Speak of the Devil

Kathy

Prologue

Posted on Friday, 24 March 2000

"Nothing is more deceitful," said Darcy, "than the appearance of humility. It is often only carelessness of opinion, and sometimes an indirect boast."

"And which of the two do you call my little recent piece of modesty?" asked Bingley.

"The indirect boast; for you are really proud of your defects in writing, because you consider them as proceeding from a rapidity of thought and carelessness of execution, which if not estimable, you think at least highly interesting. The power of doing any thing with quickness is always much prized by the possessor, and often without any attention to the imperfection of the performance. When you told Mrs. Bennet this morning that if you ever resolved on quitting Netherfield you should be gone in five minutes, you meant it to be a sort of panegyric, of compliment to yourself-and yet what is there so very laudable in a precipitance which must leave very necessary business undone, and can be of no real advantage to yourself or any one else?"

"Nay," cried Bingley, "this is too much, to remember at night all the foolish things that were said in the morning. And yet, upon my honour, I believed what I said of myself to be true, and I believe it at this moment. At least, therefore, I did not assume the character of needless precipitance merely to show off before the ladies."

"I dare say you believed it; but I am by no means convinced that you would be gone with such celerity. Your conduct would be quite as dependent on chance as that of any man I know; and if, as you were mounting your horse, a friend were to say, 'Bingley, you had better stay till next week,' you would probably do it, you would probably not go-and, at another word, might stay a month."

"You have only proved by this," cried Elizabeth, "that Mr. Bingley did not do justice to his own disposition. You have shown him off now much more than he did himself."

"I am exceedingly gratified," said Bingley, "by your converting what my friend says into a compliment on the sweetness of my temper. But I am afraid you are giving it a turn which that gentleman did by no means intend; for he would certainly think the better of me, if under such a circumstance I were to give a flat denial, and ride off as fast as I could."

"Would Mr. Darcy then consider the rashness of your original intention as atoned for by your obstinacy in adhering to it?"

"Upon my word I cannot exactly explain the matter; Darcy must speak for himself."

"You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged. Allowing the case, however, to stand according to your representation, you must remember, Miss Bennet, that the friend who is supposed to desire his return to the house, and the delay of his plan, has merely desired it, asked it without offering one argument in favour of its propriety."

"To yield readily-easily-to the persuasion of a friend is no merit with you."

"To yield without conviction is no compliment to the understanding of either."

"You appear to me, Mr. Darcy, to allow nothing for the influence of friendship and affection. A regard for the requester would often make one readily yield to a request without waiting for arguments to reason one into it. I am not particularly speaking of such a case as you have supposed about Mr. Bingley. We may as well wait, perhaps, till the circumstance occurs, before we discuss the discretion of his behaviour thereupon. But in general and ordinary cases between friend and friend, where one of them is desired by the other to change a resolution of no very great moment, should you think ill of that person for complying with the desire, without waiting to be argued into it?"

"Will it not be advisable, before we proceed on this subject, to arrange with rather more precision the degree of importance which is to appertain to this request, as well as the degree of intimacy subsisting between the parties?"

"By all means," cried Bingley; "Let us hear all the particulars, not forgetting their comparative height and size; for that will have more weight in the argument, Miss Bennet, than you may be aware of. I assure you that if Darcy were not such a great tall fellow, in comparison with myself, I should not pay him half so much deference. I declare I do not know a more awful object than Darcy, on particular occasions, and in particular places; at his own house especially, and of a Sunday evening when he has nothing to do."

Mr. Darcy smiled; but Elizabeth thought she could perceive that he was rather offended; and therefore checked her laugh. Miss Bingley warmly resented the indignity he had received, in an expostulation with her brother for talking such nonsense.

And so the night wore on, and no one thought any more of the words there spoken. But it was to come true all too soon...

Chapter 1

Posted on Friday, 24 March 2000

He is the very pineapple of politeness!
~Richard Brinsley Sheridan

Lucas Harding looked up at the sky with a groan. The large dark clouds that he had seen off in the distance nearly his whole ride from London were finally catching up to him. And he still had a few miles left to go. He dug his heels into his horse's sides and resumed his ride.

He hadn't even thought of coming to Hertfordshire a few days ago. After all, London was great this time of the year. Most people wouldn't think so because there weren't any balls or parties during the off-season. But for Lucas, that was the reason he liked this time of year. It wasn't that he was unsociable. He just didn't enjoy spending most of his time dodging crafty old matrons with little better to do with their time than to catch an "eligible."

The only reason they wanted Lucas was because he was a viscount, and more importantly, in line to be the next duke of Kilroy. And to top it all off, he was rich as Croesus. And that wasn't including what he would inherit from his grandfather when that old bugger passed away. But don't take that seriously-Lucas was fond of his "grandpops," and had no wish to see him dead anytime soon. So only being a viscount was good enough to suit him.

Lucas had been a viscount since he was six, when his father had died in a riding accident. His mother had died at his birth, and so at six years, he was an orphan. After the accident and the funeral, he was sent to live with his grandfather at the Kilroy estate. Grandpops, as Lucas had dubbed him at an early age, was an intimidating man to those who didn't know him well enough. He was tall, with a full head of white hair and strong, stern features. His eyes, which Lucas had inherited, were an intense, steely grey.

But Lucas looked nothing like his grandfather, either now or when Granpops was younger. His hair was dark brown-almost black-at contrast with his grandfather's old blond hair. His skin was slightly darker than his grandfather's was. His features were softer and more ruggedly handsome. The only thing they had in common, except for the eyes, was their build. Lucas was also tall, with broad shoulders and strong calves that had no need for padding. He was well built and handsome. Putting into consideration his wealth and title, Lucas was a maiden's-and even widow's-dream come true.

Not that he really cared. He didn't like all of the glitz and glitter of the haut ton. He scorned the emptiness and hypocriticalness of the fashionable ladies and gentlemen, the double standard of honour and nobility. He hated it all.

His grandfather understood his sentiments exactly. Grandpops had never cared for the haut monde, and had always made it a point to live outside of the rules. That is why he supported the friendship between his grandson and Lucas' two good friends, Charles Bingley and Fitzwilliam Darcy. The two were far below a viscount's standards, and even further from a duke's-Bingley probably more, due to his connection with trade. But they were good friends despite this impediment.

They had met at Eton, and had remained friends later on at Cambridge. The three were not inseparable, yet they held a firm and close relationship through the years. They were bachelor buddies-even Bingley had taken the vow to remain a bachelor forever, though he was reluctant. They often sat in Whites and drank themselves into stupors, laughing and joking the whole time. If possible, they would then stop off at a bawdy house until the wee hours of the morning, when they would stumble back to their own beds. The other two weren't as fond of this last part as Lucas usually was, but then, they had had different upbringings than he.

And so here he was, on the way to invite them back to London. It had only been a few weeks since the two had left for Bingley's new country house, but Lucas already missed their company. The other two brought so much fun to London: Darcy, with his uptight morals, and Bingley with his mindless wonderings. And Bingley was hilarious when he was drunk.

Lucas passed through a small village. Meryton, he would guess by the name on the sign for the inn. He saw the people look curiously out of windows, and he smiled and winked at a few young girls walking down the road, who giggled and ran past him with flirtatious glances. He chuckled softly to himself, then stopped at the inn quickly and asked directions to Netherfield. He received some curious glances, but ignored them for the most part. Then he left the inn and, after tipping the stable boy for holding his horse, continued on his way.

When he reached the drive to Netherfield, he stopped and gazed down the path towards the house. It was impressive, though nothing compared to even one of Lucas' smaller estates on the Scottish border. Lucas shrugged philosophically and spurred his horse onwards. When he reached the house, he dismounted and waited for the groom running full speed from the stable.

"I'm so sorry, Sir," panted the groom. "We had not known anyone was to arrive."

"Don't trouble yourself," replied Lucas. "Just be sure he's rubbed down nicely."

The groom nodded emphatically, and Lucas turned away and walked up the steps to the front door. The butler opened before he even knocked and looked out at him. "Can I help you, Sir?"

Lucas tried his best to act snobbish and serious. "Yes, you may." He pulled out a calling card and handed it to the butler. "Is Mr. Charles Bingley in?"

The butler's eyebrows went up slightly upon reading the title of the man before him, and opened the door to allow him through. "If you would be so kind as to wait in the drawing room, I will see if Mr. Bingley is at leisure to see-"

"Harding? Is that you?" cried a voice from down the hallway. Charles Bingley looked out from a doorway, and upon seeing his friend, rushed enthusiastically towards him. "It's great to see you! What are you doing here? Have you just arrived in Hertfordshire? How is the Duke?"

Lucas smiled and held up his hand. "Woah! One question at onc-"

"I should go find Darcy. I am sure he'd be delighted that you are here!" cried Bingley, interrupting his friend. He turned around and was about to walk away, when the door opened to a nearby room, and Darcy himself appeared.

"I thought that was your awful voice, Lucas," said Darcy with a smile, leaning against the doorframe. "What ill wind brings you to Bingley's doorstep?"

"I'm not sure, but I'm sure glad it came with me, because the stench you emanate..."

Darcy laughed and straightening, approached his good friend and clapped him on the back. "Well, you look well. You don't look the worse for wear from weeks of drinking and debauching. I would assume that's what you've been doing...can't think of anything else you'd be good at."

Lucas shrugged. "Actually, not much. It's no fun in London without the two of you."

"It's no fun in London with you," replied Darcy without hesitation.

Lucas acknowledged the hit with a nod and a chuckle. He strolled around the foyer, glancing around at the pictures, stopping in front of a mirror to assess his appearance. He then turned and looked at Bingley, who was still standing in the same place. "But couldn't you just pack up here and return to London with me? I am sure your sisters wouldn't mind, Bings. What could they find to do out here in the country, anyway, except complain and terrorize Darcy?"

Darcy mumbled something indistinct, but before Lucas could question him, Bingley shook his head. "I can't return to London just yet," he said.

"Why not?" asked Lucas questioningly, trying to understand his friend's sudden decisive tone.

"I'll explain later," Darcy said in an undertone. At Lucas' questioning brow, though, he said reluctantly, "It has something to do with a lady, though."

Lucas shook his head. "Oh, come on, Bingley. We could have so much fun in London at this time of the year. We'd have the whole place to ourselves. Think about it. Forget this little ladybird of yours. I am sure there are some scrumptious actresses just looking for a man to-"

He was interrupted by a sudden coughing fit behind him, followed by muffled laughter. He turned around in surprise, and when he saw the young woman at the bottom of the stairs, he flushed deep red. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, realising his blunder. It seemed he had at least a bit of society's conscience in him. Bingley, behind him, must have been as embarrassed as he, for he said not a word. Darcy, it seemed, suffered from no such mortification, for he approached the young woman after a short hesitation.

"It is good to see you down so early, Miss Bennet," he said with a short bow. "I hope you would forgive our conversation."

When she finally managed her laughter, she shook her head with a smile. "No need, Mr. Darcy. In fact, I found it highly amusing."

Darcy's mouth curved into a rare smile of acknowledgment as he turned towards Lucas, who was rather surprised and suspicious to see his friend so amiable. "This is Viscount Harding. He has just come from London. Harding, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Longbourn."

As Darcy was introducing the woman, Lucas looked her up and down. Her gown was in good condition, though not of the highest quality. Her figure seemed good, with a small waist and a high bust. Her neck was graceful and her skin a healthy hue. Her complexion seemed clear, and her features soft. But her eyes were what captured him. They were beautifully shaped, and the colour of amber. But as they made eye contact, she raised an eyebrow in challenge, and he smiled wickedly at her. He approached and with a flourish, kissed her hand. He heard her small laugh, and quirked an eyebrow at her.

Darcy called them back to attention as he cleared his throat pointedly. Lucas glanced over at his friend and saw the warning in his eyes. He didn't say a word in response, merely smiled slightly. "How is your sister today?" Darcy asked.

"She seems slightly better, I think," Miss Bennet replied.

"That is very good," Darcy said. "At least she is on the road to recovery."

"May I inquire as to your sister's illness, Miss Bennet?" asked Lucas.

Miss Bennet smiled. "Yes, you may. She fell ill with a cold upon getting caught in a rain storm while riding here for a dinner engagement."

Lucas nodded. "Then might I also extend my wishes for her full recovery?"

"Thank you very much. I am sure if she were better, my sister would thank you herself for your thoughtful consideration." She paused and looked away. "But would you please excuse me? I was on my way to the library. And I am sure you have other more, uh, interesting things to discuss than my sister's health. I will leave you to your own company."

Lucas smiled, watching the gentle sway of her hips as she walked away. He was interrupted in his musings again by Darcy's continually problematic throat. He looked up and smiled wickedly. "She isn't taken, is she?"

Darcy looked at him sternly. "No, she isn't. But neither is she one of the actresses you are so fond of. She is a lady."

Lucas scoffed. "Then what is she doing here in a household with two gentlemen? Her sister's presence wouldn't count for anything in the way of securing her reputation."

"My sisters are here, also," Bingley said from behind him.

Lucas turned slowly, a look of horror on his face. "Your sisters? As in Caroline and Louisa? They're here in this house now?" He groaned. "Well, it seems I'd better get back on my horse and ride for London. I am not staying here with them."

As he looked into Darcy and Bingley's faces, he wondered what he had said wrong. It wasn't until he heard the voice behind him that he realised what they were so embarrassed about.

"What is so wrong with my sister and me?"

Lucas grimaced as he turned around again, this time to face a slightly peeved Miss Bingley. He quickly twisted his face into its most charming and smiled at her. "Nothing. But you see, you are simply so lovely and sweet that I wouldn't be able to take my eyes...and hands...off you." He smiled wickedly, but tried to hide his grimace when he heard the sound of mocking laughter a short distance down the hall.

Miss Bingley's features softened. "I suppose I may forgive you this time, Lord Harding, but don't be thinking that I'll let you off easily every time." She paused and walked-or stalked, Lucas thought snidely-towards him a bit. She put her hands out to him and, clutching his lapels, looked up into his face as sweetly as she was able. "So what brings you to Netherfield, my lord?" she asked softly.

Lucas thought he heard Darcy chuckle, but he didn't take his eyes off the woman practically glued to him. "What if I told you that I came here to tell my friends of my engagement?"

Miss Bingley released him instantly and backed up a step. She scowled slightly. "You're betrothed?" she asked disbelievingly.

Lucas dusted off his jacket and then looked back up at her, his face a mask of innocence. "No, but I didn't say that I was, did I?"

Miss Bingley thought for a moment, her eyes narrowing slowly. With a final, dark glare, she scoffed, tossed her head, and stalked away. Lucas turned to look again at his friends. Darcy was grave as usual, but Lucas recognised the hint of amusement in his eyes. Bingley was completely shocked, probably more at his sister's behaviour than Lucas'. "So, how was I?" he asked with a grin.

Darcy's shoulders began to shake in mirth. "Your usual charming self, Lucas. I still cannot figure out why the ladies still flock to you, especially after that performance."

"It's my stunning good looks," Lucas said, putting his nose arrogantly in the air.

Darcy doubled over in laughter. Bingley still looked slightly lost. Lucas sighed and, throwing an arm around his friend's shoulders, said, "Let's adjourn to the library, shall we? I crave another sight of that delectable Miss Bennet."

Chapter 2

Posted on Saturday, 25 March 2000

In the main there are two sorts of books; those that no one reads, and those that no one ought to read.
~H.L. Mencken 'Prejudices' (1919)

Elizabeth sighed. There was no way she was going to find a decent book to read in this mess. There were dozens of books on the tables, and when she glanced at the shelves, she saw that they were in no order whatsoever. And from what she could tell, there were no novels. Not a single one.

She sighed again, and began her search for another book. She grimaced at the book on horticulture, and shuddered when her eye fell on The Rise and Fall of the Holy Roman Empire. The title itself was enough to make one fall asleep. She pursed her lips thoughtfully when she saw Fordyce's Sermons, and smiled ironically at the Kama Sutra directly above it. Then she saw it: a collection of Shakespeare's comedies. She dove for it eagerly and pulled it off the shelf. She brought it over to a comfortable chair near the window and opened it after settling herself in directly to the beginning of Much Ado About Nothing, one of her favourites.

As she was just getting into the first act, she heard a voice raised in a ditty most suitable for a tavern followed by boisterous laughter from several men. And they were coming down the hallway towards the library. Elizabeth looked around the room quickly for somewhere to hide. She had no intention of being found alone in the library by a group of males, especially those who, in their number, included Mr. Darcy. She seriously could not understand what chip that man might have on his shoulder, but whatever it was, she was tired of it always falling off to land on her. She would rather not receive any attention from him, even if it were complimentary.

She spied the desk in the corner of the room and quickly rushed to it. She could fit underneath it easily, she decided, so ducked under. As the door was opening, she saw the tome of Shakespeare still lying open on the chair, and nearly smacked her head for her stupidity. But perhaps they might not mark it among all of the other books lying around.

"Hmmm," said a voice, which she identified as the viscount's. "I had thought she went in here."

"Apparently not," said another voice.

"I don't think so, Bingley," said a third voice which Elizabeth recognised as Mr. Darcy's. "She said she was coming in here, and the only way to return to her sister would have been to go past us again. So unless she went into another room down this hallway..."

"Yes, I am sure that's it, Darcy," said Mr. Bingley. "Let's go check the other rooms."

The viscount laughed. "Bingley, you amaze me. Now, why would she go in any of the other rooms? What's in them?"

"Uh, well..." Mr. Bingley began. "There's a study somewhere around here. And I believe the conservatory is near here. And I think the billiard room is a few doors down."

"And why would she go to any of those? If she had come to find a book, she would have stayed in here to read it, or returned to her sister." Elizabeth heard footsteps slowly begin to walk the perimeter of the room. "Is it always so messy in here, Bingley?" the viscount asked.

There was a long pause. "Well, I don't know, Harding. I don't make the maids clean it, and I'm hardly ever in here."

"That's not surprising," she heard someone mutter under his breath, and struggled to contain her laughter.

She listened to the footsteps get closer until finally they were at one corner of the desk. Then she heard a slight creaking noise and realised that someone was sitting on the corner of the same desk she was hiding under! She held her breath in fear of discovery.

"So, how well do you know this Miss Bennet?" said the viscount, whom she then identified as the person sitting on the desk.

"Her family lives in the neighbourhood," said Mr. Darcy from across the room in a bored tone. "She has four sisters. Father is not rich, but comfortable. Uncle in trade, another an attorney. Decidedly below your station, Lucas."

Elizabeth clenched her hands in anger.

"So why again is she here?" asked the viscount.

She heard someone sigh, then Mr. Darcy resumed his speaking: "Why is Miss Elizabeth here? Well, Bingley's sisters have decided to claim the eldest Miss Bennet as what could only be termed as their friend in order to relieve their boredom. They invited her over, apparently, for dinner one night. She came on horseback, was caught in the rain, and developed a cold. The day after, Miss Elizabeth showed up after walking three miles in the mud and demanded to see her sister."

Someone laughed long and heartily. When it stopped, the viscount said, with laughter still in his voice, "Despite our short acquaintance, I think I would have expected that of her."

There was a long pause before the viscount spoke again. "She's quite fetching, isn't she?"

"Don't even think of it, Lucas," said Mr. Darcy.

"Think of what, Darcy?"

"There shall be no dallying with Miss Bennet. She's not one of your town-bronzed widows, nor especially not one of your worldly courtesans. Don't even think of it."

"Who died and made you her guardian?" the viscount said, a bit of defensiveness creeping into his tone.

There was a long silence before Mr. Bingley spoke. "I wonder who left this book open like this."

The desk creaked again, and footsteps went in the direction of the chair Elizabeth had been sitting in before. "Shakespeare? Ah! Much Ado. I love this play. Well, who else uses this library?"

"Darcy does," offered Mr. Bingley.

"Were you reading this, Darce?"

"No, I wasn't," replied Mr. Darcy. "Perhaps Miss Bennet left it there."

"Well, then I wonder where she is, because she definitely isn't in here. Shall we go search the conservatory?"

Three pairs of footsteps walked in the direction of the doorway, and as soon as she heard the door close behind them, she slipped out from her hiding place and quickly stole towards the door. She could definitely not be caught in the library after she just eavesdropped on their conversation, especially considering what the conversation was about!

She took off her shoes so as to make no noise on the floor, and opened the door silently. The three men were down the hall, looking into the conservatory, and finding no one there, they closed the door and continued down the hall to other rooms. She quickly slipped through the door and closed it softly behind her. She ran silently down the hall and up the stairs. As she closed the door to her sister's room, she leaned back against it and breathed a sigh of relief. She had not been seen.

"Lizzy?" came a soft, worried voice, startling her out of her reverie. She looked up to see Jane, propped up on the pillows, gazing at her in confusion and concern. "I thought that you were to read in the library."

"I changed my mind," she said quickly, then sighed and pushed herself away from the door. She sat down on the bed beside her sister and leaned back against the pillows. "You cannot imagine who has come to Netherfield, my dear sister."

"Does it have anything to do with the horse and rider I heard coming up the drive?"

Elizabeth looked at her sister, puzzled. "I hadn't heard anyone."

Jane shook her head gently. "You had just left the room when I noticed it. I thought perhaps it was Mr. Jones, or someone else from the village, for I had not heard anyone leave." She smiled brightly. "So, who is come?"

Elizabeth smiled slyly and looked at her sister through narrowed eyes, her brows arched. "The most handsome, worldly, infuriating man I have ever met. And the one with the grandest title, I may add."

"Oooh! What is name?"

