

“I was trying to sort out my thoughts so I didn't have to. Don't tell me you don't know what that's like.”

“I do.” He got up and began aimlessly wandering the room. “Would you believe me if I told you I was scared?”

“That I'd changed my mind? Yes, I would. Not because I'd do it, but because I already know you well enough.”

“Yes, I suppose you do. That's what scares me, Lizzy.”

“I know that too. Do sit down, you're making me dizzy.” To her relief, he sat down beside her. “Will… I don't want to lose myself in the legend of Will Darcy. I wish I could help you understand… I've worked really hard to get where I am… a publishing deal, a column in a great newspaper. People respect me in my own right. Becoming the King of the Britons' consort doesn't help any of that.”

“It's not too late to change your mind,” His teeth were clenched so hard his jaw looked like it was about to dislocate itself.

“Yes it is,” she said softly. “It was too late the moment I fell entirely in love with you. I don't regret this Will, but will you please allow me the occasional moment to completely freak out? You've had a lifetime to come to terms with being Will Darcy, and God knows you still have your issues!”

“I know. I know. Perhaps this is one of them.”

“Perhaps?” Her left eyebrow arched. His mouth quirked.

“Definitely.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I'm sorry.”

“So am I. Is this what Georgie meant by post-Pemberley depression?”

“It affects us all in different ways. It's a different world there, you know.”

“I do know now, yes.” She snuggled closer to him.

“You know, it's terribly late,” he muttered. “It's gone ten. I don't like to think of you driving home in the dark all the way to Shoreditch.”

“No,” she replied slowly. “You're quite right.”

“Your safety is my first concern.”

It was when Lizzy's cackled laughter reached Georgie's open bedroom door that the younger girl was reassured. The door was closed by the time Will and Lizzy got up the stairs.

***

The next morning began as a storm broke over South East England. Rain lashed down hard on London, and those lucky enough to remain indoors watched the water fall from the sky as the less-fortunate were forced outside into it. Darcy and Lizzy sat eating breakfast by the windows overlooking the gardens. The sky was grey and depression-inducing, and the rhythm of the rain against the windows induced all who heard it into quiet lethargy.

“The Annabella Foundation is hosting a fundraiser in two weeks' time,” he told as he buttered his toast. “Would you come with me as my guest?”

“Certainly. Where's it being held?”

“The National Gallery. It was Jimmy's idea.”

“Black tie?”

“Yes.”

“Count me in… I've always wanted to hob-nob with the upper classes.” Her eyes sparkled wickedly and she reached over and snatched a slice of toast.

***

If Lizzy had believed that her vanquishing of the over-tanned WAGs would stand her in good stead for the other side of Darcy's life, she was only slightly right.

As she stood in an over-priced dress in the elegant vestibule of the National Gallery, she realised that nothing much could've prepared her for meeting the aristocrats. The evening was nominally in honour of the Annabella Foundation, but most of the guests, having already paid to come along, appeared to believe their duty towards the charity was over and now spent their time networking.

Before the start, Darcy had made it clear to her that if it weren't for the charity in his mother's name, he'd have made excuses and stayed at home. Now, as she watched him being dragged from pillar to post to titled gent, she realised why he detested socialising of any kind. At least, though, he had known most of the people in attendance from his infancy. This was the crystal cut world of Old School ties, polo matches, hunting and the idle rich. In this room at least, Darcy was not the oldest money or the most aristocratic, but he was certainly one of the richest and by far the most famous. A couple of the guests, whose births had been covered in the international press, still found themselves in competition with him for celebrity.

One phrase Lizzy had heard her father (a socialist right up to the moment he made some money) use: “chinless wonder”, seemed apt for some of those present. She suspected that there were two hundred and fifty people in attendance but likely only four or five distinct bloodlines.

Still, she was determined to have a decent time, and felt that she'd disappoint herself if she didn't give the idle rich as much of a chance as the idle famous. She wandered the gallery with her glass of champagne, eventually finding herself stood in front of the famous Botticelli `Venus and Mars'.

It was here that Jimmy Montague, resplendent in a red dress of her own design, found Lizzy.

“Lizzy, are you enjoying yourself?” Jimmy took her arm gently and they began wandering through the gallery.

“Yes, I am.”

“I should like to let you in on a secret,” Jimmy told her kindly, “Good breeding- the real sort, I mean- doesn't have any time for snobbery of any ilk. Should you encounter anyone who treats you, well… you know… completely disregard them.”

“Thank you, Jimmy. Are you having a good time?”

“Partially. There's a lot of awful bores here who seem to think the cost of quail or where to get their Chelsea tractors valeted are the most important issues in the world. I should like to take them to Malawi or Cambodia… or even as far as Tower Hamlets!”

Jimmy's indignation and her priorities were clear. Lizzy smiled.

“You should,” she replied, “but even if you did, most would only see what they wanted to see.”

“You're quite right of course. One can't force people to care. Shame. Still, I must go suck up to Auntie Decca. Please, excuse me.”