"Viscount Lucas Harding," she said with a smile.

"What is he like?" her sister asked in awed tones. "Is he proud, or arrogant, or is he polite and courteous?"

Elizabeth sat in thought for a while. "He was not rude, but I have the feeling that he is quite a rake, and cuts a wide swath among the ladies of the ton. It wouldn't surprise me if he has a new mistress every week."

"Lizzy!" cried Jane, scandalised.

"What?" Elizabeth asked with an admonishing look. "I can talk of this to you, Jane. It is not as if we are right now in polite company. And it is quite common knowledge that gentlemen of his stature are bound to take a mistress, married or not." She paused and smiled. "And you should have seen how he had flirted with me shamelessly. It was as if Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley had not been standing right there! I was so embarrassed!"

Jane gave her sister a disbelieving look. "You, embarrassed, Lizzy? I cannot imagine it."

"Well, of course I did not let my embarrassment show. You know me better than that. And yet I was embarrassed. I cannot imagine what they think of me now, especially as I did nothing to discourage him, and probably everything to encourage him."

"Oh, Lizzy," sighed Jane.

"Oh, Jane," Lizzy said with a laugh. "I think you are disappointed in me."

Jane smiled slightly. "I suppose I am. You will promise me something, though?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Of course. I will promise you the world, Jane."

"I do not think I will require that much," Jane said with a laugh at her own quip. "But you will promise me not to become involved with this viscount, won't you?"

"You have my word, Jane," Elizabeth replied with a bright smile, recalling the conversation in the library. "You have my word."

Chapter 3

Posted on Sunday, 26 March 2000

If you can tell the difference between good advice and bad advice, you don't need advice.
~Anonymous

That evening, shortly before dinner, Lucas was sitting with Darcy in the library, sharing a glass of sherry. They sipped their drinks together without saying a word, both in opposite chairs in front of a roaring fire. Neither said anything, yet both wished desperately to know what was going on in the other's mind.

"So, do I have your support for our removal to London?" Lucas finally said into the silence.

Darcy grimaced slightly, before setting his drink down on the small table beside his chair. "I wish I could say yes, but I doubt Bingley will listen to you."

"Why? You know, you still have not told me about this interesting lady who is the reason why we cannot return to London posthaste."

"Actually, I have told you about her."

"That fetching little package from this afternoon?" Lucas asked, sitting up straight and leaning forward. "Are you kidding? What is Bingley thinking of? She'd run roughshod over him in less than two hours of their marriage!"

"No, Lucas, not Elizabeth-"

"On a first-name basis, are we?" Lucas asked wryly.

A muscle jumped in Darcy's jaw. "Miss Elizabeth. What I was saying, though, was that it is not she. It is her sister."

"The one that is sick?

Darcy nodded. "The very one. Bingley seems to have fallen hard for her."

Lucas laughed. "He falls hard for every single girl he meets, and doubly so for the pretty ones."

"I don't think it's that simple this time," Darcy said with a shake of his head and another sustaining sip of sherry. "I think he's fallen in love with her."

"And..." Lucas said, waiting for more.

"And she's unsuitable," Darcy said, as if stating that the world was round.

Lucas burst out laughing, nearly spilling his glass of sherry on the carpeting. He quickly set it on the table so as to indulge in a long, loud bout of hilarity. In fact, it seemed as though he could not stop laughing. But after the fourth time Darcy checked his watch pointedly, Lucas wiped his eyes and struggled to maintain his composure. He choked out, "Unsuitable?"

"Highly," Darcy said seriously.

Lucas began to laugh again, and Darcy said impatiently, "What is so funny? I fail to see the joke, Lucas. This is a very serious matter."

"The joke is you, Darcy!" Lucas said with a laugh. "How can you even begin to say that she is unsuitable? Is she an old crone, twice Bingley's age, living in a cottage and practicing witchcraft?"

"No," Darcy said, visibly irritated. "But her family, though comfortable, is not rich, and is quite without manners, and she has relations in trade."

"That's it?"

Darcy looked nonplussed. "Well, yes. What else would you expect me to say?"

"Is she pretty?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Is she kind?"

"Yes, but-"

"Is she a gentleman's daughter? Is she a lady?"

"Yes, Lucas, but-"

"But nothing! She is everything Bingley could want and more. I think I would like to meet this paragon of virtue and beauty."

"She has no connections-"

"What does she want with connections?" Lucas interrupted again. "What does Bingley want with connections? He is happy, is he not? And besides, as to her connection with trade, I beg leave to remind you that Bingley's fortune comes from trade. So technically, she is further removed from the taint of that unholy profession than he is."

Darcy was silent, glaring moodily into the fire. Lucas sighed. "Darcy, look-"

"I don't think she loves him, Lucas," he said.

Lucas raised a brow. "Not love Bingley? How could anyone of the female persuasion not love Bingley? Where did this woman get her heart?"

"Joking aside, Lucas, please," Darcy said tersely.

Lucas sighed and took another sip of his drink. "Are you sure of this? Has she shown an aversion to him?"

"No, not really," Darcy said slowly. "Not an aversion. But she seems indifferent to him."

Lucas' eyes narrowed. "And you base your opinions on..."

"On my own judgment, dammit," Darcy snapped. "Do you think me not qualified to determine whether one person is in love with another?"

There was a long silence, before Lucas exhaled in a puff of air. "Actually, Darcy, no. I don't. Perhaps you might be able to judge a man's reaction to a woman, but I do not think you quite understand the fairer sex."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Darcy said angrily.

Lucas sighed. "Fine, here's an example. "What does Miss Elizabeth think of me?"

Darcy's brows drew together. "What does she think of you?" He paused in thought. "Well, I seem to recall she seemed very taken with you. She certainly seemed rather more flirtatious than usual. I would say she liked you, and thought that you would be a good catch."

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was of Lucas' roaring laughter. "That is what you think?" Lucas asked. "And you think that you were able to determine Miss Bennet's feelings for Bingley? I think not."

"Then if you think you know better," Darcy said with righteous indignation, "what was Miss Elizabeth's opinion of you?"

Lucas smiled. "For one, Darcy, she didn't like me. Oh, she found me amusing, but she saw through me immediately. She's much smarter than she looks."

"And how would you know that?" asked Darcy. "You only had met her for about ten minutes, at most."

"I can sense these things, Darcy," Lucas replied casually. "I could see the intelligence in her eyes. I would also imagine that she enjoys finding amusement in the ridiculous. She is sarcastic. She is not cynical, but realistic. She has no need for pretense, either, which is why she told me exactly what she thought of me: a rake; a handsome rake, it's true, but a rake through and through."

Darcy was silent, the expression on his face a mixture of awe and cynical disbelief. He shook his head. "How could you even..."

"I told you, Darcy. I have a good understanding of females."

Darcy snorted. "There's the understatement of the year."

Lucas smiled. "True, true. But I am speaking of personalities and how their minds work." He paused, opened his mouth to say something else, but then closed it and gazed speculatively at Darcy, who was gazing at the sherry sloshing around in his glass. "What do you think of Miss Elizabeth, Darcy?" Darcy's head shot up, his eyes wide with surprise. They were shuttered quickly, but Lucas had caught a glimpse of the emotions there. "She's rather pretty, isn't she?"

"Yes, she has a certain charm, I'll grant you that," Darcy said guardedly.

"And though she may seem a bit impertinent, I think that it's quite refreshing, don't you?"

"Perhaps," Darcy replied, "to some people."

"And are you one of these people?"

Darcy didn't respond.

Lucas pursed his lips in frustration. "You are exceedingly tight-lipped on this subject, Darcy. It would make one think you had something to hide."

"I don't. I simply do not wish to offer my opinion on this subject."

"And yet you did not hesitate to offer your opinion on the subject of Bingley's opinion of the other Miss Bennet."

Darcy turned his angry stare on his friend. "Did you come here to provoke an argument with me, Lucas? Because if you did, it's working very well."

Lucas stood up and held up his hands in surrender. "If that's what you want, I'll leave you to the fine company of your sherry and your opinions that don't matter. Hope you enjoy yourself immensely, Darcy. I think I'll go and see if Miss Bennet has come down for dinner yet." And with not another word, he walked from the room. Darcy remained in his chair, glaring morosely at the fire.

Chapter 4

Posted on Monday, 27 March 2000

You can observe a lot just by watching.
~ Yogi Berra

Lucas was disappointed. Miss Bennet had declined coming down for dinner, instead having hers sent to her room on a tray. He was forced to dine with an angry Miss Bingley (and consequently an angry Mrs. Hurst), a sullen Darcy, a drunken Mr. Hurst, and a surprisingly thoughtful Bingley. It was not his best dining experience. His only consolation was that he had thought ahead and brought a valise with him, so that he wasn't dressed wrong.

And he gave thanks for that when, just as he had made the decision to make his excuses and retire, Elizabeth appeared in the drawing room, accompanied by another lady Lucas had never seen, but assumed to be the elder Miss Bennet. He was right in his assumption when Bingley took such pains to be solicitous, then sat her beside the fire and remained there, talking with her. Lucas watched them thoughtfully for a while, and smiled when he realised that yes, his powers of observation were indeed better than Darcy's. For he saw what Darcy hadn't-that Miss Bennet, though quiet and unassuming, was definitely either in love with Bingley, or on her way to being very much so.

He sat back smugly in his chair and would have returned to his book, had he not caught a curious glance from Elizabeth, who had just chosen a book from a pile on one table, and was now looking around for a place to sit. He glanced meaningfully at the chair beside his, and she nodded and walked over.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" she said softly to him, and he shook his head.

She sat down, but did not open her book. Instead she watched some of the other people in the room. She watched her sister and Bingley deep in conversation by the fire, and Mrs. Hurst, who sat nearby, listening to them. She watched Mr. Hurst, but for only a moment, because he was doing nothing but lounge in his chair and sleep. Mr. Darcy was reading a book in another chair by the fire, and Miss Bingley was sitting close by, reading the second volume to Darcy's book, often trying to ask him questions about his own. Then she turned to glance at her companion beside her, and was surprised to find him watching her quietly.

"Oh!" she said in a soft exclamation.

He chuckled. "What are you surprised at? That while you were so busy watching other people, someone was watching you? You oughtn't be."

"Why should I not be?"

Lucas smiled and let his eyes wander over her figure. When he glanced back into her face, he smiled wider at the fact that it was now beet red. "I could ask the same question."

"You are despicable, my lord."

"I know," he replied, sitting back in his chair and opening his book. "But I'm not the only person in this room who is, am I?"

"What do you mean by that?" Elizabeth asked suspiciously.

Lucas looked up at her. "I'm not the only gentleman in this room who can't keep his eyes to himself, am I?"

"I can only assume that you are speaking of Mr. Darcy," she replied in an undertone. "And if so, you are telling the truth. I wish that man would stop looking at me as if I were some pile of manure from the stables which somehow found its way into polite society."

Lucas laughed, drawing a few curious eyes from the room towards him. He merely smiled at them and then turned to his companion again. "I cannot believe he thinks so ill of you, Miss Bennet."

"Then you think wrongly, Lord Harding. Would you like me to tell you what he said of me the first time we met? And I quote: 'She is tolerable, I suppose. But not handsome enough to tempt me,'" she said in a low, mocking voice. "'I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.'"

Lucas laughed again, slightly harder than before, and Elizabeth joined in. The rest of the room turned to look at them. The trio on one side of the fire was surprised and curious. Mr. Hurst merely snorted and moved his head to the other side of the chair. Miss Bingley glared at her rival, then turned back to Mr. Darcy with renewed interest. But that gentleman was still looking at the other two, a slight scowl on his face.

When Elizabeth and Lucas stopped laughing, Lucas said quietly. "I think I can help you, you know."

"Help me? How?"

"I may be able to help you convince him that you aren't so bad of a person."

Elizabeth shook her head. "Why would I wish to do that? I don't care what he thinks of me. I just want him to stop making it so obvious."

Lucas smiled. He didn't say another word, though, and began to read his book. Elizabeth watched him for a few moments, then opened hers also. Not a few minutes later, they were interrupted by Miss Bingley, who asked Elizabeth to accompany her on a walk about the room. Elizabeth glanced at Lucas, whose eyebrows were raised in surprise and suspicion, but agreed to the proposition. She set her book down, stood up and, linking her arm through Miss Bingley's, began to stroll around the room with her. Lucas laid his book on his lap and was watching the two of them walk, admiring the gentle sway of Elizabeth's hips, when he caught sight of Darcy doing the same thing. He noted the expression in Darcy's eyes as they wandered up and down her form. The voice of Miss Bingley startled them both.

"Mr. Darcy, come walk with us about the room. I am sure sitting in such a fashion must grow tedious."

Lucas nearly laughed at the grimace Elizabeth threw him over her shoulder. But he was much more interested in the look on Darcy's face. "I must decline your invitation. I can only see two motives for your choosing to walk up and down the room, and either reason it is better that I remain where I am."

Miss Bingley looked at her companion with a mixture of triumph and exaggerated curiosity on her face. "I wonder what he means! Can you have any idea? Perhaps we should ask him."

"I warn you against that," said Lucas in a loud voice. "You would not wish to delve into the workings of Darcy's mind. You might not make it out alive."

Miss Bingley threw him a withering look, while Elizabeth had to turn her face aside to hide a smile. Darcy merely smiled and said, "I assure you, these reasons are logical. Either the two of you are in each other's confidence, and have secret affairs to discuss, or are aware of the fact that your figures appear to greatest advantage in walking. In the first case, I would only be in the way, and in the second, I can admire you much better from my position here by the fire."

Lucas only smiled as Miss Bingley shot him a triumphant look. Elizabeth laughed. " I congratulate you, Mr. Darcy, on your attempt at a compliment."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet. But it wasn't merely an attempt."

Elizabeth only smiled in response.

"I think he should be punished for such an abominable speech, compliment or not," Miss Bingley cried. "What do you think we ought to do, Miss Eliza?"

"There is nothing so easy," Elizabeth said. "Tease him; laugh at him. Intimate as you are, I am sure you know how it must be done."

"Upon my honour, I do not," replied Miss Bingley. "For there is nothing to laugh at in Mr. Darcy. Calmness of temper? Presence of mind? How could one laugh at qualities such as those? We would only make fools of ourselves, laughing without a subject."

"Mr. Darcy, not to be laughed at!" Elizabeth cried. "Is he such a paragon, then? That is a very uncommon advantage, and one that I hope does not occur too often, for it would be a great loss to me to have so many acquaintances. I dearly love a laugh."

"Miss Bingley," Darcy said with a bit of chagrin, "has given me too much credit. The greatest and wisest men-no, the greatest and wisest of their actions-may be rendered ridiculous by one whose first object in life is a joke."

"There are such people," Elizabeth said with a smile, "But I hope not to be considered one of them. I hope never to ridicule that which is wise or good. Follies and nonsense, whims and inconsistencies, I admit, do divert me, and I laugh at them whenever I choose. But I suppose these are precisely what you are without."

"That is not possible for anyone: to be a man without fault. It has been the study of my life to avoid such weaknesses, though."

"Such as vanity and pride?"

Lucas smiled, knowing exactly what she was heading for, and could barely contain his laughter as he heard Darcy say, "Yes, vanity is a weakness indeed. But pride-where there is a real superiority of mind, pride will always be under good regulation."

As Elizabeth turned away to hide a smile, Lucas began to laugh. Miss Bingley turned to address him: "And what do you find so funny, my lord?"

Lucas held up a hand and shook his head. "Darcy, I suppose you are saying that you have a superiority of mind?"

Darcy looked at his friend in annoyance. "Yes, I would hope so."

"So you are a man without faults?" Elizabeth asked.

Darcy shook his head. "As I said, that is impossible. I have my faults. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too implacable-at least for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others as quickly as I should, nor can I forget others' offenses against myself. I cannot be swayed easily from my grudges. Some would call my temper resentful. My good opinion once lost is lost forever."

There was silence in the room for a few moments before Elizabeth said, "That is a failing indeed. But you have chosen your fault well, for I cannot laugh at it. You are safe from me."

"I believe all people have a tendency towards some particular evil-a natural defect which not even the best education can overcome.

"Yours is the propensity to hate everyone."

"And yours is to willfully misunderstand them," he shot back with a smile.

"Shall we have some music?" Miss Bingley said quickly, and moved towards the pianoforte. Lucas sat with his elbow on the armrest, his chin in his hand, gazing thoughtfully at Elizabeth and Darcy, who were still looking at each other, one with a hostile glare, the other with admiration mixed with amusement in his eyes. And Lucas smiled, realising that his job would be easier than he thought. Tonight, he vowed, would be a drinking party. The guests? Hurst, Bingley, and most importantly, Darcy.

Posted on Tuesday, 28 March 2000

Drinking doesn't drown your troubles; it simply irrigates them.

Lucas filled the glasses with brandy, and handed one to each of the gentlemen in the room. He then raised his glass and said, "Here's to brandy: the source of, and answer to, all of life's problems."

"Here, here!" Hurst said and downed his whole snifter in one swallow. Lucas bit his lower lip to keep from smiling, and filled Hurst's glass again. He remained standing by the decanter and took a sip of his own glass, then looked at Bingley. "So, Bings, your Miss Bennet is quite charming."

"You think so?" Bingley asked eagerly. "Oh, I am so glad that someone else agrees with me. Darcy here will not give me a good opinion of her."

"Is that so?" Lucas said, raising one eyebrow. "I cannot believe that he is blind."

Darcy took a sip of his brandy and set it down on the table next to him. Lucas surreptitiously filled it again as Darcy was telling Bingley that he didn't think so ill of Miss Bennet. "She is very handsome, Bingley, and of the sweetest temper. I simply think she is not what you want."

"Not what I want?" cried Bingley. "I think she is exactly what I have been looking for. I think I will marry her."

The room was quiet for a few moments. Darcy took a hurried swallow of his brandy. "Isn't this a bit hasty, Bingley?"

"Absolutely not," Bingley replied, holding out his glass for Lucas to refill it. "I have been thinking of this for a while. I believe I could spend the rest of my life with her. I just...I'm not sure how to ask her."

"How else would you ask her except by saying, 'Will you marry me?'" Lucas said with a smile.

"That's not what I mean," Bingley said, and glanced at Hurst, who had just begun to snore. "I mean, I am not sure she will accept me."

"Why wouldn't she?" asked Lucas. "She loves you."

"Do you think so?" asked Bingley. He glanced down at his glass, then pointedly at Darcy. "He doesn't think so."

Lucas shook his head and refilled Darcy's glass again. "You put too little value on your own opinion, Bings. Don't listen to Darcy so much. Do you think she loves you?"

Bingley took a sip of his brandy and then stared into it thoughtfully. "I think so. She has been all that is kind, gentle, and sweet. She's never given me reason to believe she does not love me."

"Then ask her. Ask her father's permission. I have no doubt there will be no objection there." He looked at Darcy, who was silent, sipping his own brandy. "Do you have any objections, Darcy?"

"None at all," Darcy said coolly. "None that would matter, that is."

Lucas looked back at Bingley, who was already wearing an idiot's grin, holding out his glass for more brandy. Lucas smiled, knowing that tongues were about to start wagging. "Well, Darce, that's good for me, but what 'bout you?" Bingley's speech was becoming a bit slurred after two glasses of brandy and the three glasses of wine he had had at dinner. Bingley could not hold his liquor very well, that was for sure.

"What about me?" Darcy asked.

"Well, how's about you and Miss Elizabeth?"

"She's not for me," Darcy said.

"And why not?" Lucas asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Darcy didn't say anything, but simply drank more of his brandy. At last he set it down on the table beside him (where Lucas refilled it quickly) and steepled his hands, resting them on his lips. "She's far beneath my station in life. I cannot imagine bringing her into town for the season. She's a country girl. What would she know about fashion, about manners?"

"She knows a lot, I'd bet!" cried Bingley.

"I'd have to agree with Bingley," Lucas said. "From what I have seen of her, she seems to understand the rules of society. And despite what you have told me of her family, she knows how to be refined. And do not tell me she does not know how to dress, for though she does not wear the finest silks and satins, she is dressed very well."

Darcy didn't say a word, but instead stared into the fire. Lucas sighed and took a second sip of his brandy. Darcy wasn't yet loosening up. He wondered how many more glasses it would take. Darcy had only drunk three glasses of wine at dinner, and with all of the brandy Lucas had refilled into the glass, he supposed Darcy had already drunk about four. And remembering the iron control Darcy had always had, he couldn't recall if he had ever seen Darcy drunk. This, he vowed, would then have to be the first.

"D'you remember last year?" began Bingley.

"Uh, yes, somewhat," Lucas replied, trying not to laugh.

"We had fun, din't we?"

"Very much so, Bings."

Bingley lapsed into a thoughtful silence before saying, "D'you remember that one girl?" Silence greeted his question, and he looked at Lucas. "That one girl? You rem'ber her?"

"Of course, Bingley. I remember her," Lucas said with a straight face.

"She's an angel. Yup, an angel, I said. My Jane's an angel. Didja see her halo?"

Lucas smiled and nodded, and Bingley, thinking this was sufficient, started on a litany of more of his Jane's angelic qualities. Lucas turned to Darcy, who was still staring into the fire, drinking more of his brandy. "Looks as if you've lost the game, Darce."

Darcy looked at Lucas with a malicious glare, which surprised the latter greatly. "It wasn't a game, Lucas."

Lucas held his hands up in surrender. "Look, I'm sorry, Darce. I'm only trying to make light of it."

Darcy took a large swig of his brandy and set it down next to him. This time, Lucas hesitated in refilling it. He could see plainly that Darcy was not the nice drunk he had hoped. And yet, if he was going to weasel any information from him, this was the only way. He refilled it to the top, then put the decanter down. "Miss Elizabeth is quite a saucy wench, isn't she?"

"She isn't a wench," Darcy said tersely.

"Fine; she's a saucy lady. She's got fire, that one. You know, she might be just the one I've been looking for."

There was complete silence in the room. Even Bingley had stopped talking for a second. "You?" he said clearly. "But you're a vowed bachelor, like us." He paused in thought. "Well, like I was..." A confused look crossed his face, but he shrugged it off, and began talking of Jane again to a sleeping Hurst.

Darcy was still looking at Lucas shrewdly. "You're only doing this to make me jealous."

Lucas shrugged indifferently. "Jealous? Why would I make you jealous, Darcy? And besides, how would I make you jealous? You don't even like her."

"Who told you that?" Darcy said harshly.

"Why, you did."

Darcy's brow furrowed. "I don't remember saying anything like that."

"Well, do you?" Lucas said calmly.

Darcy frowned mournfully into his glass of brandy. "She's handsome, and self-assured, and independent, and intelligent. She doesn't need someone like me. She's too good for me."

Lucas' brows shot up. He had never known Darcy to be so vulnerable. But after thinking about it for a few minutes, he realised that it was logical. The whole reason Darcy was always so serious, so uptight, so ambitious, was to hide his flaws, to assure himself that he was good enough. He tapped his lip with a forefinger and gazed thoughtfully at Darcy. "You love her, don't you?"

Darcy looked up slowly at his friend. "Yes. Yes, I do," he said again, this time, a bit confused and thoughtful. He blinked a few times, then took another sip of his brandy.

Lucas sighed, and pried the glass away from Darcy's hand. He had gotten what he came for, and now, he had better stop their imbibing. They would have enough of a headache as it was. "Come on, Darce. We'd better get to bed, eh?"

Darcy nodded sullenly, and stood up wobbly. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, Lucas."

"Uh-hmm," replied Lucas as he attempted to get Bingley's glass away from him. "Need help up the stairs, Darce?"

"No, no," Darcy said as he made his way unsteadily towards the door. He supported himself with one hand on the doorframe for a few moments, and Lucas gave up trying to get the glass away from Bingley and ran over to help Darcy. He helped him up the stairs slowly, despite Darcy's repeated attempts to throw him off, then gave him into the keeping of his valet, who seemed extremely surprised at his master's condition. Lucas rolled his eyes and shrugged off an explanation, simply informing the servant to take good care of him. Then he made his way back down to the library to find Bingley snoring in his chair, the brandy glass lying on the floor, empty. Lucas scratched his head, trying to figure out the best way to get Bingley up the stairs and into bed. Finally, he shook Bingley semi-awake and prodded him to stand and throw his arm over Lucas' shoulder. They made their way up the stairs slowly, having to stop constantly as Bingley fell asleep or they lost their balance. But eventually, Lucas carried Bingley to his room and laid him on the bed, throwing a coverlet over him quickly.

He stopped at the head of the stairs, trying to decide whether to go downstairs and carry Hurst upstairs as well, but decided it wasn't worth it. His muscles were sore already, and Hurst was probably found drunk every morning, anyway. He sighed and went to his room, feeling a bit guilty over the headaches he was sure the others would have the next morning-or actually, he thought with a grin, later that morning.

Chapter 6

Posted on Friday, 31 March 2000

The average, healthy, well-adjusted adult gets up at seven-thirty in the morning feeling just plain terrible.
~ Jean Kerr

Elizabeth examined herself in the mirror. "What do you think, Jane?" she asked.

"Very nice, Lizzy. That colour looks very good on you."

Elizabeth spun around and gave her sister a hug. "Thank you. Since this is to be our last day here, I figured that I should make my best impression yet."

"On who?" Jane asked quietly.

"Well, I suppose on the viscount," Elizabeth started with a grin at herself in the mirror, "because if Mama heard that I did not even try for him, I would be in for the scolding of my life. On Miss Bingley, too, because for some reason, she seems extremely jealous of me. Why do you think that is?"

Jane sighed. "I know that she wishes to marry Mr. Darcy. Perhaps that gentleman has fallen in love with you."

Elizabeth spun around again, her eyes wide with shock. "Jane, have you been drinking?"

"No," Jane said in confusion.

"Then where would you come up with such an idea as that? Of course Mr. Darcy hasn't fallen in love with me. He is always looking at me in disgust and disapproval, staring at me as if he can somehow change whatever is wrong with me just by looking at me."

Jane smiled. "Are you sure you are not mistaken, Lizzy? Perhaps it is only admiration you see in his eyes, and he stares at you because he cannot take his eyes off you."

Elizabeth shot her sister a look of pure disbelief. "Yes, Jane. And there is a herd of elephants on the front lawn."

"Oh, dear. That is not good," murmured Jane.

Elizabeth hugged her sister impulsively. "I was simply funning you, my dear. Now, I shall send 'round this note to Mama telling her we need the carriage. What do you think?"

Jane smiled. "Sounds lovely. Shall you send it before breakfast?"

"Of course. And then I shall have breakfast and see if I can smuggle up some of those delightful rolls they had yesterday." Elizabeth smiled and waved to her sister before closing the door behind her.

"Well, hello."

Elizabeth turned around, startled. "Oh, it's only you, Lord Harding."

"Are you going down for breakfast?" he asked.

"Why yes, I am," she replied with a smile.

He offered his arm. "Then may I escort you down? I am going to break my fast, as well."

She took his arm, and they both walked in the direction of the staircase. They walked down silently, and when Elizabeth saw the butler, she handed him the note and asked that it be delivered to Longbourn. "What was that?" the viscount asked.

Elizabeth glanced at him, then looked away. "My sister and I feel that we have overstayed our welcome. I am sending a note to my mother to ask permission to use the carriage."

"Why do you not use Bingley's? I am sure he would lend it to you."

"I would not like to be a trouble, my lord."

"Nonsense." He called the butler back and asked for the note. The butler sent a questioning glance at Elizabeth, but handed the note to Lucas, who promptly tore it up and handed the pieces back to the butler. "You may deliver that to the nearest fire."

The butler bowed and walked away. "What was that for?" Elizabeth asked, gazing after the butler.

"I don't want you to leave. And if you absolutely must," he said, cutting off her objections with a wave of his hand, "you may use Bingley's carriage. I shall not hear another word about it."

Elizabeth closed her mouth and walked past him to the breakfast room, where she picked up a plate and began to put food on it from the buffet. "No, no. Allow me," Lucas said, lifting the plate from her hands.

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Perhaps I shan't 'allow you,' as you so elegantly put it. How do you even know what I will have for breakfast?"

Lord Harding turned to look at her. "Well, probably what every young lady likes for breakfast: a piece of toast, possibly-if they're feeling daring-a few eggs. Oh, and a few rolls to put up their sleeves for later when no one is looking. I left those on the side, so they are easy to slip away."

Elizabeth tried to scowl, but couldn't mask the smile that tugged at the edges of her mouth. "You are so ridiculous, you are funny. If this is the way you charm women, I can see why they practically fall in your lap."

"Women falling into my lap? Who has been spreading such abominable rumours?" he asked, looking around the room. "They should be ashamed of themselves. I am not a rake. I am a fine, upstanding citizen."

"And I am the queen's sister."

"Oh, then, I'm sorry, your Royal Highness. I should have bowed lower to you, shouldn't I?" He smiled and propelled her to the table, where he set her plate down and pulled out the chair for her to sit. He then went and began to fill his own plate. "But seriously, my charm is not the reason women are attracted to me. It is more my title and wealth than anything."

"Mercenary fools," Elizabeth muttered.

"Why yes, I couldn't agree with you more," Lucas said over his shoulder. "But you would be surprised. The mothers are worse than the daughters."

"Actually, I wouldn't be surprised at that. My mother is a fine example. She has similar aspirations for her daughters." She glanced at him wryly as he came and sat down across from her. "If she heard that you were here at the same time that I was, I would never hear the end of it. She would be constantly yelling at me, 'Why didn't you catch that viscount, ungrateful girl?'"

Lucas laughed. "I commiserate. I suppose I am lucky, in that way. I have never had a mother to yell at me to find a girl and settle down. And truthfully, Grandpops couldn't care less, though I am sure he would like to see a great-grandchild before he dies, to know that the dukedom will be passed down."

"Dukedom?" Elizabeth choked.

Harding laughed bitterly. "Yes, that is the reaction I usually get."

She wiped her hands on her napkin. "No, that's not what I meant. It's just...I have never actually met a duke. And you seem so...I don't know...just not a duke."

He smiled. "That doesn't matter for most people. As long as the title is attached, they wouldn't care if I had no legs and one eye. But I can see you're different. You wouldn't care if I were the king, I would still be a worthless rake."

"Now, did I ever say that?" Elizabeth asked with a smile.

"No, but you think it-don't even try to redeem yourself." He laughed at her expression. "Don't worry about it. It's refreshing to have someone look at you for who you are instead of a title with legs and a bank account."

Suddenly, they were interrupted as the door swung open on its hinges. Darcy walked in, clean-shaven and freshly clothed. He squinted as the force of the sun streaming through the windows hit his eyes. "Please, close the curtains," he said in a soft, pained whisper.

One of the servants rushed over and closed the curtains. "Headache, Darcy?" Lucas asked as he calmly put butter on his toast.

Darcy glared at him and went gingerly over to the buffet. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at Lucas, who was trying not to laugh. Darcy sat down in the seat at the head of the table, and winced as the chair scraped on the floor.

"Darcy, do you need the salt?" Lucas said in a loud voice, making Darcy clap his hands over his ears.

Elizabeth began to giggle, and Darcy threw her a frown. Just then, the door opened, and Bingley came in, holding his head in his hands. "I feel like I've been run over by a barouche box loaded with a flock of sheep," he groaned.

"May I ask what is going on?" Elizabeth asked as she laughed.

"We had a drinking party last night," Lucas said with a smile. "A few of us drank too much."

"And why are you not affected?"

Lucas only smiled. Darcy answered for him: "Lucas didn't have anything to drink. Instead, he got us drunk so as to ply us for information. And need I remind you, Lucas," he said, throwing a hostile glare in that direction, "I do not forgive easily."

Lucas laughed. "You'll thank me some day, I swear it."

Darcy muttered something, and Lucas tsk-tsked. "That kind of language is not suitable for the presence of a lady, Darcy. I thought you had better manners than that."

"I really ought to be going, anyway," Elizabeth said, pushing aside her plate and standing up. "So you may curse as much as you like."

"Where are you going?" Darcy asked.

"I must pack if I am to leave today. Though I must write another note, as Lord Harding was so kind as to tear my other one up."

"Would you like use of the carriage?" asked Bingley as he sat down.

Lucas threw her a triumphant glance that Darcy did not fail to catch. Elizabeth only smiled and shook her head. "It would be too much trouble."

"No, nonsense," Bingley said. "How much time will you need?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I am not sure. Perhaps an hour?"

"Make that three hours," Lucas said.

"What?" Darcy and Elizabeth asked at the same time.

"I wish to speak to her before she leaves," Lucas said with a noncommittal shrug.

Darcy looked curiously at them for a few moments, then turned his attention back to his plate. Lucas looked at Elizabeth. "Meet me in the gardens in an half hour." After a short hesitation she nodded and left the room. Lucas dug into his eggs and was about to put them in his mouth when he caught a glimpse of the expression on Darcy's face. "What?"

"How far are you going to take this, Lucas?"

"That's for Miss Bennet and me to judge, thank you," Lucas replied calmly and put the fork laden with eggs in his mouth.

Darcy scowled and drank some of his coffee. "Miss Bennet doesn't have any brothers to avenge her honour, Lucas, and if you killed her father, the family would have hell to pay, so if you do anything to her, your challenge comes from me."

Lucas' brow shot skyward. "Being a bit protective, are we?"

"One must be, with you around," Darcy replied.

"What is wrong with you two?" Bingley asked into the silence. "You never fight like this. Well, not that often at least."

"Things have changed apparently," Lucas said, shoveling more eggs into his mouth. "It seems I am poaching in Darcy's hen coop."

"That's not a very true analogy, Lucas," Darcy said coolly. "I have no 'hen coop,' as you put it. I merely do not think Miss Bennet is deserving of a quick tumble and a pat on the head."

Lucas looked sharply at Darcy for a second. "And you think that's what I'd do? You have less faith in me than I had believed. So much for friendship."

"Wait, Lucas," Bingley said as that gentleman stood up to leave. "I'm sure Darcy didn't mean that. It's just, he has a headache this morning-"

"Which is your fault," Darcy put in bitterly.

"-And is not himself. Can't we all just get along?"

Lucas smiled at Bingley. "You have too much faith in humankind, Bings. Things don't work out that way sometimes. Never fail, though. Things will turn out well in the end."

And with that cryptic remark, he turned and left the room. Darcy and Bingley both gazed after his retreating figure through the closing door then turned to look at each other. "What do you think he meant?" Bingley asked.

"I'm not sure," Darcy responded, "But whatever it is, depend upon it: he has another of his madcap plans in place and ready to be played out. I'm just worried who he set as the cast."

Chapter 7

Posted on Saturday, 1 April 2000

If my mind ever listened to what my mouth said, I'd have a lot of accounting to do.
~ Steve Allen

"Were you waiting long?"

Elizabeth jumped at the voice in her ear, a hand flying to her throat as she stifled a small shriek. She took a deep breath as she smiled. "You scared me, Lord Harding. I had not even heard you approach."

"Too involved in your own musings, I suppose."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I was just...daydreaming. Not a very good thing to be doing with you around, I would assume."

"Not unless the dream is of me," he replied with a wicked leer.

"No, that would be a nightmare," she quipped, and he laughed and sat beside her on the bench. After a few moments of silence, she turned her head to look at him. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Do you remember our discussion yesterday in the drawing room? About Darcy?"

She thought for a few moments. "Of course."

"Well," he said, "I believe I now have a plan."

"A plan?"

"Of how to make him think better of you."

She wrinkled her nose. "I told you, I don't wish him to think better of me. I couldn't care less of how ill he thinks of me, as long as he refrains from intruding upon my notice."

Lucas smiled. "Well, the only way you are going to do that is to make him realise that you are not so unsuitable, so boorish-I suppose you might say-as he thinks you are. Then he will stop making it so painfully obvious what he thinks of you."

Elizabeth thought for a moment, then nodded her head. "I suppose you have a point. And so how exactly do you propose to improve his opinion of me?" She took one look at his grin, and shook her head. "Oh, no. I do not like that expression."

"It is the best way. And it couldn't hurt anyone. I will simply pay court to you for a while. Come, come. You cannot believe it would be too much of a hassle. I mean, we're already friends, I hope, right?" She nodded guardedly. "So we can continue to be friends; just make it more obvious."

"And this course of action will do what, exactly?"

"Well, this will make Darcy realise that you are a person who has worth. You see, he thinks in terms of stature and prestige. If he sees that you are wanted by a viscount, heir to a dukedom, well, he'll see that you are worthy of his respect. And this means that he will not be so condescending, and will not bother you as much."

Elizabeth's brow wrinkled in thought. "There seem to be flaws in your logic, I think. But I suppose it might work. With a little luck, I am sure it would. The only thing is, what if, instead of being condescending, he believes he ought to be around me more, because I am now worthy of his company?"

"I don't believe Darcy would do something like that," Lucas replied. "He wouldn't spend more of his time in your company simply because I find you worthy. He would only respect you more, and thus doing, accept you. He wouldn't be so disdainful or patronising."

"And you truly think this would work?"

Lucas smiled. "Everything will work out exactly as I've planned it in my mind."

Elizabeth nodded, and they sat in silence for a few moments before she asked, "And how, exactly, are you to court me? We cannot make it as if you are to propose marriage or anything so silly, because when you leave, there would be rumours abound, and my reputation would be questionable, not to mention I would be looked at with pity. And upon my honour, I cannot stand pity. It is such a false emotion."

"You have a point," Lucas said, "but I do not think you shall have anything to worry about. In fact, it might help if you did not treat me with too much favour, making it seem as though you were too good for me."

"What?" Elizabeth laughed. "You are not good enough for me? You, a viscount, nearly duke? How could I explain that one?"

"Use my reputation."

Elizabeth thought for a few moments. "I suppose that may work. But I cannot snub you completely."

"You do not have to," Lucas said with a smile. "Simply make it quite clear that we are nothing more than acquaintances. We may be friends, as far as a man and woman may be friends in this day and age, but no more." He paused, a slow smile coming across his face. "I have an even better idea. Do you know if perhaps there is an assembly or ball soon?"

"The next one I know of is the ball here, at Netherfield."

Lucas smiled, but looked at her askance. "Would you mind making a slight scene?"

"What does it entail?" Elizabeth asked curiously.

"We would have to find some place out of the way, yet still within sight of the ballroom. We would only have to spend a few minutes there, and then you slap me and storm away. That's all it would take-it would keep your reputation clean, and I would remain the rake I always am, and it would clear up any misconceptions about our relationship."

Elizabeth thought of his plan for a few moments, then smiled slowly. "That may work. Convoluted though it may be, I think it might work."

"Very good," Lucas said with a secret smile. "Very good. I think we ought to start as soon as possible. Do you think you might go into Meryton any day this next week?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "I might."

"How about Wednesday, at about two in the afternoon? I may 'accidentally' run into you while I am there."

Elizabeth grinned. "It's almost too good to be true."

Lucas smiled. "Isn't it?"

Darcy stood at the window, watching the two in the gardens. He had happened by this empty room on the third story that looked out over the gardens, by chance even into that slightly hidden alcove where Elizabeth and Lucas were sitting.

He had watched them talking, watched them laugh together, watched them smile at each other. Darcy's hands were clenched around the windowsill where he leaned, the knuckles turning white as Lucas stood up and kissed Elizabeth's hand while propelling her to her feet. He saw her smile in return, and felt an unaccountable curdling in his gut. It was an emotion he was unused to, but since the previous day, had felt often.

It was rather annoying, really. He had no connection with this woman. He didn't even love her, did he? Of course not. He wouldn't love someone who was so far beneath his own station in life. It was impossible, impractical, illogical. He would never make such a grave error.

He rubbed his brow as he watched the two weave their way through the gardens, arm in arm. He still had a headache from last night. He couldn't believe he had drunk that much, that he had let it all get to his head. But he hadn't eaten much at dinner-he had been rather distracted by his thoughts on the odd relationship between Lucas and Miss Elizabeth Bennet. He still believed that there had been an attraction between them-perhaps more on Lucas' side than on Miss Bennet's, but he couldn't be sure. Especially not when Lucas was so contradictory about it all.

But what had he all said last night? He never should have lost control like that. It was so easy, though. And Lucas' manipulations hadn't helped at all. He wondered what he had said, if any of it had been incriminating, damaging. Lucas seemed to intimate that it had. But Lucas was the master of disguise and deception. If he hadn't been of such high birth, he would have been an incredible actor; he fit into any situation. It was amazing to watch him among the ton. He mocked them all, yet did it in so sly a fashion that few even knew what he was about.

It was fun to watch him play with the matrons of society, making them believe that he actually showed even the slightest interest in the young misses in the marriage mart. He even once attended Almack's simply to make news. Rumours had been going around for nearly a fortnight afterwards, everyone trying to decide what-or who-had drawn him thither. Of course, the speculation died in the end, when the ton found a new object to focus on.

But now it wasn't so funny. Darcy felt...protective of Miss Bennet. Yes, that was the perfect word to describe it. He didn't want her to get in trouble, and with Lucas, she inevitably would. He had the duty to protect her, as he knew no one else would. He was going to put himself in the position to maintain her reputation.

What was he saying? He had no right to do something so ineffably stupid! He had no part in Miss Bennet's life, and wanted no part of it. She was not his to be protective of. He turned away from the window in self-disgust, running a hand through his unruly hair. He stood for a few minutes, breathing in slowly, and then without another look back out the window, walked from the room.

Chapter 8

Posted on Sunday, 2 April 2000

What a terrible thing to have lost one's mind. Or not to have a mind at all. How true that is.
~ Dan Quayle

Lucas watched the carriage roll away slowly as he stood on the drive beside Bingley. "Well?" asked Lucas. "Have you decided what to do?"

Bingley looked at his friend curiously. "Decided to do about what?"

Lucas raised an eyebrow. "About Miss Bennet, of course. She really is quite the angel, Bingley. She is sweet, even-tempered, and quite beautiful. Almost doll-like in her ethereal beauty."

Bingley stuck his hands in his pockets nervously, looking down at his shoes as he rocked backwards on his heels. "I don't know what I can do, Lucas. I'm not comfortable with marriage proposals or interviews, never having had one, of course."

"Of course."

Bingley looked up at his friend. "I really need advice, Lucas. But I cannot go to Darcy as I usually do. He does not approve of it, I know. He says that he has no opinion, but I can tell that it is not true."

Lucas sighed. "I can only say go with your heart, Bingley. Don't ever care what society says, even what your best friend says. If you believe that you will be happy with her, that this is the woman you love, ask her. Don't hesitate."

"Yes," Bingley said softly, then louder: "Yes! I'll do that. Now, let me go get my horse."

Lucas grabbed Bingley's arm before he could walk away. "Bingley, they just left. I think you might wait until at least tomorrow."

"Oh, yes," Bingley mumbled, disappointed. "Then I think I'll go upstairs."