Lizzy nodded and watched as Jimmy began chatting with an elderly, wheelchair-bound woman across the room, before she wandered over to a magnificent altarpiece. `The Ansidei Madonna' by Raphael, she read off the card beside it. She knew very little about art, but she knew something breathtaking when she saw it.

“Lizzy!” She turned and saw Jimmy wave her over. She obeyed and approached Jimmy and the lady, who with her silver hair, black silk and diamonds looked every bit the definition of a dowager.

“Aunt Decca, this is Lizzy Bennet, the writer. Lizzy, this is my aunt Jessica Mounthaven, the dowager Duchess of Coleraine.”

“It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am.” Lizzy bent slightly in order to shake her hand. `Aunt Decca's' handshake was surprisingly firm.

“You're the young lady who wrote about that MP and George Wickham, aren't you?” the dowager asked in the over-loud manner of someone going increasingly deaf but refusing to accept it.

“Yes ma'am.”

“Jolly good show! I always hated that boy. He had the look of the devil in him.”

“He still does, ma'am.”

The dowager's attention switched back to Jimmy, and Lizzy excused herself quietly.

It was by the Constables that an oddly familiar woman approached Lizzy. The name did not come to her immediately.

“You're Darcy's new woman, aren't you?” she asked rather abruptly, casting a clearly disapproving glance over Lizzy. She was tall and aristocratic, and Lizzy mentally cast her in an Enid Blyton school playing lacrosse and drinking ginger beer at a midnight feast by the pool.

“I'm Lizzy Bennet, yes.”

“How delightful to meet you. Eleanor Hastings-Marchbanks.”

She held a jewelled hand out to Lizzy, who shook it loosely, barely politely.

“It's nice to meet you,” Lizzy smirked. “At last.”

“You've heard of me? You saw me in Harpers last month?”

“Oh no, Darcy mentioned you, although it was a while ago.”

Eleanor's snide smile faded a little.

“We were terribly close, William and I. It's a shame-”

“He told me what actually happened,” Lizzy told her firmly. Eleanor's smile disappeared.

“It was a very long time ago,” she muttered after a moment.

“Yes, it was.”

“We're still good friends, Darcy and I,” Eleanor told her, presumably in an attempt to save her sizeable pride.

“Not the way he tells it, dear. But don't worry, I won't tell anyone.”

Lizzy smirked and sashayed away. Aristocratic, unknown, rich or poor, bitches were the same at the end of the day, and the same things usually worked.

***

Lizzy and Darcy finally got to have a conversation between the two of them as they left the gallery.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked, rather anxiously.

“I did, actually. There are some really beautiful paintings there.”

“What about the people?”

“I had a run-in with Eleanor Hastings-Marchbanks-”

“Unfortunately, her mother Danita is a very good supporter of the Foundation,” Darcy sighed unhappily.

“It was fine. I also met Jimmy's Aunt Decca.”

“You mean my Aunt Decca.”

“Yours? How is she yours too?”

“Didn't you know? Our grandparents were siblings. Alexandra Rathbone-Montague married Arthur Darcy, Jessica Rathbone-Montague, Aunt Decca, married the Duke of Coleraine and Edward Rathbone-Montague is their brother and-”

“When we get home, show me a family tree, would you? Every time I try to work out your family, my brain seizes up.”

“All right.”

Neither noticed that she had called Darcy House home until much later.

***

Darcy and Lizzy woke late the next morning, and given that they had a free day, Darcy made good on his promise to introduce her to the family.

`The family' turned out to be a large cabinet in the library containing facsimiles of all the important family documents. Pride of place was a large scroll upon which a fine hand had created the Darcy family tree. Darcy unrolled it over the table, and Lizzy pored over it.

“It's beautiful. Who made it?”

“My grandmere Marianne had it commissioned back in the sixties. She updated it, then when she died, my mother took it over and then… nobody has.”

He ran his hands over the fine parchment scroll, and to Lizzy, it appeared that he was remembering a long-ago memory. She had the sudden image spring to mind of a little boy being taught his genealogy by a poised old lady with silver hair. He came back to the present and took her hand.

“This is me,” he pointed to the newest line. “And Georgie. There's my father, my mother and a brief description of her line. Up a generation to my grandfather Arthur and his sister Monica. She moved to New York and lived the life of a society heiress. She married eventually, but a few years later she was killed in a car accident with her husband and child.”

Darcy's hand lingered over the name of `Daniel Darcy Hayworth, 12th Oct 1953-5th August 1956' for a moment before he pointed at the name `Marianne Du Lac'.

“Grandmere Marianne. She was a very fine lady and lived until she was 96. The things she'd seen… She was in San Francisco during the big quake of 1906, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She went on a long holiday after the birth of my grandfather Arthur. Family legend has it that she had a terrible falling out with her husband. Family legend further says that she fell in love in San Francisco with a young American man. When the earthquake struck he was killed but she was saved. She returned home and never raised her voice to my great-grandfather again. We only found out about this when she died and my grandmother discovered a box of letters and momentoes hidden away.”