He turned and went up the stairs and through the front doors. Lucas remained behind, staring down the drive to where the carriage was just disappearing from sight. A slight smile creased his face. This was going along swimmingly. His next conquest would be Darcy and the lovely Eliza Bennet. It would be trickier; Darcy was in love and wouldn't admit it without the aid of a bit of liquor, and Eliza was perfect for him, and she believed she hated him. Ah, but he could tell that there was an attraction between the two that neither could deny for much longer, especially with him involved.

He felt someone behind him before he even heard the voice. "We must talk, Lucas."

Lucas smiled without turning around. "About what, Darcy?"

A sigh. "Everything."

Lucas shrugged. "Shall we adjourn to the library? Since no one ever penetrates those hallowed walls, we shall be free from interruption, eh?"

He turned and walked past Darcy and up the stairs. The butler held open the door for the two gentlemen as they walked into the house and down the hall to the library. As Lucas went to sit down on the corner of the desk, Darcy closed the door behind them and remained there, leaning against it. He gazed down at his feet as Lucas reached into the box sitting on the table and pulled out a cheroot. He lit it, then looked up at Darcy. "Yes? You said we had something to discuss?"

Darcy looked up at his friend. He looked away almost immediately, and pushing himself away from the door, went to stand at the window. Gazing out of it, he said, "It was rather cruel of you to have that drinking party last night, and intentionally get us drunk."

"Your headache any better?"

Darcy turned and looked at Lucas for a moment. "Yes it is, thank you," he said in a flat tone of voice. He returned his gaze to the window. "How much did I say?" he asked softly.

Lucas shrugged, though the gesture was lost on his friend. "Enough."

Darcy slammed the heel of his hand on the windowsill before him, spinning around to look at his friend calmly smoking his cigar. "And what does that mean, Lucas?" he said, anger penetrating his tone. He took a step forward. "What is enough? What game are you playing this time?"

Lucas smiled lazily, smoke wreathing up to the ceiling. "Who said that I was playing a game, Darcy? You are always looking for conspiracies where none exist."

"There exists one here, I am sure of it."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, and pushed himself off the desk. He strolled over to the bookcases and began scanning the titles. "Perhaps there is, Darcy," he said, running his finger over the spines. "What are you going to do about it?" He stopped and pulled out a dusty tome. "Ah! A Vindication of the Rights of Woman." He held the book up for Darcy to see. "You ever read this, Darce? Very good. Laughable at times, I think, yet she's got great logic."

Darcy snorted. "A womaniser like you believes in women's rights?"

"Simply because I have fun with women," Lucas said tiredly as he put the book on the shelf, "does not mean I do not think that they have intellect. I believe that women ought to have the right to rule themselves. A woman rarely is allowed to hold her own property or funds. Do you know that many women are beaten by their husbands to near death? And there is no way for them to be prosecuted. And men can file for divorce from their wives, saying that their wife is an adulteress, yet a woman can do nothing-she can't say a word when her husband comes home with trollops; she can't argue when he set his mistress up in the house. You think that's fair?"

Darcy held up his hands. "I wasn't disputing that. I know that women have the worse part of the bargain in a marriage. It's just..." He paused and looked at his friend with confused eyes. "I just never realised you were so interested in this kind of thing. You've always had this care-for-nothing attitude, and even when we see your deeper side, I never realised that it was this...well, deep."

"Was that supposed to be an insult," Lucas asked wryly, "or did it just come out that way?"

"I'm sorry, Lucas," Darcy said apologetically, "It's just-"

Lucas stopped him with a wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it, Darce. I know what you meant."

There was silence in the room for a while as Lucas continued looking at the titles on the books, his cheroot still between his lips. Darcy stood meditatively looking at the floor at his feet at his place halfway between the window and the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. He dug at the carpet with the toe of his boot. He looked up as Lucas began speaking again. "So what do you think of Miss Elizabeth Bennet?"

"I thought we had this conversation before," Darcy said.

"I'm sure we did. But I must have forgotten what you told me."

"She's not for you," Darcy said slowly.

Lucas turned to look at his friend shrewdly. "What's that supposed to mean? I think we go well together. We've the same temperament, the same love of life, the same love of the ridiculous, strong intelligence-"

"Yes, but I don't think she'd fit well into your kind of lifestyle."

"What, the lifestyle of a bachelor?" Lucas laughed. "Of course not. I wasn't even suggesting it. I'd change, of course. I cannot be such a free man when I've been leg-shackled."

Darcy sighed and wandered to the window again, clasping his hands behind his back and staring out. "But you live in the city-"

"Only when I'm not in the country."

Darcy glanced over his shoulder at his friend, an annoyed expression on his face. "But you are a part of the ton, the high-and-mighty lords and ladies of the ton. They wouldn't accept her."

"They accepted Lady Windemere when she was only a governess, and he only an earl. Are you telling me that they wouldn't accept a gentleman's daughter from the country?"

"I don't know what I'm saying," Darcy said exasperatedly, throwing up his hands in frustration. "She simply isn't for you, Lucas. I know."

"No, you don't know," Lucas replied evenly. "You said it yourself. Tell me why she really isn't acceptable. Come, man, spit it out."

There was complete silence as the two stared at each other steadily. "I don't know what you are talking about," Darcy said coolly.

Lucas smiled knowingly. "Are you sure? I heard it from your own lips: 'She's handsome, and self-assured, and independent, and intelligent. She doesn't need someone like me. She's too good for me,'" he said in a tone nearly like Darcy's, only slightly slurred.

Darcy stepped backwards, then turned around, his hand on his brow as a memory tugged at the back of his mind of a brandy-induced haze. "Oh, my God. Did I really say that?" he panted. "I can't believe I was so...stupid!"

"Stupid?" Lucas asked softly. "Or merely truthful?"

"No!" Darcy said forcefully as he spun around. He pointed an accusing finger at Lucas. "This is all your fault." He threw his hands up. "And I'm sure you're going to tell me I also admitted to loving her."

Lucas shrugged and turned back to the bookshelf, but Darcy grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, his nose centimetres from Lucas'. "You will keep this to yourself." He stopped and leaned back for a moment, a look of incredulity on his face as he stared thoughtfully at Lucas. "That is what you talked to her about this morning, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't," Lucas replied.

"It is!" Darcy cried triumphantly. "You are such a liar, Lucas. You can't even own up to what you have done. And that is what you were smiling and laughing about wasn't it? Oh, Darcy is such a fool! He is so easy to catch, isn't he? Well no more, I tell you!" he said, slamming his fist down on the desk. "I will be immune to her wiles from now on. There will be no way that she will make a fool of me!"

Lucas's eyebrows had practically disappeared into his hairline. "Isn't this a bit drastic, Darcy?"

Darcy looked at his friend. "Oh, that's what you'd like to think, wouldn't you? After all, you are a party to this, aren't you? Well, you can tell your comrade that she won't be able to catch me. Not a chance. From now on, I am staying as far from her as possible."

"Then you won't mind at all if I court her?"

A short hesitation. "No," Darcy replied shakily, then a bit more steadily: "No, absolutely not. Do whatever you will."

Lucas smiled craftily. "Thank you for your consent, my good man. And I will relay your message to her."

Darcy watched Lucas walk out the door of the library, his arms still folded across his chest. When the door was closed, he breathed heavily and sat down on the corner of his desk, wondering if was doing the right thing.

Chapter 9

Posted on Sunday, 9 April 2000

It is generally agreed that "Hello" is an appropriate
greeting because if you entered a room and said
"Goodbye," it could confuse a lot of people.
~ Dolph Sharp

To say the least, Mrs. Bennet was surprised when a carriage from Netherfield rolled up before Longbourn. She was out the door, running towards it when the carriage door was opened and Elizabeth descended. "What are you doing here?" her mother screeched.

"Very nice to see you again, too, Mama," Elizabeth said with a grin.

"And why did you come in Mr. Bingley's coach? Have they thrown you out?" She moaned dramatically and threw her hands in the air. "I knew it would come to this! I never should have allowed you to walk-of all things-over to that house and ruin poor Jane's perfectly good chances to receive a marriage proposal! Oh! My poor nerves! Now what shall I do?"

Elizabeth glanced at Jane, and the two of them walked past their moaning mother and into the foyer, where Mr. Bennet was standing. "It is good to see you, Lizzy," he said, giving her a quick peck on her forehead. "It is good to see you, Jane," he said to Jane. "You cannot imagine what it has been here without your sense and wit in this house. I've had to hide in my library most of the time, only excepting for meals and sleep." He smiled wryly. "But I have news. I cannot wait to tell you." As he saw Mrs. Bennet coming towards them, he cleared his throat. "Shall we go to my library? It shall be much quieter, I assure you."

Elizabeth and Jane exchanged glances, but followed their father to his library, where he closed his door quickly, then went around to sit at his desk. Jane and Elizabeth sat in front of his desk and waited. He took a letter from a drawer and held it up. "This is a letter from your cousin, Mr. William Collins. It seems that he shall be visiting us. He wrote a fortnight ago, and a few days ago I answered him." He paused and after a short hesitation, thrust the letter across the desk. "Read it to yourselves. I've already read it twice, and have no care to read it once more. There is only so much amusement one may draw out of an inanimate object. We'll have to wait for the rest."

Elizabeth took the letter and held it so that both Jane and she could read it. When they were both finished perusing the letter, she looked up at her father with a raised brow. "He does not strike me as the most sensible person, Papa. Do you think he shall appear better than his letter shows him?"

"I highly doubt it," Mr. Bennet replied calmly. "But I shall bear it stoically if I am disappointed."

Jane was holding the letter in her hands now, re-reading parts. "He seems kind enough, I think. He must be a good man to be trying to make amends for his father's wrongs."

Mr. Bennet chuckled. "You think that, Jane, if it makes you feel better."

Elizabeth smiled. "Perhaps he tries to be a good man-too hard. He is probably pompous, obsequious, and quite ridiculous."

"But do not making the mistake, Lizzy, of prejudging him," her father replied, "for you may be sorely disappointed. You may find that he is the most sensible, intelligent man you have ever met." The two glanced at each other and immediately began to laugh.

Jane shook her head slowly. "For shame. What if he is what you have just described, Papa? You will have prejudged him, and then you will not treat him as you should."

"How often does that happen, Jane?" Elizabeth asked. "I have never found a person that I did not judge correctly on my first meeting them. I feel quite competent of my good judgment in first impressions. And this letter is my first impression of him. So unless pigs begin to fly, I seriously doubt that I shall be wrong."

"Well said, Lizzy," Mr. Bennet said, clapping his hands slowly. "You are my most discerning daughter. Now, Mr. Collins shall be coming within the next few hours, I project. So, freshen up, if needs be, and be ready to greet our esteemed guest."

Jane had left the room, and Elizabeth was closing the door behind her when she heard her father call her name. She opened the door again and looked in. "Yes, Papa? Is there something you need?"

"Yes, actually, I do," Mr. Bennet replied, gesturing for her to come back in and sit down. "I had a question. I happened to be listening to your mother's bumbling yesterday, and she mentioned something about another gentleman coming to Netherfield. I think she mentioned the Quality, or some such thing. Said the rumour was going around he was an earl."

"A viscount, actually." Elizabeth grimaced. "And I am sure she thinks he will marry one of us."

Mr. Bennet's lips curled into a wry grin. "Actually, yes. She was talking about Lydia, though I doubt a man of such stature would even consider a wife of fifteen, much less a pauper from the country. Did you happen to meet him?"

"Well, yes," Elizabeth replied, somewhat guardedly.

"And what kind of man is he? The typical care-for-nothing titled gentleman? A London nabob?"

Elizabeth smiled. "All of that, I suppose, and yet not really. He is an inveterate rake-definitely not the dandy. He is quite handsome and charming, also. He casts the appearance of a devil-may-care attitude, but I think he is much deeper than that. Even when he is acting his flippant role, he is shrewd and manipulative. And I mean acting, for I believe I was given a glimpse of the true Lucas Harding, and he is very little like the superficial man he portrays."

"And is there any danger in him?" Mr. Bennet asked, his fingers steepled thoughtfully against his lips.

Elizabeth shook her head firmly. "None at all, Papa. He is helping me, in fact."

Mr. Bennet sat forward with curiosity. "In what way, pray tell?"

"He is helping me to rid myself of Mr. Darcy."

There was complete silence in the room as Mr. Bennet digested this information. "And how is he planning on doing this?"

"We have a plan, Papa," Elizabeth said with a grin. "He is going to court me, though I shall repudiate his advances. In that way, Mr. Darcy will see that I am unworthy of his scorn, for if a future duke thinks I am worthy of him, then I am worthy of a gentleman with no title at all."

Mr. Bennet's eyes had narrowed to slits as he gazed at his daughter, rattling off the plan with enthusiasm. "And why is he offering his services? Do you not think this a bit strange that he would be helping you, a veritable stranger, to...ward off Mr. Darcy's disapproval?"

Elizabeth looked pensive for a moment, then shook her head. "I do not question his motives. There is something-I don't know precisely what-but we are two of a kind, Papa. He is so like me in temperament, in interests. Well, in most interests," she said, two flags of colour appearing on her cheeks as she thought of one of the viscount's pursuits. "He is helping me because it relieves his tedium; because he, like both you and I, enjoys mocking the ridiculous, laughing at irony."

Mr. Bennet said nothing, but remained doubtful. He would have to investigate a little more, but he was sure there was another reason behind all of this. And he had a hunch that it had something to do with the relationship between his daughter and Mr. Darcy. He simply had to find out what. The best thing to do, he resolved, was to make the acquaintance of this viscount...and get in on the plan. "So I take it there shall be no marriage plans for the two of you?"

"No! Absolutely not," Elizabeth said, slightly horrified. "Lucas and I are too similar of temperament, too similar of tastes to make a good match. We would drive each other into Bedlam within a fortnight, I vow. We can be friends at best, but that is all."

He smiled. "Well, then. I shall not worry about making sure I have enough money for a new suit. Or shall I look into it for Jane's wedding?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I would if I were you. It seems to me that a proposal is eminent. Within the next few weeks, I should assume; perhaps even tomorrow, if Mr. Bingley had a slight push in the direction of Longbourn. And probably Lucas will be the one to supply it, for he seems to have the mind of a matchmaker."

A spark was suddenly lit in the back of Mr. Bennet's brain, and he nearly laughed with both his daughter's intentional blindness and the irony of what this Lucas was trying to do. It was a Herculean task, and yet would be-oh!-so much fun. Yes, he would have to meet this gentleman as soon as humanly possible.

"And shall I be meeting this gentleman soon?"

"Mr. Bingley? You've already met him, Papa."

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "Lord Harding, my dear. When shall I be meeting him?"

A puzzled look came over Elizabeth's face. "I'm not sure. I believe he shall be staying in the country for a while, so perhaps he will come to visit. After all, it will help the appearance of his courting me, no?"

Mr. Bennet nodded, and waved a hand in dismissal. "Now, go get yourself ready for your cousin's arrival. And practice trying not to laugh. You may need that skill."

Elizabeth hugged her father and impulsively kissed him on the forehead before flouncing out the door and up the stairs. Mr. Bennet watched her leave, and smiled to himself. This would be so much fun: not only to watch his cousin's antics, but the matchmaking of two people who insisted they hated each other. Oh, yes, this would be fun.

Lucas was just mounting his horse when Darcy came into the stables. The latter was wearing his riding breeches and held a whip in his hand. But when he saw Lucas on the horse, he turned and began to head out of the stables again. "Wait, Darcy," Lucas called. He squirreled and ran to where Darcy had paused in the doorway. "Look, I'm sorry," he said in as abject a voice he possibly could summon. Darcy simply looked at him, his expression not changing from the stormy one he had had since he saw Lucas. They stared at each other for a few moments, neither willing to break until Lucas finally looked away. He knew when it was time to lose.

"What do you expect me to say, Lucas?" Darcy asked softly, a voice which belied the banked anger in his eyes. "Do you think I want you anywhere near Miss Elizabeth?"

"So that's what this is about?" asked Lucas. "I wasn't sure."

"Then what were you apologising for?" Darcy replied. "If you didn't know what you were apologising for..."

Lucas shook his head. "I just knew that something was wrong, and if I didn't apologise, you would never forgive me for whatever transgression I might have made." He flashed a totally unrepentant smile, and Darcy just glared. "You know Darce, I've told you this more than a million times: you have to lighten up." He walked over to his horse and mounted again. As he arranged his reins, he paused to look at Darcy. "If you don't, you know, you'll never win Elizabeth's good opinion." Before Darcy could respond, Lucas had planted his heels in the horse's flanks, and rode off.

Lucas chuckled as he cantered away from the stables. He had seen the shocked and mutinous expression on Darcy's face before he rode away. He couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before his friend would finally admit to himself what Lucas-and probably more than a few other people-could so plainly see. That he was in love with Elizabeth Bennet.

And that's where he was headed off to right now: to visit the lovely Miss Bennet. He couldn't help himself. He was like a little boy, off on his imaginary adventure, ready to slay any dragons that might appear with his trusty wooden sword-even the one who didn't breathe fire, but mathematic principles. He got in big trouble for that.

But here he was again, riding off to slay dragons; still imaginary, but this time, the dragons weren't large and scaly, but the dragons of prejudice and assumptions. And this dragon could be tougher to slay than any of the imaginary ones he ever thought of-combined. It was going to take a lot of work. Perhaps he would even need an ally, because he sure didn't have a suit of armour.

He had waited a day, though Heaven knew that he was impatient to start. Bingley had gone to Longbourn this morning, right after an early breakfast. If Lucas had been awake, he would have stopped him, but unfortunately, Lucas had spent a long night at the tavern, and hadn't been up in time to tell Bingley that it was too early to make a morning call. So now he was on his way to pay his own respects.

The moment he reached the drive to Longbourn, he realised that Bingley had asked Miss Bennet to marry him, for there was a great rejoicing inside the house, very audible to his ears. He rode on and finally reached the house. He went in after leaving his horse with a stable boy and was greeted by Elizabeth, who had seen him arrive. She smiled warmly and grabbed his hand, leading him into the parlour. As she opened the door, she looked back at him. "You knew he was going to ask this morning, didn't you?" She laughed as he smiled like a cat caught drinking from the cream jar, slapping him lightly on the wrist. "You could have at least told him not to call so early. We were not even finished with breakfast!"

As she opened the door, Lucas took in the scene. One woman, apparently Elizabeth's mother, was joyfully embracing her future son-in-law, then her eldest daughter, then a gentleman Lucas guessed to be Elizabeth's father, then Elizabeth, then finally, him. This last embrace made Mrs. Bennet finally stop, when she realised she had just hugged a complete stranger. "Oh, I am sorry, sir," she said, horrified.

Lucas smiled. "Think nothing of it, madam. I can imagine the joy having a daughter married would cause."

Mrs. Bennet smiled and attempted a laugh, but looked questionably at Elizabeth, who smiled with an embarrassed glance at Lucas. "Mama, this is Viscount Harding. He is a friend of Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy."

This statement caused Mrs. Bennet to look even more horrified than before. "Oh, I'm sorry, my lord! I had not realised! Oh, my nerves! I am so sorry."

"Do not think anything of it, ma'am. I assure you, I do not mind." He sent a laughing smile at Elizabeth, who though embarrassed, managed a small smile.

"Lord Harding, let me introduce you to the rest of my family. This is my father, Mr. Bennet, and you know my sister Jane. This is Mary, and over here are Kitty and Lydia." She gestured to a greasy gentleman who had just come forward bowing. "This is my cousin, Mr. Collins, who has come visiting. He is the rector at Hunsford for Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Darcy's aunt." She sent him a significant glance, and he had to struggle to hold back a chuckle.

"I am pleased to meet you all. I had hoped to make your acquaintance, but Bingley had forgotten to inform me he was making a call earlier, so I followed him at my earliest opportunity."

"You are too good, my lord," said Mr. Collins. "I know my noble patroness would think the same thing, for you to deign to call upon our poor, humble selves."

Lucas nodded seriously, not even trusting himself to glance in Elizabeth's direction, for fear he would lose his self-control. "I believe I have met Lady Catherine, and a nobler person there has never been."

"You know Lady Catherine de Bourgh?" Mr. Collins with an awestruck mien. "And do you know her daughter, as well?"

Lucas smiled. "We have been introduced, yes."

Mr. Collins gasped. "Oh, then you are well-favoured, indeed. For you cannot help but agree that there is no more refined or gentle lady than Miss Anne de Bourgh."

A choking sound came from Elizabeth's direction, and Lucas smiled. "Indeed."

"Would you like something to drink, Lord Harding?" came a new voice. Lucas looked over to see Mr. Bennet, a smile on his face, standing near the fireplace, an eyebrow raised in query.

"Thank you, that would be nice," Lucas replied, slightly curious.

Mr. Bennet nodded, and began to walk towards the door. "Then come with me to my library. We will have a drink together there."

Lucas glanced at Elizabeth, but she shook her head slowly, confusion written plainly on her face. He smiled slightly, and she smiled guardedly in return. He followed Mr. Bennet down the hall and through a door into what was plainly Mr. Bennet's library. Mr. Bennet offered him a chair, then poured sherry into two glasses. As he handed Lucas one of the glasses, he looked at him squarely and said evenly, "I want in."

Chapter 10

Posted on Wednesday, 12 April 2000

There are only two truly infinite things, the universe and stupidity. And I am unsure about the universe.
~ Albert Einstein

"Sir?" Lucas choked out.