“That's a sad story.”

Darcy just nodded, and for a moment, Lizzy wondered if he actually agreed with the sentiment. The moment passed, as moments usually do, and he was off again, telling her the story of Matilda Darcy, who renounced her family fortune, embraced the arts and socialism long before it was fashionable (even before Marxism), moved to Florence and had an illegitimate daughter Francesca with her great love, an Italian artist before dying aged 91.

“I like the sound of her,” Lizzy said with a cheeky grin. Will laughed.

“I thought you would. She nearly caused the family a great scandal, but as Rhett Butler once said, `with enough courage you can do without a reputation'. Her absolute defiance and refusal to be ashamed rather saved the family pride. Ironic, I suppose.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Lizzy regarded him carefully. How exactly did he view this curious figment of history called Matilda? Was he proud of her for her independence or disgusted by her complete disregard for society's demands?

“Well, times have changed a great deal,” he said after a moment. He took Lizzy's hand. “Come on, it's time for lunch.”

“All right.”

Chapter Sixteen

The road to Christmas was, for Lizzy, paved with stones of idleness and boredom. Her Guardian work had slowed down with the winding up of the Wickham Trial and she suspected that her relationship with Will was working against her at the newspaper. Still, she had her books to write, and the novel was really coming along nicely… but she was disappointed. After the Mirror nonsense, she'd placed more faith in Sarah-Jane and her ability to see past the hype. She churned out her column each week, but the lack of other new assignments hadn't escaped her notice.

“You haven't eaten your Advent calendar chocolate today,” Lizzy looked up from her computer and found Will stood in the doorway, holding her calendar out to her.

“Really? Never mind, I'll have it later.”

“Are you all right?” Will came in and sat down on the edge of the desk. “You've been quiet the last couple of days.”

“Tired, Will. Just tired. And you know, the Wickham Trial is ending in a couple of days and I want to be ready.”

“I know. Of course I know.”

“I really am sorry,” she said hurriedly. “It's just… I don't think they're giving me work because of... well, us.”

She saw the indignation on his face before he even opened his mouth.

“I shall speak to the editor-”

“That will make things immeasurably worse!” she said with a sharp laugh at the image of Will Darcy facing down the editor of the Guardian. “I will make my way in writing on my own or I won't make my way at all.”

“But…”

“There are no buts in this conversation. King of the Britons you may be, but you are neither king or master of me.”

Will rolled his eyes and said, “You don't say.”

“You're laughing at me.”

“A little bit. I don't mean to,” he said, sounding sincere. “It's just… I never thought my wife would work, and to find someone who wants to-”

He stopped abruptly and she stared at him. Then, with a smirk she stood to her full height.

“Will, your wife will work, or you'll have to find another candidate for the position. Now, I'm hungry so let's go and find some food.”

That slight moment of tension passed as quickly as it arrived.

***

Two days later, Georgiana arrived home for Christmas rather earlier than expected.

“I got permission from the headmistress,” Georgiana explained as Will and Lizzy stared at her, hardly believing their eyes as she stood there in the drawing room, suitcase in hand.

“That doesn't explain why you sought permission in the first place.” Will was pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back. Lizzy personally thought he looked unnervingly like Prince Philip. Georgie shrugged.

“The verdict is in. I want to be there.”

Will actually barked with laughter.

“Over my dead body.”

Georgie just smirked as if to say `whatever works for you' and folded her arms.

“You're not going,” he told her.

“I am, though.”

“You can't-”

“When, dearest brother, I won my independence from Aunt Catherine, I also gained some from you. I have permission to be away from school and I intend to spend tomorrow at the Old Bailey. You don't have to be pleased, you don't have to help me get there or back. You do have to live with it.”

Will just looked at her, astonished for a moment. Then he looked over at Lizzy.

“This is your doing.”

“You make it sound like a bad thing,” she then turned to Georgie, “Personally, I think giving evidence was the hard part. Sitting in the public gallery and listening will be much easier.”

“That's what I thought,” Georgie said, as she took her coat off and threw it over a chair.

Will threw his hands up in the air and made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

“I can't fight both of you. Georgie, you may even get a lift.”

“Thank you Will. I'm off to finish my homework and go to bed. Good night.”

After she left, the silence that filled the room was smotheringly awkward.

“Do you really blame me for Georgie growing a spine?” Lizzy asked, voice low, quiet
and controlled.

“I'm just trying to look after her, Lizzy. It will be fine if George gets sentenced to a thousand years' hard labour but… what if he's acquitted? With the legal team he got together I wouldn't be surprised.”

“He's going to be eating porridge for years to come, Will. Georgie's testimony alone made sure of that. All the way through his supposed legal wonders have been trying to get through this with as little stain on their CVs as possible. I personally find myself glad that she came here and not Mustique. Be glad she's not running away anymore, William.”

The `William' got him. He turned and looked at her for a moment.