Mr. Bennet smiled. "You heard me, Lord Harding. I want in on whatever you are planning to do. I have found out most of the details-at least those that my daughter was able to supply so unwittingly, and I have a feeling I know exactly what you are going to do. I want to be in on this. I have always loved a good, manipulative plan, and I would like to help. What can I do? The role of disapproving father is too mild, though, so don't even suggest that."

Lucas raised his eyebrows and laid his glass on the desk before him. He leaned forward and looked squarely at the other gentleman. "And who says that I am doing anything? Perhaps this is only a figment of your imagination, a plan, a conspiracy where none exists."

"Oh, no," Mr. Bennet said, shaking his finger at Lucas. "Don't even try that on me. I know exactly what is going on, and I know that you are trying to interest your friend Mr. Darcy in my daughter Elizabeth and likewise. Just like you suggested that Mr. Bingley come to ask for my other daughter's hand this morning."

Lucas smiled slowly. "You are quite discerning, Mr. Bennet. If I judge you rightly, you are also quite amused by the gentleman in your living room."

"Which one?" asked Mr. Bennet with a smile on his face.

Lucas nodded. "Exactly. Now, you want to be a part of my plan, do you?"

Mr. Bennet smiled. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away."

Lucas nodded. "That's exactly what we need."

Darcy quickly perused the note Caroline handed him. A slight scowl formed on his lips as he looked up at her. "What does this mean?"

"Exactly what it says, Mr. Darcy," Caroline purred. "My brother has asked the little garden snake to marry him, and now he and your titled friend are dining at Longbourn." She paused and glanced in the general direction of that estate. "Which reminds me. I do believe you ought to warn Lord Harding. Miss Elizabeth Bennet, I believe, has designs upon him. She has been digging her claws into him and his wealth and title since they met. He cannot realise how poisonous country snakes can be."

"As opposed to city ones?" Darcy said coolly with a significant glance in her direction, which she failed to catch.

Miss Bingley laughed as if it were a joke. "Miss Eliza would not fit into our society, Darcy, even if she wore the finest clothes or had the grandest title. She shall always be a country nobody." She tittered. "Can you imagine her, presiding at Pemberley? Oh! What a joke!"

Darcy nodded absently, still staring at the letter in his hands, and Miss Bingley, finding this to be enough encouragement, continued in this vein until Darcy suddenly walked away without saying a word. She stopped, startled by his rudeness, but recovered quickly and chased after him. "Mr. Darcy?" she called as he walked towards the front door. "Where are you going?" She picked up her skirts and ran down the steps quickly. "Mr. Darcy!"

He continued to walk in the direction of the stables, not even acknowledging her. Miss Bingley followed him more than three-quarters the way, then stopped, defeated. She watched silently as he left the stables leading a sable-coloured stallion. She ran closer. "Mr. Darcy!" He looked at her now, with a nearly surprised expression on his face. "Where are you going?" she panted as she tried to catch her breath from running so far.

"Why, to Longbourn, of course," Darcy replied, his face stony. "If Lucas is going to be bitten, I might as well be there to save him."

Miss Bingley merely stared at him in horror as he mounted his horse and rode off. She remained there for a few minutes afterwards, a thoughtful expression on her face. At long last, she turned back to the house and walked slowly back to the front steps. When she reached the doorway, a slow smile spread across her features, and she chuckled to herself, not even noticing the odd look the butler was giving her. "Ah, yes, Darcy," she muttered to herself. "And I may have just the anti-venom needed."

Meanwhile, Darcy was riding across the fields, taking the shortcut to Longbourn. He wanted to make it there before dinner. A sudden thought occurred to him, and he nearly stopped his horse. He looked down at his clothes in fear, but then remembered that he had changed for dinner at Netherfield nearly a half-hour ago. He sighed in relief and continued on. At least now he would not be ashamed of his appearance.

He arrived at Longbourn and dismounted, handing the reins to a stable boy whom had run out to take the stallion. He then approached the door and knocked succinctly. It was opened by the housekeeper who let him in, her eyes round with surprise. She curtsied quickly and went to find her mistress. When she returned, she led him into the parlour, where the others were sitting. He glanced around quickly, noticing the startled faces. He merely smiled, bowed to his hostess and host. Mrs. Bennet, though somewhat reluctantly, extended the invitation to dinner for him as well, and he accepted. He bowed again, then offered congratulations to Jane before taking a seat beside Elizabeth, on the opposite side as Lucas.

He caught Lucas' eye as he sat down, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. Lucas merely shrugged and turned to his right to speak to Mr. Bennet. Darcy was about to speak to Elizabeth, when he was accosted from someone on his left. He turned to find a greasy-looking gentleman stooping over, smiling at him. "Mr. Darcy, I hope you will allow me to tell you that your aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, was in good health no more than three days previous."

Darcy felt repulsed and quite offended by this gentleman's appearance and proximity. He had opened his mouth to ask this gentleman's name, when Elizabeth laughed beside him. He turned to her with a raised eyebrow. She smiled in response. "This is my cousin, Mr. Darcy. Mr. William Collins, the rector at Hunsford, your aunt's parish."

A slight smile quirked his mouth as Darcy nodded in understanding. He sighed as he turned to the obsequious man, who was still standing quite close, rubbing his hands together. "It is good to know that, sir."

Mr. Collins smiled, baring all his teeth. Darcy grimaced inwardly and looked the other way. Perhaps this was some sort of punishment, he wondered, for being so stubborn and snappish with Lucas earlier. That was probably the reason why Lucas refused to help him, though he was having enough fun laughing inwardly from where he was sitting. It still would be more kind and Christian-like to help Darcy be rid of this barnacle.

But Darcy's prayers were for naught. Lucas remained where he was, laughing and talking with both Elizabeth and her father (which made Darcy slightly curious as to the reason for their level of intimacy). He was forced to listen, though half-heartedly, to Mr. Collins' jabbering. At long last, the announcement that dinner was ready came, and Mrs. Bennet insisted that rank and file be observed. Darcy watched with amusement as Lucas, because of his title, was forced to escort the grinning Mrs. Bennet in to dinner. Mr. Bennet took his eldest daughter on his arm, and Darcy smiled to himself as he realised whom was next. He offered his arm to Elizabeth with inward glee, and felt a shiver run through him as she placed her hand tentatively on his arm.

He wished there had been more room between the dining room and the parlour, for he wanted more time with Elizabeth on his arm. He wanted to explore the sensation having her by his side created, a feeling that was foreign to him, so completely at odds with his independent, self-assured nature. He actually desired to delve into this mystery, this emotion. He shook his head inwardly, wondering if he was truly losing his mind. Or perhaps Lucas was right. Perhaps he was in love with this beauty by his side. Perhaps he simply didn't wish to acknowledge it...before now.

Yet as he pulled out her chair and then took one beside her, he realised that there was something in the way she became his every thought, in the way she backhanded every compliment, in the way she smiled at him that challenged him to love her. If that was her intention, she was prospering. He would be hers on a platter by the end of the week. His mind told him that he had to resist, that she was merely taking advantage of the situation. But his heart told him that she could love him, if given a chance; that the pleasure possible if he yielded to his feelings was worth anything. To have her by his side for the rest of his life was too great a temptation.

As the dinner proceeded, he pondered how he should go about wooing her, when he ought to ask her father's permission. He could not be called experienced in this type of situation by any means. By the time the dinner ended, and the three gentlemen were on their way back to Netherfield, Darcy had decided it within himself to ask advice from Lucas. After all, Lucas was the self-assured society gentleman, who would know of such proceedings, right?

What Darcy never realised-never even considered-was that he had started his courtship on a bad note; that the whole dinner with his intended fiancée by his side, waiting for some semblance of courtesy from him, was spent in silence.

Chapter 11

Posted on Thursday, 13 April 2000

People are governed with the head; kindness
of heart is of little use in chess.
~ Sibastien-Roch Nicolas de Chamfort

Darcy and Lucas sat in the study at Netherfield across from each other over a chessboard. Bingley sat near the fire, half-asleep, a childish smile upon his face. Darcy looked over at him and shook his head. "Look at him; he's like a cat in a cream pot. I hope never to be so in love as he is."

"Why would you not wish to be as deliriously happy as he is at this moment? I would be. If the woman I love loves me in return, why should I be unhappy?" Darcy's eyes narrowed at the phrasing of his friend's question, but Lucas seemed so blasé, so nonchalant, that he brushed the nagging suspicion aside. Lucas went on: "Love is not the emotion of fools, Darcy, as I am sure you think."

Darcy scoffed. "Then what is it?"

A slight smile creased Lucas' mouth as he moved forward a black rook, capturing one of Darcy's knights. He held it up to the light, gazing at it thoughtfully as its sculptured marble edges caught the flickering candlelight. "Love is everything. Love is the reason we have life, Darce. Did you ever notice that everything we do is based on the emotion of love?"

"Or hate," Darcy said bitterly as he moved a pawn.

"Ah!" cried Lucas. "But hate is sometimes simply the lack of love. Other times, the avowal of hate is actually a deep love that a person will not disclose."

Darcy smiled wryly. "You are no philosopher, Lucas."

"I do not try to be," Lucas replied abruptly as he took Darcy's queen. He shook his finger lightly at his friend. "You are not paying attention tonight, Darce. What are you thinking?"

"I don't know," Darcy responded with a sigh, moving another piece. "I really don't know, Lucas. There are too many problems I have to deal with right now."

"On your estate, you mean?"

Darcy looked up at his friend in surprise until he saw the gleam of amusement in Lucas' eyes. His shoulders relaxed somewhat, and he shook his head. "No, not with Pemberley. There haven't been any troubles there, unfortunately. I wish it were only that. Estate problems I could deal with. This, I am drowning." He watched Lucas, waiting for a response, but the latter was intent on concentrating on his next move. He went on: "I know that this may be awkward, Lucas, but I need your help. It's about Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

A slow smile spread across Lucas' face as he trapped Darcy's bishop. "Elizabeth, eh?" he asked, not even bothering to look up. "You don't think I have a chance with her, is that it? I think I do. She has been quite warm to me lately."

Darcy's face darkened, and he looked across the room at Bingley, who had fallen asleep in his chair, his face still wreathed in smiles. "Perhaps I shouldn't have even said anything," he murmured.

"No, no," Lucas cried, waving a hand carelessly at him. "Go on, go on."

As he turned back to the game, Darcy sighed. "I don't think I can. If you persist in this façade that you have created, that you love Miss Bennet, I cannot speak with you. I had wanted your help; I had thought you were my friend."

Lucas could barely keep from laughing, as his friend sounded very much like a petulant little boy, deprived his favourite treat. But he managed it, if only to keep on good terms with Darcy. As it was, he was only two steps from the edge of the precipice. "Of course I am your friend," he replied soothingly. "Now tell me what ails you, and perhaps I shall have the remedy."

Darcy shot a dark look at his friend, and took his knight with a rook. Lucas only laughed and rebuffed the move by capturing the rook with his queen. "This is my favourite piece, by far. Have you ever thought of this: how funny it is that the strongest piece in the game is the woman? Of course the king is important-the centre of the game, in fact-yet he can do very little. The queen, in actuality, defends him. She's so independent, so intelligent, so beautiful, no?"

Darcy responded with a quizzical look. "Are you still talking about the chess piece?"

Lucas merely shrugged. "However you take it, Darce." He smiled as Darcy moved a knight into place to trap the queen. "And everyone wants her, too," he laughed as he moved the piece to safety. Lucas's laughing eyes flashed a challenge as they met Darcy's across the chessboard. Darcy held his gaze, his own expression threatening.

At last, it was Darcy who broke eye contact. He looked down at the pieces, and took in his crumbling defenses with a despairing look on his face. As he realised his quandary, he reached over and tipped over his king, saying, "I concede defeat, Lucas."

"No, you don't," Lucas replied steadily as he righted the white king. He picked up his queen and held it up between them, the light glinting off the polished stone. "This is my lady, Darcy. Catch her if you can."

A new sense of determination entered Darcy's expression as he understood the double meaning. His face became set in stone as he watched Lucas set the piece down again. He moved one of his own pieces, then waited for Lucas' next move. Their expressions became intense and their concentration became unwavering as this game became more than just that.

Suddenly, Darcy made a swift move, capturing Lucas' queen. He held it in front of his friend's face and crowed in triumph. "I have your lady, Lucas. She's mine now."

Lucas didn't respond. His face was purposefully expressionless, and his eyes were fixed upon Darcy's face. And as Darcy looked at his friend, his smile began to fade, and a dark shadow crossed it. "You cheated," he said softly, pointing an accusing finger at his friend. Then louder: "You cheated, Lucas. You let me win!" He shoved the chessboard aside in anger, and the pieces went crashing to the ground, awaking Bingley from his nap. He leaned on the table, the queen still clutched in his right hand and glared at Lucas. "You are playing a game that I don't think I like."

Lucas didn't respond. His expression did not waver, and his eyes didn't move, not even when Darcy slammed a fist on the table, and with one final stormy look, slammed out of the library, still carrying the queen. He didn't even respond at first to Bingley's worried question. But at last he turned and looked at that gentleman with a slight smile. "Nothing is wrong, Bings. Darcy has simply discovered the game. And I don't think he likes it. Yet."

"Papa?" Elizabeth peered around the door of her father's library. When she saw him sitting in a chair by the fire, a glass of wine on the table beside him, she slipped through the open doorway and closed it softly behind her. She walked over to the chair opposite his and sat down in it quietly. "Papa?" she asked again.

He looked up at her, a surprised look on his face. "Lizzy? What are you doing down here at this hour of the night?"

"I had to ask you a question." He waited for her to continue, and she buried her hands nervously in the folds of her gown. "What did you and Lucas speak of this afternoon?"

He shrugged. "I had to meet the fellow, Lizzy. We talked of common things: hunting, fishing, wine, you." He took a sip of his wine while she stared at him with wide eyes.

"Me? You spoke of me? Why?"

"I had to find out his intentions, my dear," her father replied.

She spluttered and turned red at this statement. "Oh, Papa, you did not embarrass me like that, did you truly?"

He smiled. "Of course I did. But the viscount was quite amiable about it all; it did not bother him in the least. In fact, he even permitted me to become involved in the plan." Elizabeth merely stared at him. He chuckled. "Oh, yes. I am to have a part in the play, too, my dear. After all, the more actors, the better the performance. Everyone shall be taken in by us now. You see, my dear Lizzy, I could never allow an opportunity of such great potential to pass me by. Your cousin is amusing, but not quite enough. This will be much better."

"I suppose so," Elizabeth muttered, more to herself than to her father. "But what role are you to take?"

"Ah, that is a tricky part," Mr. Bennet replied. "For the most part, I am to take whatever part is needed at the time. Most especially, I have to pass on observations to your mother, who is bound to gossip about it to everyone in the neighbourhood. This will help inestimably, you know."

Elizabeth grimaced. "I am not so sure I wish to have my name bandied about so much. And Lucas agreed with this plan?"

Mr. Bennet nodded with a smile. "Of course. In fact, he was really the one to come up with the idea in the first place. After all, the rumours will help to create a sense of the real, of fact. Otherwise, the two of you are simply floating around, hopefully being taken notice of by Mr. Darcy."

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth scoffed. "That gentleman is so enigmatic sometimes. Did you see him at dinner tonight? He sat next to me the whole time, and did not say a word, even when I asked him a question. I at least attempted to be civil. But he simply sat there, glaring at his food as if it would run away if he removed his eyes from it."

Her father did not respond at first. He, too, had seen Darcy in his fit of abstraction. But he, unlike his daughter, had noticed the surreptitious glances that gentleman had been making at Elizabeth during the dinner, glances of both confusion and another, more tender, more passionate emotion. The thought made him smile. The plan was working better than either of them could have hoped. "Of course he is not going to act towards you as is our goal. We have barely begun our plan. It will take a few weeks, at least. You cannot expect his opinion to change in the course of a day."

Elizabeth looked thoughtful. "I suppose you are correct." She shrugged. "I don't know what I was expecting. I suppose I simply wished him to be a bit more...kind at least." She paused in thought, then: "No, I don't wish him to be kind. Of course I do not." She laughed at herself as she continued, "I do not know what I am saying. I do not wish him to be kind to me. He has already shown me that he is proud and haughty, and now completely rude. I only wish him to leave me alone."

She laughed as she kissed her father on the forehead and slipped out of the room. He gazed after her, his eyes slightly unhappy. "Be careful what you wish for, my dear. Be careful what you wish for."

Chapter 12

Posted on Saturday, 15 April 2000

You possess a mind not merely twisted, but actually sprained.

Lucas and Mr. Bennet were not the only ones to have a plan, though. Another gentleman here in Hertfordshire had one of his own, as well. His renowned and noble patroness had suggested it to him the day before he left. She told him to marry, to find a young gentlewoman that was pleasant, pretty, and a credit to his profession and marry her. So he was ready to marry. All he had to do was find the right young lady.

When he first came to Longbourn, he had looked at all five of the Bennet sisters. They were all of them pretty enough, and genteel, and quite amiable. He had decided, though, on the eldest. After all, she was very pretty, very pleasant, and a very great credit to his profession, being very quiet and unassuming. And her being the eldest, she ought to be the one to marry first. Yes, the eldest would do perfectly.

But then the gentleman from a neighbouring estate had come and ruined his plan by proposing first. So he had had to choose another. He only had to change them slightly, though, for he realised that the next eldest would do just as well. She was nearly as pretty, somewhat pleasant, and could learn to be a credit to his profession, he was sure. Yes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet would be perfect.

While in a discussion with Mrs. Bennet, he hinted at his plan. This plan was immediately met with disapprobation. Elizabeth, Mrs. Bennet declared, recalling the marked attentions paid by the viscount to that daughter, was decidedly off limits. She was certain that a certain gentleman was quite interested, and she was expecting a proposal soon. No, Elizabeth Bennet would not be a good choice.

So, with a sigh, he tried to decide what to do. There were only three Bennet sisters left to choose from. The youngest two, he decided, were too flighty by half. They were definitely not the kind of wife Lady Catherine would approve of. They were pretty, it was true, but would not be a credit to his station. The third Miss Bennet-a Miss Mary Bennet-seemed quiet enough. And though she was not decidedly pretty, she had a few good qualities. She read a lot, and not just novels; he had seen her reading Fordyce's Sermons the day before. She would be a very good credit to his profession. Yes, Miss Mary Bennet would do wonderfully.

So he set about his duty. Whenever he saw her, he would bow and smile kindly at her. He often came to listen to her practising at the pianoforte, and when he saw her out walking in the gardens, he would inevitably find himself desirous of a walk, as well. He was joyous when an opportunity came for him to spend a long period of time with her. A few days later, when the three gentlemen from Netherfield-Mr. Bingley, Lord Harding, and Mr. Darcy-arrived at Longbourn, they suggested a walk. Lydia and Kitty declared their wish to walk to Meryton, and the gentlemen agreed with this idea, saying it went directly with their plans.

So Mr. Bingley offered his arm to his fiancée, Kitty and Lydia ran ahead, Lord Harding and Mr. Darcy glared at each other over Miss Elizabeth's head, and Mr. Collins was left to escort the lovely Miss Mary. He walked quickly besides her, wiping the sweat from his brow, and talked to her of his parsonage, Lady Catherine, and Rosings. She seemed to listen to him rapturously, and nodded and agreed in all the right places. Did he dare to hope that he had a chance?

But of course! For who would refuse Mr. William Collins of Hunsford parsonage? Especially one in such debilitated circumstances. And with such a noble patroness as Lady Catherine, his chances were astronomical. No, Miss Mary Bennet would not refuse him. In fact, she would be so grateful, that she would bless him prodigiously.

When ought he to ask her? Perhaps tomorrow morning would be good. He could ask her first, then receive permission from her father, who would be bound to bless their union. After all, he was the heir to Longbourn, and by taking the hand of one of the daughters of the house, he would be connecting himself forever to the Bennets. It was like an olive branch, as he was fond of saying. An olive branch; yes, that was it exactly.

He smiled smugly to himself, and walked with a slight swagger. Oh, yes, he was the most fortunate gentleman, indeed. He was to be engaged to a beautiful, intelligent gentlewoman, and was the heir to a large estate. What else could be better?

When the group entered Meryton, Lydia and Kitty stopped and looked in shop windows. Bingley and Jane strolled the streets, smiling and talking to each other and greeting acquaintances. Lucas and Darcy were still trying to capture and hold Elizabeth's attention, and Lucas seemed to be winning, much to Darcy's chagrin. Mr. Collins and Mary were slightly behind, and Collins seemed to be dominating the conversation, though Mary threw in a few intelligent words here and there.

They had been walking down one side of the street, though spread apart, when Lydia gave a small shriek and pointed across the street at two gentleman walking there. She whispered something to her companion, and the two crossed with the stated purpose of seeing something in an opposite shop. When the three behind them looked to see what had attracted the two girls' interest, two of the three stopped dead in their tracks, one turning white, the other glancing warily at the first. Elizabeth turned and looked at the two in confusion. "What is wrong?" she asked.

Lucas was the first to recover. "Nothing," he replied quickly-almost too quickly-with a wary glance at Darcy, who was still staring at the opposite side of the street in shock.

She put her hands on her hips and looked at them in annoyance. "You expect me to believe that? If it were truly nothing, would it have warranted such a reaction as Mr. Darcy here seems capable of?" She paused and glanced across where her sisters were now in conversation with an officer she had met before-a Mr. Denny-and one on whom she had never laid eyes before. "All I see is an officer and a well-dressed, handsome gentleman." She blushed as she realised what she had just said to two gentlemen. Darcy only directed a sudden glare at her.