“Am I really wrong?” he asked. “To want to look after her? You know all that she's been through.”

“She wants to go. Nobody made her, nobody persuaded her. You and I haven't even mentioned it to her. She decided of her own accord, which is surely proof that it's time to cut your very expensive Egyptian cotton apron strings.”

“Yes… and it's efficient of you to mock both my wealth and protective nature in one tart remark.”

She laughed, “I try.”

“I worry about what he might say.”

“I don't think there's anything he can say to hurt her anymore. He has no power over her anymore. Now, let us follow some of Georgiana's example and go to bed.”

“Oh,” he said with a sigh much too dramatic to be sincere. “If you insist.”

***

The jury was due back, and the court was packed- it had only been busier on the day Georgiana gave evidence. The Darcys sat with Richard and Lizzy in the public gallery, trying not to catch the attention of the press gallery. Darcy shifted in his seat uncomfortably, finding the wait unbearable. He turned to the right.

“What's keeping them? They were due back ten minutes ago.”

“It might not be the jury. Cos you know, they can't start without the judge. He's probably asleep in his chambers or something,” Lizzy muttered in reply. Before Will could speak again, a door by the bench opened and everyone stood as the judge came in.

After a few minutes consulting and other legal faffing, the defendant was asked to rise. He did so, and stood defiantly slouched.

“Madam Foreperson, the jury has reached its verdict?”

“We have, Your Honour.”

“What is your verdict?”

In the public gallery, Georgiana Darcy grabbed her brother's hand and squeezed it tightly.

With a cold, clear voice, the Foreperson, who was a stern lady of hard features, read out the long list of charges, finishing each with the word guilty.

Georgiana released Will's hand and sighed.

“Thank you for your time,” said the Judge. He continued on to set the date for sentencing for the day after tomorrow. The courtroom emptied quickly, but the Darcy party remained behind for a few moments.

“Well?” Will asked Georgiana. She looked up at him, eyes clear and bright.

“It's nothing he doesn't deserve,” she said as she rose to her feet. “Let's go home.”

***

The Wickham trial had run its course in the national press, so the Darcys found themselves mercifully left alone after he was sent down for a very long time.

“I hope the porridge isn't too lumpy for him,” Will snarled as he read the newspaper over breakfast a few days after Wickham's sentencing. Lizzy found nothing to add to this that didn't involve soap and a shower, so she remained silent.

After a few minutes quietly eating their omelettes, they were joined by Georgiana.

“I heard from Ophelia Hayes last night. She had a miscarriage.”

“That's awfully sad news,” Lizzy said, genuinely moved. Darcy didn't seem half so bothered, although he didn't say a word. Lizzy continued, “For Ophelia. She must be... It must be awful.”

“Yes,” Georgie pushed her food around the plate for a moment. “At least I made my own choice.”

“Yes,” Lizzy had no idea what to say, so said little. Breakfast continued quietly after that, although Will gave them a couple of tidbits of information about the coming England game.

***

Later, as they sat in Will's study, Darcy finally spoke about Ophelia.

“I don't think Ophelia Hayes did.”

“Did what?” Lizzy was curious enough to look up from her latest chapter.

“Have a miscarriage. It's none of my business, but I think she probably had an abortion.”

“Why would she say - Colin Hayes is Catholic, isn't he?”

“He's one of the most prominent Catholics in parliament, and the private hospital she was `rushed to' has a very... dubious reputation as regards abortion.”

“It's rather... Wasn't she too...”

“Did I mention `easily bribed'? A young lady of my family's acquaintance has used the clinic before.”

“Acquaintance?” Lizzy's stare bored into him.

“Not that sort, I assure you. Not even Richard. No, she told me that a woman she saw was unbelievably far along. Money goes a very long way to making anything possible.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I just thought-”

“You want me to pass it along to my newspaper? Dream on, Darcy. I wouldn't ruin Ophelia Hayes any more than the poor little bint already has been.”

“But-”

“If the hospital is performing illegal late abortions, they'll be found out. I'm not going to publicly attack a fifteen year old for being foolish around George Wickham!”

“But the hospital-”

“You think you're the only person capable of connecting all those dots? Dream on, Fitzy. For once, I'm passing the public service baton, thanks very much.”

“Aren't you shocked? Appalled?”

“Shocked? Not at all. Appalled? Probably... but most of all, I'm relieved for Ophelia. It would've ruined her life to have that kid.”

“You seem to have a very easygoing attitude about this now.”

“No, I don't, but I also don't think a child should be forced to have a child, especially one with that man's DNA.”

“You think teenage girls should be able to get abortions without their parents' knowledge too, I suppose?”

“Yes, as it happens, but as you clearly don't, I think we should end this conversation.”

“Right.”

They were silent for a few tense moments.

“You think Georgie should've been able to do all of that without me even knowing?”

“Yes, Will. I do. The point is, she knew she could come to you and did.”

“I don't think-”

“No, you don't think. Darcy, no girl does that on her own if she doesn't have to! No girl!”

Lizzy slammed her laptop closed and tossed it rather carelessly into her bag.

“I'm going home.”

Will said nothing. As she opened the door to leave, she turned back.

“You're right about one thing, Will.”

“What's that?”

“It is none of your business.”

***

Will did not see Lizzy for the rest of the day. It took him until lunchtime, distracted as he was by their argument, to realise that she wasn't in the house. His first thought was to jump in his car and go to Shoreditch. She wasn't at home, so his second thought was to try her mobile phone.

“Lizzy, er, give me a call if you could please. I'm... I think we should talk properly and, well... I worry about you when I don't know where you are. Sorry... er... Bye.”

He got back into the green Aston and went back home.

***

“Who called?”

“Nobody,” Lizzy replied. Her mother handed her a cup of tea and, in an uncharacteristically kind move, sat beside her daughter.

“Whatever's the matter, Lizzy?”

“Nothing particularly important.”

“You're lying to me. I can tell. I've always been able to tell, you know.”

“Have you?”

“Oh yes. I usually assumed you had a reason, so I didn't question it much. Now, tell me.”

“Ophelia Hayes probably had an abortion.”

“Well Lizzy... I'm sure that's very important to whoever Ophelia Hayes is, but I don't see how it signifies-”

“She's one of the girls who gave evidence in the Wickham trial.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yeah. She's saying she had a miscarriage, but Will reckons she had an illegal abortion. He wants me to do some kind of expose on the clinic, but... it's not up to me to... I don't know.”

“Well,” Mrs Bennet thought for a moment. “That depends on whether you care more about people or journalism.”

“People,” Lizzy replied quickly.

“What else?”

“Nothing else.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Mum...”

“Just tell me, Lizzy. Anything that brings you here on a Sunday afternoon without lots of nagging from me must be terrible.”

“He thinks girls shouldn't be able to have abortions without telling their parents.”

“Is that all?”

“What do you mean, is that all?”

“You disagree, I take it?”

“After... Of course I do!”

“Now Lizzy, don't be silly. I almost wish I'd never told you.”

“But Mum-”

“Almost. I have never regretted what I did, and I never shall, although it makes me sad from time to time. I was very young, you know.”

“I know.”

“Everyone sees it the way they need to, Lizzy. You can't reason with people on abortion when it comes down to it- it's just the way they feel. You saw me a long time after the fact, but Will was there for his sister as it happened. You must be very gentle with him, Lizzy. Men... boys... aren't half as capable as women are. They don't cope well, not like us. Even silly women like me.”

Lizzy rested her head on her shoulder.

“You're not ever so silly, Mum.”

“Not since I could stop worrying about how to feed you all, or marry you all off.”

“Oh, you still want to do that!”

“Yes, of course I do,” her mother smiled warmly, with just a trace of self-irony. “But you and Jane are already perfectly well sorted.”

“And Mary, don't forget Mary.”

Mrs Bennet's lips went very thin for a moment, then she managed a smile.

“Yes, well Gerald is a very nice young man.”

“Nice but not rich?”

“Lizzy! I never wanted you to have rich men, I wanted you find someone to be your equal! I despaired of you finding such a person, of course...”

Lizzy's head reeled. She had always known her dad thought that way, but to discover that her mother wanted her only to be happy was almost too much.

“I should go, shouldn't I?” she asked. Mrs Bennet nodded.

“Finish your tea first.”

***

Somehow, Lizzy didn't dare go to Darcy's first. Something stopped her, and she wasn't entirely sure what. So, she headed back to Shoreditch and went back into her own home.

It felt oddly alien being back there. She'd been there very little since coming back from Pemberley and what with everything since.

Very suddenly, she was grabbed by the desire to put on her pyjamas, curl up in her duvet and watch some films. So, she did just that. When Will phoned, she was on the verge of tears courtesy of To Kill A Mockingbird.

“Lizzy, you're home! Are you all right?”

“I went to see my Mum and Dad. To sulk, actually.”

“I'm... I'm not sorry for what I think, but I'm sorry for how I spoke to you,” he told her. Tears rolled down her face and she was glad he wasn't there to see it.

“Same here.”

“Will you... Will you come ho- here tonight?” he asked, and she could hear the catch in his voice.

“No, I don't think so. I'd... It's nothing awful Will, I just want to spend a little time on my own for now. I'm sorry-”

“I know Lizzy. I'm training all day tomorrow with the England squad, but...”

“How would you like to have dinner at Lizzy's, Will?”

“Very much.”

“Good. I'll cook something very simple that doesn't involve grouse, partridge or anything that comes with shot.”

“I look forward to it. Good night, Lizzy.”

“Night, Will.”

Chapter Seventeen

Will parked his car outside Lizzy's house and for a moment, wondered if a green Aston Martin would be safe in a place like Shoreditch. He immediately chastised himself for the rather snobby remark, and as he looked around, he realised that his car was the most expensive car on the street - but not by the margin he expected.