"Miss Bennet," Lucas started, but Darcy cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"This discussion is not meant for the street, Lucas," Darcy said curtly. "Perhaps we might take it elsewhere?"

Lucas nodded in agreement and looked questionably at Elizabeth. She thought for a few moments, then said, "Perhaps we might go to the inn? We could request a private chamber."

"But the proprieties..."Darcy murmured.

"Could Jane and Bingley hear?" Elizabeth asked quickly. "I could ask my cousin to chaperone my sisters until we return. Then I shall not be a lone female with two gentlemen."

Mr. Darcy's lips thinned, a myriad of emotions traversing his face, but he nodded. They caught up with Bingley and Jane and relayed their plan. The two looked somewhat curious, but agreed nonetheless, and the five retired to the inn and requested a private chamber. They were granted one immediately with no raised brows, and shown in. It was not a particularly lush chamber, but was decent. Jane and Bingley sat together on a sofa near the fire and Elizabeth chose a chair a short distance away. Lucas sat down in a chair opposite her. Darcy declined a chair. He instead walked to the only window and looked out. He remained there for a few moments as Elizabeth, Jane, and Bingley looked at each other in confusion. Lucas merely slouched in his chair and stared at his clasped hands. At last, Darcy turned and walked forwards a few paces. He looked up at them and began:

"I suppose you are all wondering what this is about. Well," he said nodding to Lucas, "except for you, for you already know every detail. This is about the gentleman to whom the two youngest Miss Bennets were talking. His name is George Wickham. He was the son of my father's steward at Pemberley. We grew up together, as we were very near in age, and I had no other playmates at the time. Wickham loved to get in trouble as a child, and as a young man, loved it all the more. Despite this, my father was his godfather, and was very fond of George. My father never knew even half of what Wickham did.

"My father provided the funds to put Wickham through Cambridge at the same time as me, and also Lucas here." He paused and looked at that gentleman for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice held a bit of irony in it: "Lucas and Wickham got along nicely, for they had many interests in common. I will not state these interests, for there are ladies present, but suffice it to say that they were not within the bounds of propriety, and definitely not within Wickham's means, though they may have been for Lucas. He was constantly asking me to bail him out of the River Tick and of course, I did.

"When my father died, he stipulated in his will that a valuable family living was to be held in trust for Wickham as soon as it became vacant, in addition to a legacy of one thousand pounds. But Wickham declared that he had no interest in the church whatsoever, and instead stated a preference for law. I hoped, rather than believed this to be true, and compensated him for the living by granting him three thousand pounds. I had hoped that this would be enough, but not three years later, I heard from him again. He was in dire circumstances and requested my pecuniary assistance. You cannot blame me for refusing, for I knew that any assistance I gave would only help for a few months, perhaps. I would not be like one blackmailed-once one gives in, it never ends. I ignored all requests, and after a while, the letters stopped coming. I had thought that to be the end."

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at the ceiling, the pain evident in his eyes. He looked down again and walked forward through the gauntlet of their gazes and stood before the fireplace. After gazing at the dusty ashes for a few moments, he turned and looked at them all. "I was proved wrong last summer. My sister, Georgiana, who is more than ten years my junior, was left, after my father's death, to the guardianship of my cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and myself. About a year previous, we had taken her from school and placed her in London in the charge of Mrs. Young, a lady whom we all believed to be of exemplary character. We apparently had been deceived. Last summer, she and my sister went to Ramsgate, and thither also went Mr. Wickham. It was undoubtedly arranged, for there had apparently been some prior acquaintance between Mrs. Young and George Wickham, which I will not speculate upon. Wickham imposed upon my sister, and she was persuaded to be love with him and to consent to an elopement. She was then but fifteen years old, and I might offer this as an excuse for her behaviour.

"But the elopement was never to be. Lucas happened to be passing through Ramsgate with...a lady friend and saw my sister with Wickham. He was immediately suspicious, and sent me an express. I was able to come to stop the elopement immediately, much to my relief and Wickham's distress. If not for my sister's reputation, I would have called him out on the spot, but I had to suffice with threatening Wickham of the revelation of his debts, which might cause legal ramifications, and discharging Mrs. Young from my employ.

"I believe the chief object of Wickham's attempt on my sister was her dowry of thirty thousand pounds, but I believe a strong inducement also may have been the opportunity of gaining revenge upon me." He stopped there and ran a hand through his tousled hair. He looked up at Elizabeth, the pain evident in his eyes. "You can see, Miss Bennet, why I felt this was needed to be said. Few know of this painful episode in my life, and I wish it to remain that way. I have never done before what I have just done, and believe me when I say that I hope it is never again necessary. But I trust you all, and I believe in your circumspection. I will do my best to rid Meryton of his presence, but please, Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth, keep close watch on your sisters. Though I do not believe he would pursue them for their lack of dowry, that same fact might induce him to pursue them for other less desirable matters."

Elizabeth was staring at him in shock. She couldn't move for a while, but then swallowed and said hoarsely. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy, for the warning. I...I am amazed. Shocked and grieved. I thank you for your trust in us to impart such close and private knowledge. It must have been painful..." she trailed off as she stared into his pained eyes, her heart reaching out to him in pity and compassion.

Elizabeth was the first to look away. She had been uncomfortable with whatever had just passed between them. It had been palpable, almost; it had been heart-rending. She felt as though she had just been torn apart and re-assembled. And she didn't know why. She liked him more than she had before, it was true; he had shown a more sensitive, vulnerable part of himself this afternoon. And she didn't know what to do with that knowledge. She pushed it away, unwilling to think on what it all meant.

But Lucas had seen the look that had passed between them. He had seen the emotions in her eyes, the transformation that had been occurring, even though she did not know it herself. And he smiled, knowing that his job would soon be over.

Chapter 13

Posted on Sunday, 16 April 2000

When in doubt, use brute force.
-Ken Thompson

The three gentlemen accompanied Elizabeth and Jane to their aunt's house in Meryton, where their sisters and cousin were waiting. The Netherfield party was immediately invited to the small dinner that evening, and much to Mrs. Phillips' delight, they accepted. They departed soon after, and were escorted to Longbourn, where the gentlemen took leave, promising to see them that night.

Elizabeth dressed very carefully that night, adding finishing touches for nearly an half-hour. She told herself that it was merely for Lord Harding and their plan, but a corner of her heart whispered that it was for something-for someone else. She sighed at her reflection and finally went down to the waiting carriage. They set off for Meryton.

The Netherfield party had not yet arrived when the Bennet sisters and Mr. Collins arrived. Most of the officers were, though, and Elizabeth was much chagrined to note that Mr. Wickham was one of their numbers. If she had known that he would be coming, she would have dissuaded Mr. Darcy to appear. But now it was too late. Much too late.

For at that moment, the Bingleys, Mr. Darcy, and Lord Harding arrived. All eyes turned that way, but Elizabeth was able to gauge the reaction of Wickham to Darcy's presence. He turned a bright red, then a ghastly white colour. Then he began to slowly retreat.

Darcy had not yet spotted him. He had seen Elizabeth, and stared in her direction the entire time he was making his courtesies to the hostess. As soon as he was able, he approached her. He bowed over her hand and smiled at her somewhat hesitantly. "You are looking in good health since I saw you last. In fact," he hesitated, then said hastily, "you look breathtaking." He flushed, and she took pity on him.

"Thank you very much, Mr. Darcy." She lowered her voice somewhat. "There is a slight problem, though. Look to your left."

He did as he was told, as nonchalantly as possible, but when he saw whom she was indicating, his face suffused with colour, and his muscles tensed in anger. He cursed under his breath, and looked back at her, his eyes seething with fury. "This just had to happen, didn't it?" he bit out.

Lucas approached just then and whispered to them. "A certain someone has come."

"We know, Lord Harding," Elizabeth said quietly with a light hand on his arm, preventing him from saying anything else. "There is nothing we can do, though, other than avoid him as much as possible. It would look very bad if you were to leave immediately."

On the other side of the room, a certain person was watching this exchange with interest. His eyes narrowed shrewdly as he caught the emotions between the Elizabeth and Darcy, then her hand upon Lucas Harding's arm. He quickly asked a neighbour who the young lady was, and was rewarded with the answer that it was Miss Elizabeth Bennet from Longbourn. He smiled slightly and nodded. He would have to gather more information.

He soon discovered that Miss Elizabeth was the niece of the hostess, the sister of the two young ladies he had met that afternoon. Her older sister, the tall, beautiful blond he had seen come in with them, was engaged to the young man with whom she was speaking-a friend of Darcy's. He had recognised Lucas Harding at first sight, but then grew suspicious when he had heard of the rumours about Lucas and Miss Elizabeth. He decided to do a little observing himself.

He wandered over, a glass of wine in hand, to where Miss Elizabeth and Lucas were standing talking. He watched them closely yet surreptitiously. They seemed to be quite close, yet not as intimate as the rumours implied. They seemed to be only friends, yet friends with a secret, if he judged correctly. He wondered idly what that secret was. If he had enough time, he would have to discover it.

He was startled when he became conscious that someone was standing beside him. He looked over in surprise and nearly dropped his wineglass when he realised that it was Darcy. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and smiled artlessly. "Good evening, Darcy."

"You will stay away from her," Darcy replied evenly. "Both her and the rest of her family."

Wickham only raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, but I do not follow, Darce. Whom exactly did you wish me to stay away from?"

"Miss Bennet."

A low chuckle erupted from Wickham's throat. "You're quite blunt, you know. Why do you not simply hang a sign on her that says 'Darcy's property?' After all, that is what she is, am I right? I'm surprised you're even allowing Harding to flirt with her like that. You haven't grown tired with her so soon, have you? If so, I am always available to occupy her lonely ni-"

He was suddenly cut off by the force of a hand on his neck as he was slammed against the wall behind him. The sound of his wineglass shattering on the carpet mingled with the collective gasp of the room, followed by shrieks and screams and men's shouts of alarm. His hands flew to the iron grip on his neck as he struggled to take in air. "You will not speak of her like that," growled Darcy in a low voice. Wickham couldn't have responded if he had wanted to. His face grew bright red, then began to turn purple. And still Darcy didn't let go. Couldn't. He was too angry; all he could see was the red haze that misted his eyes. It wasn't until he felt the frantic tugging on his arm, and the pleading voice that he relaxed his grip somewhat. Then two strong pairs of hands pulled him away from Wickham. He shook his head free of the angry red fog and looked around. Elizabeth was still standing beside him, her hand on his arm, but she pulled it back suddenly, as if it were scalding hot. His gaze collided with hers and he saw the censure there. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself, of his lack of self-control. With her one look and action of disgust, his whole world crumbled. He turned and saw the disapproval in everyone's eyes, and felt lower than mud. He shoved Lucas aside and stormed out of the room. Everyone's eyes were upon him as he left.

Lucas caught up with Darcy as he stood in the rain outside the house. Lucas stood beside him in silence in the down-pouring rain, waiting for it: "I am a fool," Darcy said quietly.

"Yes, Darcy, you are," replied Lucas.

"I have only made him a martyr. I have only made things worse. And Elizabeth..." his voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands in shame.

Lucas laid a hand awkwardly on Darcy's shoulder. "Look, Darce, don't beat yourself up about it. We all do dim-witted things once in a while. I've had my share of them, to say the least."

"But did you see what I did?" Darcy cried, turning on his friend. "Did you see what I just did?"

"I think everyone did," Lucas remarked wryly, but his voice softened when he saw the despairing look in his friend's eye. "You've been having a rough day, Darcy. Emotions have been running high. And I heard what he said-you had every right."

"No, I didn't, Lucas. No, I didn't. If it had been you...perhaps it might have been fine, but I am nothing! Look at me! Who am I? I am no lord; I have no title. If he were to take me to court..."

"He'd have a lot of witnesses."

Darcy's face fell even more. "And Elizabeth...she'll never forgive me." Lucas didn't know how to answer. For once, he had nothing to say. So he stood silently in the rain beside his friend, one hand on his shoulder, gazing out into the street. Darcy spoke again, quietly and painfully: "It was not right, what I did. And I regret doing it. I do. But I can't be sorry that I did. If he said it again, I would do the same thing. Does that make sense?"

"It makes the most sense in the world," Lucas replied seriously.

The two stood in companionable silence for a moment, both wondering how they were to escape this tangle. It was a long time before Lucas looked down at his clothes and said, "My valet will have a fit. This was my best suit by Weston, and these Hessians are definitely gone to shot. I don't think we can return inside, either, for she'd throw us out immediately. We'd get water stains on her carpeting and furniture. Why don't we take the carriage, then send it back for Bingley and his sisters."

Darcy didn't respond. He simply allowed Lucas to take control. He stepped into the carriage without saying a word, then sat in his seat and stared at his trembling hands. He said not a word the whole ride back to Netherfield; did not look up once. He sat silently, dying inside.

Elizabeth stared at the doorway where she had last seen Darcy, running from his actions. She had been surprised, to say the least, of his sudden flare of temper, but she and Lucas had been close enough to hear what the exchange had been about. She was puzzled, though. Why should he have defended her like that? Was their plan working that well-that he should respect her so much that he would defend her? But no, that was too implausible, too illogical. He would not have lost his temper like that, disgraced himself so foully for mere respect.

You haven't grown tired with her so soon, have you?

'Darcy's property?' After all, that is what she is, am I right?

Her heart caught in her throat as the realisation came to her. He wanted her-perhaps not loved her, but he wanted her. And though Wickham had probably been simply taunting him, there had to be some truth to it, or Darcy would not have become so furious. And was he incensed...

She had turned in anger when she heard Wickham's insulting words, but the sight that had greeted her shocked her to the core. Darcy had put a hand around Wickham's neck and slammed him into the wall. Elizabeth had flown forwards immediately upon the realisation that Darcy wasn't going to let go. She had pulled on his arm, begging him to let go. And when he finally did, she had been so relieved. Not for Wickham, but for Darcy.

When she realised she was still holding his arm, she recoiled. Not out of disgust, but out of surprise. Her skin where she had laid it on his arm tingled with an odd warmth. She looked up at him, and their eyes met. She saw the self-condemnation in his eyes, the self-disgust. There were no traces of anger left in his gaze, just despair. A hopelessness that crept into his expression until he looked away. And as the pain in his eyes became even more evident, she reached out to him, but he was already moving away, out the door at which she was still staring.

What did she feel for this man who had just so viciously defended her character? What did she feel for this man who had looked at her in such abject apology? She didn't know. She didn't love him, of course. She couldn't.

But why? her heart argued. She had seen that his pride and haughtiness was only to those whom he did not know. He had a temper, to be sure, but he was also sweet and at times could be somewhat humorous. He was also quite handsome and so protective. So why didn't she love him? She didn't know. She simply did not know.

Chapter 14

Posted on Monday, 17 April 2000

Get your facts first and then you can
distort them as much as you wish.
~ Mark Twain

"My dear, the whole town is abuzz!" cried Mrs. Bennet to her husband.

Mr. Bennet looked up from his newspaper to regard her curiously. "What about, may I ask?"

"Why, about Mr. Darcy! My dear sister Phillips told me about it as soon as possible this morning. I am surprised none of my daughters told me first." With this she sent a glare at those five young women whom she blamed for not being the first with the news.

Mr. Bennet sighed impatiently, and Mrs. Bennet tittered. "It seems Mr. Darcy not only is proud, but believes that he can simply throw anyone he wishes around the room!"

"My dear, of what are you talking?"

Mrs. Bennet leaned forward and said in what was supposed to be a confidential whisper. "It seems Mr. Darcy became upset with an officer whose name is Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy picked up this officer and threw him against the wall, then began to punch him as if they were commoners at a fair!"

Elizabeth sighed. "That is not how it happened, Mama."

Mrs. Bennet glared at her, and her husband looked amused. "Then what did happen?" asked he.

"Mr. Wickham uttered some rather obscene and insulting things about me, maligning my reputation. Mr. Darcy simply took offence in my name and nearly choked Mr. Wickham. There were no punches thrown, Mama, and Mr. Wickham was fine after a few minutes."

The rest of the room was silent until Mr. Bennet asked, surprise evident in his tone, "Mr. Darcy defended you?"

Elizabeth looked at her hands sadly. "Yes, he did. But he has now been so maligned and I know he feels horrible about it-all for my sake."

"Well then, my dear Mrs. Bennet," her husband said, "you must be the one to set the record straight. Think of it this way: you are the one to know the true facts, and will be the first to tell them."

A proud and triumphant look came over Mrs. Bennet's face, and she stood up proudly. "I shall tell everyone!" She cried, and walked quickly out the door in order to spread the gossip, followed by Kitty and Lydia, who loved the excuse to visit Meryton and the officers.

Mr. Bennet looked at his daughter. "Why did he defend you, do you think?"

Elizabeth looked up in surprise, realising that someone was talking to her again. She had been thinking about the same thing that her father asked about, and she didn't even hesitate when she answered, not even needing to break her train of thought. "I don't know Papa. I had thought that perhaps it wasn't defense. I think that perhaps the reason Mr. Darcy became so upset was that Mr. Wickham's remarks were so close to what the actual truth is."

"What is the truth?"

"I don't know," Elizabeth said quietly, anguished confusion plain in her voice. "I thought I knew, but I now realise that I do not."

Jane offered a gentle question. "What were Mr. Wickham's remarks? If you do not feel comfortable saying..."

Elizabeth shook her head and smiled at Jane. They were quite vulgar, but if you wish to know..." she sighed and looked down at her hands as she repeated the words that Wickham had uttered. She heard her sister's gasp, and looked up to see her father regarding her shrewdly. "What are you thinking, Papa?"

Mr. Bennet only raised an eyebrow in response. "I can see why Mr. Darcy became so irate. Not only was your reputation maligned, but he was impugned as the cause. In my days, if someone had said that of me, I would have called them out immediately."

Elizabeth was silent. Jane put a tender hand on her arm. "I think it was very sweet that he rescued you, Lizzy," she said softly. "You know, I think he has a tender spot for you. So does Charles. He said that he and Lord Harding got in a big argument about it."

"Has anyone seen Mary and Mr. Collins?" Mr. Bennet asked quickly.

"I think they were in the garden," Jane replied.

"Wait, Jane," Elizabeth asked curiously. "What about Lucas and Mr. Darcy?"

"Perhaps we ought to go out and find them, shall we?" Mr. Bennet asked, beginning to rise from his chair.

"One moment, Papa. Now, Jane, what did Mr. Bingley say?"

Mr. Bennet sat down with a sigh. Elizabeth hardly noticed. Her eyes and ears were for Jane alone. "Charles said that this whole week they have been at odds. Over you, it seems. Mr. Darcy is extremely jealous, or so Charles thinks, of the attentions Lord Harding has been paying you. He says that Mr. Darcy even threatened Lord Harding to a duel if he found out that Lord Harding had taken advantage of you," Jane blushed at this last part.

Elizabeth sat back, stunned. But the best part was yet to come: "He also told me last night that a few days before, the two had been playing chess in the library, and there had been quite a violent fight. Charles' chessboard was broken because Mr. Darcy threw it on the floor."

"What was the fight about, Jane?" Elizabeth asked impatiently.

Jane's forehead wrinkled in thought. "That is what I didn't understand. Something about Lord Harding's queen, or 'lady,' as he had called it, and when Mr. Darcy captured it, he had accused Lord Harding of cheating, of allowing him to capture it on purpose. Charles' thinks all of it is due to another of Lord Harding's plots. You see, he likes to matchmake friends and play pranks on people."

A slow look of dawning realisation passed over Elizabeth's face. With it came self-annoyance and criticism. But that emotion was short. Next came the anger. Her face darkened with the rage of being cheated, of being betrayed, of being played for a fool. She stood up, her face set in determined lines.

"Where are you going, Lizzy?" Mr. Bennet asked, worry evident in his tone.

She turned to him with a false smile. "I am going to visit a friend. Would you like to come with?"

Mr. Darcy was packing his things when both Lucas and Bingley walked through the door without knocking. Darcy looked up in annoyance. "What do you want?"

"Well, that's particularly rude, don't you think so, Bings?" Lucas asked as he began unpacking Darcy's valise.

Darcy sputtered in indignation, and began re-packing everything Lucas was taking out. Bingley only nodded his head. "Quite impertinent, Darcy."

Darcy paused in his packing and looked up at his friend. "Perhaps this will be less rude: would you be quiet and leave me in peace?" Lucas had pulled out four things while Darcy was otherwise engaged, and Darcy simply took them and dumped them all into the valise. Lucas stopped and placed his hands on his hips. "Now, Darce, that was quite untidy of you. What would your valet say if he saw this?"

Darcy shot him a look of irritation, and put the last of the things he needed in his valise and closed it. He straightened and would have taken it with him out the door if Lucas had not taken it out of his hands, put it on the bed, and begun unpacking it again. Darcy stood stunned for a moment before his face darkened dramatically, and he shouted, "OUT! Out, I say. Take your filthy bodies and get out of here!"

Lucas sniffed himself. "I just took a bath last night. I couldn't smell already."

"Just out!" Darcy said, his scowl deepening. "I am leaving Hertfordshire, and you will have nothing to say on the matter. I am finished with it all!"

"Now, Darce," Lucas began.

"No!" Darcy said with a quick swipe of his hand, cutting off all objections. "I will not hear it. There is nothing left for me here. I shall simply take myself off, and leave these people to wallow in their own self-righteousness."

Lucas glanced at Bingley in blinking surprise, and Lucas lifted his hands in confusion. "Where did that come from, Darce?" he asked.