Gentrification had hit this part of the city big time, and the Aston merely blended with the petrol-hogging SUVs, the cute small cars and junior management BMWs. With a wry smile at his own misplaced snottiness, he locked the car and headed to Lizzy's front door.

He could smell dinner before he reached the door, and could picture a pan of bubbling Bolognese sauce as he pressed his finger against the doorbell.

“Come in, Will!” Lizzy yelled from somewhere inside. He went in, and found her in the kitchen, stirring a pan of bubbling Bolognese sauce.

“It smells good,” he told her. “I brought wine. Red and white, just in case.”

“Excellent! Sit yourself down.”

“Have I ever been inside here before?”

“No.”

“Why is that?”

“Because this is a one-bedroom ground floor flat in Shoreditch, and you live in a ten-bedroom Georgian mansion in Belgravia.”

“But still-”

“I don't like it here, Will,” she cut in. “I live here because it's as convenient as I can currently afford. The plumbing is crap, there's damp in the bathroom because it's about as well ventilated as Davy Jones' locker and... I don't... I didn't want you to see this, I suppose.”

“Why?”

Lizzy didn't reply immediately, preferring to stir sauce.

“There's three Englands, Will. There's the upper class England, where you live. Where everyone has Bentleys or Land Rovers, where one inherits furniture rather than buying it and homes have names, not addresses. There's the lower class England, where neither of us have ever lived, which is concrete and grime, deprivation and despair. Then there's the one in the middle, my England. It's having enough, but not too much, it's counting pennies but not necessarily worrying over each one of them. It's having cars, but not new ones, nice schools but not outstanding ones. You live in the kind of world that gets photographed for Vanity Fair and where everyone is beautiful and where a summer holiday lasts a month and a half. My England is where you get twenty-five days leave for the entire year and read Vanity Fair.”

“But...”

“I'm not having a go at you Will, I'm really not. We live in different worlds, no matter how much they look the same. I don't have an aunt with a title, I have an aunt with a small antiques shop in Birmingham.”

“But...”

“Please, let me finish! Your sister, your beautiful and tremendous sister, had an abortion, and it was done at a private clinic with hand-woven carpets, panelled walls and classical music piped into the private room. My mother had an abortion and it was done by a woman called Eileen in the back bedroom of a house in Wolverhampton!”

Lizzy stopped stirring. Will shifted uncomfortably in his seat as a few pennies dropped. Dropped and promptly clanked loudly in his head.

“It's not a political thing for you, is it?” he asked quietly. She shook her head. “I just... assumed it was.”

“She was sixteen, and it was before legalisation. Before you think she was just some lower-class girl with no morals, I should tell you that Francesca Gardiner was the daughter of the mayor. She had to go to Wolverhampton so that nobody would know who she was.”

“She just told you all this?” The idea of a mother being so honest with her daughter didn't seem quite right to Darcy.

“Sort of. I overheard an argument between my mother and Aunt Donna once, a few years ago. Auntie Donna made some awful remark to her, and I later asked what she'd meant. I made her cry, you know.”

“Does your dad know?”

“Oh yeah. My mother's annoying, shrill, overly nervous, tactless and occasionally mean, but she's unfailingly honest. In fact, I suspect I've done her many a wrong over the years.”

Lizzy resumed stirring.

“I don't really know what to say.”

“Nor do I, Will. I don't want to make you think something you don't believe, not about this or anything. You don't have to agree with me all the time - but you must do me the same favour and not expect me to fall in line with you at all times.”

“I don't!”

“Of course you do, Will. It's not your fault, really. You've been brought up in that other England, where women are liberated - but only just. In your heart, you don't think it's right for a woman to work after she's married - if at all - and you don't think it's right for-”

“Now hang on! Don't tell me what I believe, Lizzy!”

“Don't you believe it?”

He didn't reply. She went back to stirring, then turned the heat off.

“Will, listen to me. We're from different Englands, and that's OK , but it means sometimes we just don't see things the same way.”

“You make me sound like some... chauvinist.”

“You're not. You're just a bit old-fashioned, that's all. Different Englands, you see. Now, hand me that colander, would you?”

Will did so, then watched as she prepared two hearty bowls of spaghetti Bolognese. They sat at the kitchen table to eat, and not much was said.

“It's the same England,” he told her after a moment or six. She smiled, a little sadly.

“Geographically so.”

“Lizzy, if you ever... Just say.”

“What?”

“I mean to say... that is, er...”

“Being from a different England doesn't mean I'm looking for the door, Wilhelm. Calm down. It's been a weird sort of time lately, and I think the weather's been buggering with my mood.”

“It does that, you know.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, her mouth full of food.

“In the spirit of openness and such... I was wondering about, well, do you have plans for Christmas, at all?”

Lizzy just looked at him until she'd finished chewing.

“Christmas?”

“Yes, Christmas. We, that is, Georgie and I, and possibly Richard and Jimmy, will be going to Pemberley...”