Darcy looked his friend in the eye. "Do you know what they are saying about me?" Lucas shook his head, and Darcy smiled bitterly. "I happened to be in the stables this morning and heard some grooms chattering about the gossip going around the village. It seems not only am I a proud, disagreeable man, but am a barbarian savage as well."

Lucas looked even more confused. "What? That doesn't make any sense."

"You wouldn't get it, would you, Lucas?" Darcy said with disdain. "They hate me. No one here likes me. I couldn't even buy their approval. I am disliked by everyone."

"That's not true, Darcy," Bingley offered. "We like you. And my Jane likes you. And I'm sure Elizabeth does, too."

Darcy snorted and picked up his valise again. He pushed past Lucas and went out the door. Lucas followed him, trying to make him see reason. "Now, Darcy, you can't just leave like this. That will only worsen their opinion of you. You'll be a coward in their eyes, not just a boor."

"What will I care of their opinion once I leave?" Darcy shouted over his shoulder. "I'm never coming back."

Lucas grimaced. "What about us, Darcy? Are you simply going to leave us here?"

"You may come if you wish," Darcy snapped.

"What about Elizabeth?" Lucas cried. "Won't you ever come to see her again?" Darcy didn't respond and began to descend the stairs. Lucas was running out of options. As Darcy reached the doorway, held open by a footman, he tried one more tack. "Elizabeth loves you!"

This halted Darcy in his tracks. He didn't move for a few seconds, then looked over his shoulder. His eyes were sad and hopeless. "I thought so, too, once," Darcy replied quietly. "But not anymore."

With not a word more, he left Lucas standing stock-still in the middle of the foyer. Lucas hardly even saw him leave, he was too stunned by the strong emotions in his friend's eyes and voice. How could he ever fix this?

Chapter 15

Posted on Wednesday, 19 April 2000

What makes us so bitter against people who outwit us is
that they think themselves cleverer than we are.
~ François Duc de La Rochefoucauld

"Good afternoon, Lucas." The voice was flinty hard, and the cold timbre in it made Lucas dread turning around to greet the lady who had, just the day before, spoken with him in friendly, confidential tones. But turn around he did because frankly, he didn't have another option.

"Good afternoon to you, also, Elizabeth," he replied breezily as he stepped forward to greet her. He took one look at her father, who stood uneasily by the door, shaking his head in forewarning, and felt a twinge of misgiving. But his smile didn't falter, and he offered them seats. Elizabeth declined.

Instead, she stood before the desk he had seated himself behind, and leaned upon it, catching his eye intently. "I wish to speak to you about Mr. Darcy." She glanced towards the doorway. "Is he here? For I would rather he was a part of this, as well."

Lucas shook his head slowly. "That would be impossible, Elizabeth. He has just left, not fifteen minutes past."

Elizabeth faltered, her lips falling into a frown, but she shrugged nonchalantly and smiled without humour. "Well then, I shall have to speak to you alone. What did you think you were doing?"

"When? Just now?" he asked with complete innocence. "Well, I had just come down to search for a book, and-"

"Not now, Lucas," Elizabeth said with slight exasperation. "I am talking about our plan-or ought I to say, your plan?"

Lucas looked bewildered. "My plan is your plan, Elizabeth. We are trying to change Darcy's opinion of you, am I right? That is what I have said from the beginning. Can you explain it any better?"

She stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. "That's a lie! You couldn't have! I-I was under the impression..." She put two fingers on her temples and began to massage them slowly. She sighed gustily. "I had believed-no, you had led me to believe that we were changing his opinion from disdain to respect, no more."

Lucas wagged a finger at her. "Now, now. I believe it was you who said that. I, on the other hand, said that we were changing his opinion."

Elizabeth glared at him in frustration. "Yes but-but-you lied!"

"No I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"No I didn't."

This continued on for a few minutes until Mr. Bennet finally stood up and slammed a fist on the desk to get their attention. "Enough! You two are acting like children. Now, this is quite a simple concept: Lord Harding here proposed a plan to you, Lizzy. You simply heard what you wished to, and therefore assumed what wasn't the exact truth. It is true that Harding is guilty of purposefully deceiving you, but you were the one that was gullible enough-"

"Papa!"

Lucas chuckled, and Elizabeth glared at him. Suddenly, she looked back at her father. "You were in on this, too!" she cried accusingly. "You were a part of this...conspiracy against me, weren't you?" She held up her hand when he began to speak. "No, don't even deny it. It would only make it worse for you to lie." She faced them both, her hands on her hips. "You can't even imagine how betrayed I feel. I had thought I could trust both of you. Apparently not." She turned and walked to the door.

"Where are you going, Elizabeth?" Lucas asked, rising from his chair.

"I am going home," she replied. When her father began to rise, she shook her head. "Don't bother," she said bitterly. "I'm walking. Anyway, I'm sure you two have more plans to discuss." And with not a further word, she slammed the door on him.

The two men stared at each other for a few moments. Lucas was the first to react. He bounded out from behind the desk and walked quickly to the door. He opened it and looked out. "I'm going after her," he said to Mr. Bennet. "She cannot walk all the way to Longbourn all alone."

"She's done it before," Mr. Bennet replied sadly. "When Jane was sick."

Lucas raised an eyebrow, but shook his head. "Not when she was this angry." He turned then and went quickly from the room, nearly running out the door and down the hall, where he ran into a maid coming around a corner. As she was profusely apologising and crying heartily, he was picking up the tray and cursing his luck, which only made her cry harder, thinking it was she at whom he was swearing.

Finally, the butler came, and Lucas abandoned his post and went running off again. He stopped on the drive, looking around, trying to spot Elizabeth. At last he saw a figure off in the distance, running across a field. He cursed and began to run after her. A second later, he began to actually think, and turned around, running in the direction of the stables. He yelled at the grooms, and they ran as fast as their legs could carry them to obey his shouted orders. His horse was ready in minutes-though to him it was like hours, and he mounted quickly and rode off.

He rode hard across the fields, jumping over any fences in his way, cutting straight for the figure he was slowly gaining on. At last he was only a few hundred metres away, and he called her name. He saw her stumble slightly, then stop. She turned to see him bearing down on her atop his black stallion. She stepped back in fear when he halted his horse not a metre from her. He leaned over and looked at her, his eyes blazing. "What did you think you were doing?"

"I was going home," she replied, tilting her head up in defiance.

"No, you are coming back to Netherfield so that we can talk about this like civilised people."

Her lower lip stuck out. "You cannot simply drag me back to Netherfield. I wish to go home, and home I shall go."

Lucas' lip twitched in a half-smile, and Elizabeth stepped back slightly, an unnerved expression on her face. He moved towards her on his horse, and when he was abreast of her, he leaned over and whispered, "You don't think I can make you return to Netherfield?"

She suddenly felt herself being lifted from the ground, his hands around her waist. She was startled to find herself sitting sideways in front of him on his horse, his hands around her, grasping the reins again. She put her hands on his chest and tried to push away from him, but to no avail. He even had the temerity to laugh at her efforts.

By the time they finally arrived at Netherfield, Elizabeth had given up. She sat passively in his arms and when he dismounted and held his arms up for her, she simply slid off the horse and allowed him to catch her and put her on her feet. She wasn't too passive, though, to send him a dark glare that would have made a lesser man quake in his boots.

He merely smiled in response, and, handing the reins to a groom that had come running, put a hand on her back and propelled her up the stairs and into the foyer, where her father was waiting. "Now," Lucas said, "shall we continue our discussion?"

The neighbourhood, after so readily changing their opinion that it was truly Wickham who was the wicked character in this whole plot and not Mr. Darcy, as was previously believed, was shocked and grieved to discover that the latter was gone from their midst (though hardly took notice of the disappearance of the former). They had been ready to hail him for a hero when reports of debts from high gambling and debauchery left in Wickham's wake began to surface, and the turn of their affection landed on Darcy, because of his brave and courageous action of defending the honour of one of their own who had no brothers to do the duty.

But now he was gone, taken from their midst, and they had no one else to venerate, so they decided instead to celebrate the nuptials of Mr. Collins and Miss Mary Bennet. Everyone in the town had seen it coming-they could tell it from the beginning. No one was surprised in the least, except perhaps over the fact that it was concluded so quickly. It was a five-day wonder, they all declared, and Miss Mary was the toast of the town for snatching up such an eligible bachelor.

The wedding was to occur in three-weeks' time, only a fortnight before Jane Bennet was to marry her fiancé. The two weddings were both to be held at Longbourn parish, and preparations were underway for both. The trousseaus had to be ordered and completed, the wedding gowns to be made. Mrs. Bennet insisted that there was no other place but London for this to be done. Mr. Bennet agreed reluctantly, and allowed her to travel to London with her two daughters. Lydia and Kitty begged to go, but he refused his consent. He had no intention of unleashing his two daughters on an unsuspecting London.

Elizabeth was another matter. He suggested that she go, but she only shook her head. She had this unreasonable fear that while in London, she would see Mr. Darcy. It was not as if she blamed him for what his friend and her father did, but she was still unsure as to her odd reaction to him, her irrational feelings for him. She wanted to see him again, but she refused to acknowledge that. Didn't want to delve into those kinds of feelings; they were too dangerous, too volatile. She would rather stay away from them, and him, for as long as possible.

But Jane was her undoing. Jane refused to go to London without her favourite sister and best friend. And Elizabeth could not hold out long against Jane's pleadings. So she agreed. She just hoped it wouldn't be the worse choice.

Chapter 16

Posted on Monday, 24 April 2000

I like your game but we have to change the rules.

Darcy was in his study, reading a book when Lucas threw open the door peremptorily and stood on the threshold, grinning. Darcy didn't even blink an eye. "Welcome to London," he said unenthusiastically.

Lucas's grin widened. "Well, thank you, Darce. I was worried there wouldn't be a receiving party." He closed the door behind him as he wandered into the room, looking in all directions. "What, no decorations?"

A slight smile appeared on Darcy's lips as he returned his gaze to his book. "I'm sorry, I didn't have enough time to put them up."

"Oh, that's fine," Lucas said with a shrug. "I don't really need them. Actually, I had come here to bring happy news."

"What, are you finally going to do something with your life?"

Lucas sighed dramatically and clutched his heart. "I am wounded, Darcy, I am wounded. Am I, then, such a useless person? Perhaps I shall simply return to my bed and grieve my inconsequentiality until I waste away and die."

"Oh, would you please?" Darcy asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Lucas shook his head slowly as he gazed bemusedly at his friend. "It seems you are none the worse for wear after your escapade in Hertfordshire. Or have you forgotten it all already?" At Darcy's shrug, Lucas smiled. "You know, you are now the hero of Meryton. They all think that you are a top-of-the-trees gent."

"You are so crude, Lucas," Darcy said tiredly.

"Oh, and speaking of Hertfordshire, guess what news I bear," Lucas said, excitement plain in his voice.

Darcy didn't remove his eyes from the page. "Please tell, Lucas. I am all-atwitter with the excitement of suspense. Oh tell me, tell me, please," Darcy said in a bored tone of voice.

"I knew you would be excited, Darce," Lucas said, laughing. "Now, try and guess who is in London."

Darcy sighed and set aside his book. "I don't know Lucas, why don't you tell me instead of playing this childish game of, 'Let's make Darcy look brainless and dense.'"

Lucas smiled. "You are no fun, Darce. I ought to have remembered that before I started. I guess I shall simply have to go and take my news elsewhere." And with a sniff of indignation, Lucas began to walk towards the door, his nose high in the air, indignant pride written in every line of his stance.

Darcy sighed and called him back. Lucas looked over his shoulder, a doubtful look on his face, but then laughed and turned around. He sat down on Darcy's armrest and leaned his elbow on Darcy's head. "Now, as I was saying, you will be excited to learn who has come to London just a day ago."

"Well?" Darcy asked after the information was not forthcoming.

"Well, guess," Lucas prompted.

Darcy sighed heavily. "I don't know-you."

Lucas shook his head with a grin. "Close, but not quite. I just arrived this morning."

"Bingley?"

"Nope. He came with me."

A grimace. "Miss Bingley?"

"Thank goodness, no."

Darcy held up his hands in exasperation. "I don't know, Lucas. Tell me." He tilted his head back and looked up at his friend, and at the expression on Lucas' grinning face, Darcy's knuckles gripped the chair, and his eyes looked at his friend expectantly, eagerly. "Elizabeth is in London?" He shot out of the chair at his friend's nod and gripped him by the shoulders. "Are you telling me true? Is she really here?"

"Get control of yourself," Lucas said lightly, peeling Darcy's hands from his shoulders and brushing off his fine tailored coat. "You act as if you haven't seen her in years."

"Seems like it," Darcy muttered to himself, but Lucas heard it and smiled.

"I am returning to the Gardiners' house this afternoon, to take Miss Bennet out for a carriage ride. Would you like to come with?"

Darcy hesitated and shook his head. "No, I think I'd rather not. Or at least, I think she'd rather I did not. And besides, I have an...appointment this afternoon." Lucas waited in silence as Darcy began to pace the floor. "Even if I wished to go, I do not think I could bear it, to go to their house only to see her condemnation for acting like such a fool the last time we met. I still cannot believe that I did something so daft."

"No one blames you for it," Lucas began.

"I blame myself!" Darcy cried, spinning to confront his friend. "I blame myself, Lucas. I never should have lost control of my temper like that, never should have allowed him to provoke me like that. He knows now my weakness, my vulnerability. He can exploit that."

"We all lose control of our emotions sometimes, Darcy. It's human nature to do so."

"But it's not acceptable for me to do so."

"And what makes you so different from the rest of us, huh, Darce? What makes it so that you must be flawless, while the rest of us must wallow in our imperfection?"

Darcy looked down at his toes. "Because of who I am."

"And who are you?" Lucas prodded.

"I am Fitzwilliam Darcy," he replied, looking up at his friend with unflinching directness. "You wouldn't understand, Lucas. You had a different upbringing. And despite the fact that you are heir to a dukedom, your grandfather never raised you that way. You were never bothered by the demands of responsibility and the social class mindset. You are your own person devoid of obligations, devoid of duty. The only thing you take seriously is your honour. And that you hardly ever worry about."

Lucas sighed. "I know this is difficult for you to imagine, but I do have responsibilities, and I do notice how other people look at me, the way they see me. As to my responsibilities, I only choose those that are the most important, and I devote all of my time to them until they are completed. I simply have not had many heretofore. As to my appearance, to tell the truth, Darce, I don't give a fig what they think of me. Sure I notice, but I believe in the right to one's own opinion. As long as my friends or I are not disturbed by someone's opinion, it does not matter. But the moment they harass me with it, I defend my own, and never you doubt it."

Darcy was silent after this speech, and after a short while, turned to stare pensively out the window. He looked out over the garden below, his hands clasped behind his back, a thoughtful expression on his face. Suddenly, he turned around. "Your wrist must be hurting you, mustn't it?"

Lucas looked quite puzzled at this sudden incomprehensible outburst, and after a few moments of thought shook his head. "No, actually, I've never had a problem with it."

"Oh, but you have. Today. You twisted it just now, and cannot take Miss Elizabeth for a ride through the park." He sighed dramatically and shrugged. "Apparently you will either have to cancel your appointment, or perhaps send someone in your stead."

Lucas laughed. "You are more diabolical than I am, Darcy. Perhaps my wrist is hurting me rather much. I think I shall stop at Bingley's and ask him to take her to the park for me."

"Oh!" cried Darcy, stepping forward, his arm stretched out. "But why go to all that trouble, when I just happen to have the afternoon free?"

"But what of your appointment?" Lucas asked with a sly smile.

Darcy looked puzzled at first, then recovered gracefully. "I can cancel it easily. After all, I have been working much too hard these past few days. I need some time outside, interact with people, you know. I shall take Miss Bennet in my new curricle. Why do you not write a note that I can give her to explain your absence?"

Lucas smiled innocently. "But I cannot write. My wrist is sprained."

"You sprained your left. You can write with your right hand."

"Thank you for clearing that up," Lucas laughed as he strode to the desk and jotted a quick note. He folded it and handed it to his friend before going to the door and opening it. He stopped and turned before going through. "She'll be waiting for you at four o'clock; don't be late. And may I suggest your cream coloured breeches with your green jacket? I always thought that it looked nice on you." And with a final smile and a sharp salute, he left the room. Darcy remained where he was, gazing satisfactorily at the door for a few minutes, tapping the paper against his palm, before he chuckled to himself and went upstairs to change for his ride in the park.

Chapter 17

Posted on Thursday, 27 April 2000

Clothes make the man.
Naked people have little or no influence on society.
~ Mark Twain

Darcy gazed at himself in the mirror, turning this way and that, adjusting his waistcoat or tugging on his jacket. At last he took the cravat cloth from his valet and tied a nearly flawless mathematical knot. He looked at himself again and frowned. "What is wrong with my appearance, Dawkins? I am clean-shaven, I have on matching clothes, my hair is combed, and my jacket is impeccably pressed. Why do I look so awkward?"

"Perhaps you are nervous, Sir?" Dawkins offered.

Darcy grimaced. "I suppose I might be. How can I change that, do you think?"

Dawkins smiled. "Just take a few deep breaths, Sir, and you'll be fine. I am sure you will have a delightful time with your lady."

"She's not my lady," Darcy said as he ran a hand through his hair, tousling his perfect combing job. "Well, not yet, at least. Someday, I hope."

"And how could she refuse a fine gent such as you?" Dawkins asked as he finished brushing off the coat.

"Indeed, indeed," murmured Darcy, not quite as confident as his valet. "Thank you, Dawkins," he said at length, giving himself a final looking-over before turning around. "I shall be back before I must go to dinner tonight."

"Where will that be, Sir?"

Darcy thought for a moment. "I believe at Lady Wolverton's. She was a good friend of my mother," he said for unnecessary clarification. But Dawkins just nodded and stepped back as Darcy combed his hair once more before setting it back down upon the vanity. "Well, Dawkins, here I go!" He smiled brightly once more and left the room.

He saw that his curricle was waiting outside when he reached the bottom of the stairs. His butler was waiting at the door, Darcy's gloves, coat, and top hat in hand. He helped Darcy into his coat and handed him the gloves and hat, then stepped back as Darcy went through the door. "Good luck, sir!" he called, and Darcy looked back with a smile and wave. Mrs. Floss came to stand beside the butler as they watched the pair of grey dappled horses pull the curricle away from the curb and into the street. "Well, my dear Mr. Tomlin, I do believe the master's in love."

The butler turned with a smile. "If you've just noticed that now, Mrs. Floss, I am sorely disappointed in your skills of perception. Why, he's been head over heels even before he stepped into this house a few days ago."

The housekeeper shook her head. "Yes, but this is the first time he's doing something about it."

Darcy arrived upon the doorstep of the Gardiner's townhouse and stood there for a moment, his gloves in hand, hesitating. At last he rapped smartly on the door, and it was opened by a woman he assumed to be the housekeeper. He gave her his card and she let him into the foyer while she went in to tell the master and mistress that there was a visitor. At last she came back and took him to a room he assumed to be the front parlour. It was very well furnished and tasteful, unlike the often gaudy and ornate rooms of the houses of the rich.

There were six people in the room when he was shown in. Most were holding teacups and talking, though there was complete silence when he entered the room. He recognised the three Bennet girls and Mrs. Bennet, but the other gentleman and lady were strangers to him, though he assumed them to be the master and mistress of the house. He was proven correct in that regard when Mrs. Bennet stood to do the introductions, albeit reluctantly. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were genteel, definitely refined individuals, and Darcy found that he relaxed quite a bit after only a short while in their company. When Mrs. Gardiner discovered that he was from Derbyshire and lived at an estate very close to the town in which she was born, they had much to talk about. And when Mr. Gardiner expressed his like of the sport of fishing, Darcy found that he liked the gentleman even more than before, for they now had something in common.

It was a while before there was finally a lull in the conversation, and in that short pause, he heard Elizabeth say to her mother that she wondered if Lord Harding was going to forget his promise, for it was already thirty minutes after the hour. Darcy flushed with embarrassment as he recalled his purpose for coming. He stood up immediately and went towards Elizabeth, feeling slightly awkward in the silence with everyone's eyes upon him, and handed her the note from Lucas. She stared at him curiously for a few moments as she took the proffered letter, then opened it quickly and perused the contents. A slight blush crept into her cheeks and when she finished, she stuffed it quickly in her pocket and looked around guiltily, which made Darcy wonder what his friend had put in the note.

"My curricle is waiting outside, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said nervously, lest she find some reason to refuse to go with him.

He need not have been afraid, for she stood up quietly, murmured something about her pelisse and parasol, and went quickly from the room. Darcy turned and found everyone looking at him curiously, and he felt the need to explain. "Lord Harding had a slight accident and sprained his wrist. He asked me to come in his stead."

Mrs. Gardiner expressed a wish that his wrist was healed soon, as did Mrs. Bennet and Jane, and Darcy took them as graciously as possible. At last Elizabeth returned, and he escorted her outside where his groom was holding a pair of prancing and nervous horses. Darcy helped Elizabeth onto the seat, then went around and jumped onto the other side, taking the reins from his grateful tiger. As soon as the groom had jumped on the back of the curricle, Darcy slapped the reins and they began to move into the traffic.

There were many people still in Hyde Park by the time they arrived even though it was early in the little season, a few parading about on the walks, most in curricles and phaetons. Elizabeth looked around in avid curiosity. There were so many rich and aristocratic people here, showing off to others, and just as curious about who was with everyone else. Friends called to each other from different carriages, and hold-ups were caused by people who stopped beside each other to talk. Yet no one cared, for the purpose of being in Hyde Park at this time of the day was to see and be seen. And by always moving, one was never going to be seen.