“Don't you have a game on Boxing Day?”

“Yes, but we'll drive down that morning. Will you... if you have plans with your family, I'll understand.”

“I'm sure my mother will be delighted that I won't be spending Christmas with her!”

“I don't-”

“Never mind. Consider your invitation thoroughly accepted.”

“Good.”

***

“You're very happy this morning, William.”

Mrs Reynolds knew exactly why Will was happy, but chose to quietly tease him anyway. She put his breakfast down on the table and went back to what she was doing before.

“I am happy, Mrs R. I am. Do you know why?”

“No dear. Why?”

“Because this is going to be the best Christmas since my parents died. Possibly even better.”

Again, Mrs Reynolds knew precisely why this was.

“Oh yes, Will?”

“Lizzy's coming to Pemberley.”

“Oh really? That's lovely.”

“Yes, it is. Now, I have to get to the ground. Chelsea at home on Wednesday.”

“Have a nice day, William.”

“Thank you. You too.”

***

“Oh Lizzy! How wonderful!”

Mrs Bennet's reaction to being told `sorry, can't come for Christmas this year' was not precisely as Lizzy had expected.

“We'll have to send a present for the Darcys up with you,” Mrs Bennet rattled on and on for some time, until Lizzy began reading the New Yorker while pretending to listen.

“When are you going up there? Lizzy?”

“Sorry, I didn't hear-”

“When are you going up to Pemberley?”

“The weekend before Christmas, I think. Once Georgie's back from school.”

Lizzy let her mother ramble on a bit longer before giving some excuse to extricate herself from the conversation.

*

In the end, the plans changed a bit. Charlie and Jane hadn't been able to shun either set of parents, so the plan was that Jacob and Tanya Bingley got the newest Bingleys for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning... before driving to Netherfield for Christmas afternoon and Boxing Day.

Therefore, Lizzy began to feel guilty about spurning her family.

“We'll visit on our way to Pemberley, Lizzy.”

Will was the one to suggest it, and she was glad, for she hadn't been able to ask him to willingly spend time within the insanity of her family.

The Saturday before Christmas, therefore, Darcy's green Aston was parked by the front door of Netherfield and its owner was sat in the South Sitting Room drinking green tea with the Bennets.

“It's a shame that your sister couldn't be here,” said Mrs Bennet. Will's face tightened a little. He didn't like lying. How to tell her that his sister just didn't feel that she could face the noisy, barmy Bennets?

“Georgie went to visit our aunt Catherine. She'll get a lift up to Pemberley with my cousin Richard.”

Mrs Bennet perked up at the mention of `Millionaire Businessman Richard Fitzwilliam.'

“He seems like a charming man from what I've seen in the media.”

“He is, Mrs Bennet.”

“How is your sister now, Mr Darcy?” she asked, her voice a little lower than it had been before. Will had no idea how to answer. Mrs Bennet was not... she did not possess the nasty curiosity that so many people had when asking him questions like that. What did Mrs Bennet really want to know? What answer was she actually looking for?

“You know,” Mrs Bennet clearly didn't want to wait for an answer. “I had a stillborn son, in the first year Mr Bennet and I were married.”

“I didn't know,” Will stammered, and he felt his face flush.

“Of course you didn't, dear.” In this moment, Mrs Bennet seemed more maternal than he'd ever seen her before - not that he'd spent a lot of time with her. “I always supposed that not having a son was my punishment for what I did.”

“What you did?”

“I know Lizzy told you. It's all right. Just... please make sure that your sister doesn't... I'm sorry, I don't... I shouldn't presume.” It was Mrs Bennet's turn to stutter with embarrassment.

“Please, Mrs Bennet. Tell me.”

“She mustn't let it ruin her life. She mustn't think that she needs to ever be punished. We've all been young, we've all done things we later thought we shouldn't have done. I spent years thinking I wasn't allowed sons because of what I did. I suppose now that I was gifted with daughters instead. Listen to me, getting all sentimental. It must be Christmas.”

“I understand, Mrs Bennet. My grandmother always thought daughters were more useful than sons, you know.”

Mrs Bennet laughed, and in that moment, she was more beautiful than Will had ever seen her before. In fact, it was the first (but not the last) moment where he saw the resemblance between her and Lizzy.

“You'll do, Will. Yes, you'll do!” She patted his arm so maternally that, for just a moment, Will ached for his own mother.

“Do you like Monopoly, Will?” she asked with a change of subject.

“I've not really played very much, Mrs Bennet.”

“Well, we shall play after lunch. We always play Monopoly at Christmas.”

*

Will discovered that the Bennets were excellent players of Monopoly - Lizzy particularly. He realised he was unlikely to win when his top hat piece landed on the Lizzy-owned, hotel-ridden Park Lane.

The Bennets roared with laughter. He shrugged and said in his sharpest posh accent,

“That's all right. In real life I own most of it.”

The laughter stopped just for a moment, then resumed as they realised he was joking.

*

The traffic between Hertfordshire and Derbyshire was as appalling as Will had expected it to be - he hadn't had a smooth journey from London to Pemberley for Christmas in all his years driving. Still, he had good tunes on the car stereo and a beautiful girl beside him.

“I enjoyed myself with your family, Lizzy.”

“You even manage to sound sincere,” she snarked back.

“I did. I really do like your family. I'll be honest - they improve on better acquaintance.”

Lizzy laughed warmly and patted his hand.

“You'll do, Will.”

“That's what your mother said.”

“Oh, did she?” Lizzy sighed loudly. “Am I turning into her already? I was hoping to avoid that for at least ten more years!”

“Lizzy... I can't believe I'm going to say this... there are worse people to turn into than your mother.”

This remark kept Lizzy almost silent for the rest of the traffic jam to Pemberley.

*

Georgie, Richard and Jimmy had made it to Pemberley long before Darcy and Lizzy, and were waiting for them when the car pulled up.

“You must see the house!” Georgie was hopping up and down, and for a moment Darcy wondered whether it was good or bad. They'd not done Christmas at Pemberley since Uncle Wilco died - and even then it had been a muted affair for years... what had Georgiana done?

The hallway had been well-decorated with holly, tinsel and the rest of the usual Christmas paraphernalia.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la,” Lizzy said with a smirky sort of smile.

“Shush now, Scrooge!” Richard replied, pulling Lizzy along the hallway and into the red sitting room. A large, real Christmas tree had been erected in one corner, a fire was burning merrily and all the cards the Darcys had arrived so far adorned every single picture frame.

“All these cards came just for you?” Lizzy asked. Will nodded but seemed unfazed.

“We know a lot of people. Who did all the decorating?”

“Mrs Reynolds and I came up from Aunt Catherine's yesterday instead of today and... voila!”

It really was a sight to see, and the decorations stretched through every room. Georgiana talked them through everything - how she and Mrs Reynolds had hunted through the attics in search of the Christmas decorations.

“Some of the decorations have been shoved away for years, and some didn't really survive the process. Hey!”

Like an excited child, she ran through the rooms, providing commentary as she did. Lizzy looked over to Will and saw his eyes were damp. She reached over and took his hand.

“I think she's finally... back to her old self. Or something better,” he whispered to Lizzy. She just grinned back and squeezed his hand.

Once Georgie was finished, she left them back in the red sitting room.

“These decorations are nice,” Jimmy said, pointing out some gold stars with photographs attached. “I've never seen them before.”

“Aunt Anne made them,” Richard said quietly to her, so that Will could not hear. “They haven't seen daylight since she died.”

“What haven't?” Will heard the last part. Richard sighed and pointed the stars out to him.

“Where did she find these?” Will's voice was tight and his face stern. For a moment Lizzy believed he might be angry, but realised he was just trying to control his emotions. “I never knew what happened to them. I thought they were lost or thrown away or... something.”

“Mrs Reynolds might have found them.”

Mrs Reynolds chose that moment to enter, carrying a tray of mince pies. Georgie was behind her, carrying another tray of what smelled like real mulled wine. While Jimmy, Richard and Lizzy dove at the goodies, Georgie sidled up to Will.

“Did I do OK, Will?”

“You did so very well, Georgie. Where did you find the stars?”

“I... I took them. They were... Daddy had them in his study in a box and I found them one day and I just took them. I'm sorry-”

“It's all right!” Will hugged her tightly. “It's entirely all right.”

“I... Did you see the ones near the top of the tree?” Georgie's voice quivered. Will had to stand on tiptoes to see, and he saw that the gold stars at the top of the tree were new - the photographs were new. Will had a star, Georgie had a star, Richard, Jimmy, other members of the family had stars, and Lizzy had a star. One caught his eye - Georgie had chosen a picture of their parents many years ago for one star.

He wanted very badly to openly weep, but he did not. Instead, he pushed Georgie's hair out of her eyes and looked into them for a long moment.

“You're a very fine young lady, Georgiana.”

“Thanks, Will.”

*

It was cold in Will's room, and Lizzy curled up under the covers as soon as she was ready for bed.

“I'll put the fire on,” Will said, and he went to leave the bed to do so. Lizzy grabbed his arm, and nestled herself in the crook of it.

“I'll warm up, don't worry. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

“You've been very quiet since we arrived.”

“I, er... It's a funny thing, Lizzy, because it feels like Christmas here for the first time since... a very long time. Did you see the new decorations Georgie made?”

“Yes. I was touched that she thought to include me.”

“You're a member of this family,” he said very solemnly, but there was a glint in his eye. “No way out now.”

“I wasn't looking for one.”

“I feel now like I've been waiting for this family to heal itself - and by that I really mean myself - and now I think it's happened. All because of you, dearest, most beautiful, most wondrous Lizzy Bennet.”

“You're very welcome, Will.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Good night, sweetheart, till we meet tomorrow.”

Lizzy's mirthful snicker was the last thing Will heard before he fell to sleep.

---