Darcy hadn't spoken for a while, other than the occasional comment about the beautiful weather, or pointing out an influential member of the ton, or one of the season's Originals. Elizabeth for the most part listened to his remarks or looked curiously at the other people. But then she said something that caught Darcy off-guard.

"How exactly did Lord Harding hurt his wrist, again?"

Darcy was in a panic. He had never thought of having to explain how it happened. He thought quickly. "Well, I wasn't there when it had happened..."

"Oh, but Lucas wrote that you were," Elizabeth pointed out. When Darcy looked questioningly at her, she sighed: "In his note."

"Oh, yes," Darcy said, trying to thin of a plausible excuse. "Well, I was there, I mean. I just hadn't seen the accident happen."

Elizabeth looked confused, and he bit his lip, his mind spinning rapidly. "He had been coming into the library, intent on telling me that you were in town, when he tripped over a book that happened to be lying on the floor. He put his hand out to catch himself, and twisted his wrist as he landed." He smiled in relief as she nodded thoughtfully, accepting his hasty explanation.

They rode for a bit in silence before Darcy asked her what had brought them to London. She explained about her sisters' trousseaus and he nodded. He asked her if she had any engagements the following evening, and she said she had not, so he asked her if she and her sisters would wish to go to the theatre with his sister and him. She smiled and said that she would, though she was unsure whether Mary would wish to attend. Darcy smiled to himself and allowed them to continue in silence.

Elizabeth, after a while, asked him about his estate in Derbyshire-the one that he had been talking to her aunt about. Darcy smiled at this evidence that she had been eavesdropping on his conversation with Mrs. Gardiner, and told her about Pemberley. He talked at length about it before he realised that he was taking up the whole of the conversation. And yet Elizabeth didn't seem to mind, for she was listening as avidly to his description as she had been watching the people before.

They had ridden down a more sheltered lane of the park, and as their eyes met, Darcy found that it was the most natural thing in the world to let the horses stop as he leaned over and, putting a hand behind her neck, let his lips brush hers. When she didn't protest, he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers. He felt her shiver slightly, and he broke off the kiss and drew back, catching her eye. She turned her face away as a bright flush stole into her cheeks. He felt the keenest disappointment and guilt as he let his hand drop and sat back on the perch. He took up the reins again, and they continued down the lane, both still silent.

It wasn't until they turned back onto the main thoroughfare that Darcy spoke. "Please forgive me, Miss Bennet," he said stiffly. "I apologise for my forwardness. It was quite ungentleman-like of me, and I beg your pardon."

She didn't respond, and he felt an unreasonable anger creep into his chest. They rode back to Gracechurch Street in silence, and after handing the reins to his tiger, he hopped out and went around to help Elizabeth from the carriage. His fingers burned as he set his hands at her waist to assist her. As he placed her feet on the ground, their eyes met, and he tried to read the emotions in her eyes, but they were indecipherable. He stepped back and offered her his arm, and they went up the stairs to the door, which had already been opened for them.

He was taking his leave of her in the foyer, when he heard a familiar voice floating from the direction of the parlour. He stiffened and looked at her in question, but she seemed puzzled as well. They both looked up as a door opened, and Lucas stood at the threshold. "Ah! They are back!" he cried with a smile. "And how was the carriage ride?"

He didn't give Darcy a chance to answer before he had come forward and kissed Elizabeth's hand. "Why don't we return to the parlour, where we can talk more about it." He tucked her hand under his arm and began walking in that direction. He stopped after a few steps and looked over his shoulder at Darcy. "I couldn't resist, you know. I had to see how you treated my Elizabeth. And don't worry about the wrist, Darcy," he said, holding up a bandaged arm. "These things heal quickly, I am told."

Chapter 18

Posted on Thursday, 27 April 2000

Never waste jealousy on a real man: it is the imaginary man that supplants us all in the long run.
~ George Bernard Shaw

Darcy stood near the wall of the drawing room as the other guests mingled and talked. He hadn't really enjoyed this dinner very much, despite the fact that he was very fond of Lady Wolverton-a woman who had become almost like his mother after her death. The other guests here had been close acquaintances of his in the past, and he had often found their company to be enjoyable at worst. But today he was not in the mood.

"Why such a long face, my dear Fitzwilliam?" asked a voice. Darcy turned to see Lady Wolverton at his side, her expression a mask of concern. He shook his head slowly. "Lady problems?"

He smiled humourlessly. "I suppose you might say that."

"Who is it this time?" she asked with a sigh.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet," he responded softly.

She looked slightly confused. "I don't think I have ever heard of her, Fitzwilliam. Is she an Honourable?"

"She doesn't have a title at all."

"Well then, is she making her come-out?"

He shook his head. "She is the daughter of a country gentleman. She has one uncle in trade, another a country attorney. She is in town with her mother and two sisters, who are getting married."

Lady Wolverton looked taken aback. "You fell in love with a country nobody?"

"It wasn't exactly my choice," Darcy replied tersely.

"Yes, but surely you cannot be thinking of asking her to marry you," she said in surprise.

He turned to her. "Even if I was planning on doing so, I have no assurance that she would accept me."

"Not accept you?" Lady Wolverton asked in shock. "Why in heaven's name would any lowly country girl not accept you, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley? If I were she, I would be begging you to marry me."

"She's not so mercenary as you would like to imagine, Julianna. She would be the kind of person to refuse me, simply because she did not love me. She doesn't care about money or titles. In fact, she is quite impertinent to Lucas."

"Lord Harding?" she laughed. "I'm sure that boy is as disreputable as ever. But, as you say, he is a duke's heir, and if she can be rude to him, she would have no compunction in refusing one such as you." Darcy didn't respond, and she tapped his arm with her fan. "Oh, and speaking of Lucas, guess who is in town?"

Darcy looked over in surprise. "Don't tell me that Grandpops is here?"

She laughed. "Yes, the redoubtable Duke of Kilroy is in town. And he's already stirring up the gossips. It seems that just yesterday he had the temerity to order two dozen roses, and had them all delivered to the Countess Stanholpe. Was her husband incensed!" She laughed lightly. "Even if the whole of London wasn't aware of their former love affair, they surely have found out by now. But it's all in good fun. Lady Jersey's quite put out, though. For you know that she once had a thing for the duke."

"I am sure Lucas is surprised to find his grandfather here. When is the last time the duke came to London?"

Lady Wolverton thought. "Well, I think it was nearly seven years ago, when Lucas had gotten in trouble with that one earls' daughter. Oh, was that fun! I couldn't believe it when I first found out that the daughter had lied about the whole thing. It seems she had found herself with child, but it wasn't Lord Harding's child-it was the footman's! But when Lucas was able to give a iron-clad alibi for the night that she claimed he had seduced her-from his mistress and coachman, no less!-what was she supposed to do?"

Darcy grimaced, remembering that harrowing week, when Grandpops had come to town and nearly flayed his grandson alive for doing something so ineffably stupid. But when the truth came out, he apologised generously to Lucas, and even went so far as to buy Lucas another townhouse. Lucas ended up selling it and giving the proceeds to an orphanage, but he never told anyone that except Darcy.

"But returning to your problem, Fitzwilliam, what makes you think that she would refuse you? Can you honestly say that she dislikes you? I can't imagine why. You are quite handsome, and generous, and patient, and kind..."

"I kissed her today," he said quietly. At her raised brow, he continued: "While we were in the park-"

"Has God granted you no sense, boy? What if someone had seen you?"

"No one did, Lady Wolverton. I had taken her for a carriage ride in the park because Lucas had to cancel."

"Oh, why?" she asked, and he blushed.

"He sprained his wrist," he explained. "And so I went in his stead, and while we were on one of the lanes, I kissed her. She-she obviously hadn't appreciated my efforts," he said awkwardly.

"I won't ask," Lady Wolverton said with a shrug. "But I think that perhaps it was only out of surprise. After all, it is not every day that one receives a stolen kiss from a handsome gentleman like you. But I had best be off. Lord Helverly appears to need some help escaping the dreary Viscountess Holden."

Darcy watched the woman cross the room and stop next to a gentleman who appeared bored out of his mind as a lady in purple talked loudly at him. Darcy sighed and followed her. There was nothing left to do here than pay his respects and leave. He was tired of all of this. He simply wanted to go home and sleep in his comfortable-but lonely-bed.

He called for his carriage and when it arrived, he entered it and reclined on the velvet squabs. It had been a trying day, at best. His encounter with Elizabeth in Hyde Park had been the worst of it. It wasn't that his memory of their kiss was bad-in fact that was the highlight of the day. It was the aftermath. He couldn't imagine what she thought of him now. If her opinion of him was low after the encounter with Wickham, it was now down in the cesspits. He'd rather not dwell on it.

And when he had delivered her back to the Gardiner's, he had felt an unreasonable anger that Lucas had come. He saw the relieved expression on Elizabeth's face when she saw him enter the foyer, and the light that had come into her eyes when he kissed her hand. What if she had fallen in love with-of all people-Lucas? He didn't know if he could bear that. To know that his best friend had once again stolen a woman from beneath his very nose. Lucas knew how much Elizabeth meant to Darcy; in fact, he had sought the information most readily.

He was jealous. Yes, jealous of the close friendship the two had forged. And he was nowhere near gaining such a place in Elizabeth's heart, he knew. He hated the fact that Lucas was the one who had once again found his way into a woman's heart, and not him. And this was the one time that Darcy could not accept defeat, would not accept defeat. He would gain Elizabeth's hand-and heart-if it took him the rest of his life.

Lucas walked wearily up the steps to his elegant London townhouse at the early hours of the morning. He had been up all night making his usual rounds, and he was glad to be seeking his own bed. He was only irritated that he had so few hours to spend in it.

He recognised the voice that greeted him the moment he closed the front door softly behind him. He turned around to face the imposing figure of his grandfather. He smiled tiredly and made to walk around him in the direction of the stairs. "Do not mind me, Grandpops. I will take myself off to bed, and we shall discuss whatever you wish in the morning, shall we?"

"This is the morning, Lucas, and I would prefer to discuss it now."

His grandfather's booming voice made Lucas's head reverberate and ache with all of the liquor he had managed to imbibe during the night. He grimaced and held a hand to still the painful pounding in his skull. "All right, Grandpops. Just lower your voice, please. We'll go to my study."

He gestured for his grandfather to follow him, and proceeded to his study. He closed the door softly behind them both, then went to sit behind his desk after offering his grandfather a comfortable chair before it. After slouching in the chair, he looked up. "Now, what is it that you wish to ask me?"

"I thought you had finally grown up, Lucas."

"I have," Lucas replied with a grin. "Now I'm an older rakehell."

The duke grimaced. "Lucas, you will be the death of me. Even I wasn't so jaded when I was your age. In fact, I had settled down with Victoria, and she had already bore me a son."

Lucas groaned and folded his arms on the desk, laying his head facedown upon them. "Do not tell me that you are suddenly going to become like all of the other parents of the ton," came his muffled voice. "I have lived thus far without your harping. A few more years won't harm anyone."

"I knew you would say that," the duke said with a sigh. "I have never pressured you, it is true. But now I wish I had. I want a grandchild, Lucas, before I die. I want to see a baby again at the Kilroy estate. Can you not find one lady that would do? I won't even say that she has to be some Miss from the marriage mart. In fact, I'd prefer it if she was not. And yet, I would be quite reluctant for some peasant to find her way to being the duchess. And don't even think about any of your former mistresses, or an actress you find pleasing. No, I would rather it be someone with at least traceable bloodlines."

Lucas looked up, a bright smile on his face. "I'm sure I can do that for you, Grandpops. When do you need her by?"

The duke narrowed his eyes at his grandson. "You make it sound as if I'm ordering a new wardrobe. I simply wish you to be on the lookout."

Lucas nodded. "I can do that. But I cannot believe that you came all the way to London to tell me that."

"Of course not, Lucas. Are you daft, boy? I came to have some fun. After your last letter from Hertfordshire, I couldn't help but come to join the action. I merely stopped in London to deliver some flowers. I was going to continue on to Hertfordshire this morning, but then I caught word that you were here, so I stopped by."

"At this time of the morning?" Lucas said, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Close your mouth, boy. Didn't I teach you any manners?" the duke said with some exasperation. "As to your question, no. I have been waiting here since about seven last night. I helped myself to your cook's fine dining, and took advantage of one of the guest rooms, and was up to wait for you since about two o'clock. I knew you wouldn't return until then if I knew anything about you. So, tell me. What is the whole story?"

Chapter 19

Posted on Friday, 28 April 2000

They told me I was gullible...and I believed them!

Elizabeth sat in the window seat of the upstairs bedroom she was sharing with Jane. Her mother and sisters had left earlier that afternoon to do some shopping. They were to visit modesties and milliners and mantua makers and who knows what else. Truthfully, Elizabeth had no interest whatsoever in those proceedings. Especially after yesterday.

What is it about men? You give them a smile, and they expect the world. She had been doing nothing more encouraging than listening politely to his interesting description of his estate, and all of a sudden he was kissing her! She had been surprised, to say the least.

She wouldn't go so far as to say that the experience had been unpleasant. In fact, it had been quite pleasant. The feel of his lips pressed lightly to hers...it made her shiver even now. But suddenly, he had pulled away and acted as if he regretted it. Regretted it! Here she had been thinking that the best thing in the world had just happened between them, and he was apologising for it. He was apologising for making her like him! It made her want to slap him-hard.

If she had been the more suspicious type, she would definitely have said that there was something quite odd about Lucas' alleged sprained wrist. First of all, the stories that the two of them had told were quite close, but there were discrepancies. If she were like Jane, she would simply accept them both, saying that since Mr. Darcy had not seen it happen, he could not rightly say what had happened exactly. But still, especially with the fact that she had caught Lucas red-handed with his matchmaking scheme of putting her and Mr. Darcy together, she was inclined to be more suspicious than usual. Yes, there was something strange going on.

And the note...oh dear, where was that note? Elizabeth stood up, searching her pockets for it. It wasn't there. She went over to where her frock from yesterday hung, and searched those pockets. It wasn't there either. She stood in thought for a few moments. Where could she have put it? She remembered stuffing it in her pocket yesterday as she sat in the parlour with everyone, then excusing herself and coming up to her room to find her pelisse and parasol. Had she put it away then? She didn't recall doing so. Well, there hadn't been anything too incriminating in it, anyway. She might have dropped it on the stairs or whatnot, and a servant would have simply burned it, for her name hadn't been on it. It doesn't really matter.

Elizabeth sat down again on the window seat just in time to see a carriage pull up to the curb outside the house, a ducal crest painted on the door. Elizabeth gasped in shock as she watched an older gentleman emerge, then Lucas. What in Heaven's name could he be doing here? And was that his grandfather? Oh, good Lord. She was in no way dressed for an audience with a duke! Elizabeth quickly ran to her wardrobe and pulled out one of her better looking gowns and laid it on the bed as she pulled the bell-pull for her maid. She tried to unbutton her dress, but ended up having to wait for Elise to arrive. She quickly changed, and was finished just in time for the summons to the parlour, where she was told Lord Harding and the Duke of Kilroy were awaiting her. Elizabeth ran down the stairs, stood before the closed doors, taking a few deeps breaths, then smiled nonchalantly and indicated to the housekeeper that she was ready to go in.

She entered the room with only a modicum of trepidation. But the duke's smile was enough to set her at ease. Lucas introduced them both, and she curtsied low to him. He held out his hand to her and drew her a bit closer. "Ah, yes. You are quite beautiful, as my son told me. You will be perfect."

"Perfect?" Elizabeth asked in puzzlement. "Perfect for what, my lord?"

"Why, perfect for my son, of course," the duke replied with enthusiasm.

Lucas looked at his grandfather in stupefaction, and Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "I-I-I'm sorry, sir-I mean, my lord. But I think there must be some mistake-"

"Of course there isn't," replied the duke self-assuredly with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Lucas here was quite eloquent in his description of you last night. I received the distinct impression that you two were engaged. Of course it's not official, I understand, for he didn't say anything of his asking your father for your hand yet, but I understand. Young love, and that. Although, he ought to do it soon, for with your beauty, it would be a wonder if there weren't dozens of suitors within the week, if there aren't already. Have you planned to go any balls?"

"Well, no, but-"

"You should. I could ask some of my dear friends to send you an invitation, and Lucas may escort you. I believe Heloise-Lady Stanholpe, you know-is hosting a ball next week. She would be kind enough to put you on the list, I am sure. After all, she never could refuse me anything." He looked around then and saw a chair, so he sat down in it. Elizabeth had no other choice but to seat herself as well, and gestured for Lucas to do the same. She noticed his look of stunned disbelief and felt pity for him, though she was a bit angry for getting them into this predicament.

"Grandpops, I told you," Lucas began, "there's nothing between us but friendship."

"Friendship, schmendship," the duke replied, scoffing. "You expect me to believe that? Men and women cannot be friends. They can either be relatives, suitors, spouses, or lovers, oh! Ahem, sorry," he said, flushing as he caught sight of Elizabeth's expression. "But seriously. You don't have to deny it to me. After all, I'm your grandfather-and soon to be yours, missy. I'm just glad that you decided on your own to respect your duty, Lucas. Shows responsibility, you know. She'll be a fine breeder."

"Grandpops!"

Elizabeth blushed fiercely. This was not going as planned. In fact she had never expected to meet his grandfather, much less be mistaken by him for Lucas' future wife. This was a disaster. There wasn't much else that could go wrong. Or so she thought.

"So when will you go to her father so that you can announce the engagement?" the duke asked just as the door opened and the housekeeper announced, "Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth looked up in embarrassment as she saw Darcy standing on the threshold. Their gazes clashed, and she saw a wealth of emotions written there-shock, annoyance, defeat, and regret. He stood stock-still in the doorway as the duke stood and went forward to greet him. "How are you, Fitzwilliam my boy? Have you heard the news already?" He replied that he had not. "Well then, congratulate my grandson, for he is engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Have you met?" Darcy met her gaze again, his eyes now blazing with something akin to censure. "Oh, but of course you have, or you wouldn't come calling, am I right?"

Mr. Darcy acknowledged this, then looked at Lucas. He congratulated him stiffly, then turned and walked to where Elizabeth was now standing. She hadn't even realised she had lifted her arm when she saw it in his grasp as he bowed over it, looking directly into her eyes the whole time. There was such a mixture of disappointment and grief in his eyes that she reached out involuntarily with her other hand, but he had already released her hand and was walking away. He stopped at the door when the duke called out to him: "What, are you leaving so soon? But you have barely been here five minutes."

Darcy looked over his shoulder at them. "I've heard all I need to. Oh, and Miss Bennet?" She looked up at him expectantly. "I assume this means you do not wish to go to the theatre tonight?"

"No!" she said quickly. "No, I am still willing to go. This-"

"Then my sister and I will be here at seven." And with a quick bow to the general room, he turned again and left the room.

Elizabeth collapsed into the chair again. The rest of the room was completely silent until Lucas said, "I think I should go after him." He rushed out of the room and out the door, but the carriage Darcy had come in was already pulling away. Elizabeth looked up at the duke, whose expression of what she only realised later to be triumph was quickly erased from his face.

"Lord Kilroy-"

"Call me David," the duke said as he sat down in a chair.

"David, then," she began with a sigh. "I do not mean this in a bad way. Your grandson is a good person, a wonderful person...but we're not engaged. We could never be engaged. We are not compatible. We are not to be married."

"What? You can't be serious, my dear. Of course you are."

"Why do you insist on believing this falsehood, my lord?" Elizabeth cried in exasperation, leaving her chair and pacing before him. "We are not engaged, and have never planned to be. We are simply friends. In fact, your grandson was even trying to match me with Mr. Darcy until very recently."

The duke scoffed at that. "Oh, pish-posh. And next you are going to tell me that you would rather marry him than you would marry Lucas, the heir to a dukedom."

"Yes, actually I would! I am more in love with Mr. Darcy than I could ever be with Lord Harding!"

Elizabeth hadn't even realised what she had said until she saw the matching grins on the faces of both grandfather and grandson. She looked at them both in mute disbelief. "See, Grandpops?" Lucas said, still grinning. "I told you she loved him."

"I can see what you mean, Lucas. They're both head over heels for each other. And they don't even know it."

"You-you-you did this all on purpose?" Elizabeth asked, stunned. "You made that all up? You knew that we weren't engaged?"

"I think she's catching on," said the duke, looking over his shoulder at Lucas, who nodded.

"You're despicable! You're a pair of devils-the both of you!"

"Like grandfather, like grandson," Lucas said with a smirk.

"How am I ever going to explain this? He won't listen to me," Elizabeth said in despair, sinking again into the plush chair.

Lucas and his grandfather exchanged a glance. "We'll think of something, I'm sure."

Elizabeth looked up, a determined expression on her face. "Oh, no, you won't. You've done enough already, Lucas. If it weren't for you, none of this would be happening in the first place."

Lucas grinned. "You're right; none of this would be happening. You have us to thank for it."

She pursed her lips in annoyance. "Thank? I don't think so. I would rather none of this had happened, and I was still at home, safe in the knowledge that life is perfect! Instead, I am sitting here in London, waiting for my sisters to return from their shopping, listening to two men declare that they know what is best for me. Which they don't, I might add."

"You might remember, Elizabeth," Lucas pointed out, "that I was instrumental in both of the matches your sisters made. I pressured Bingley into asking your sister, and if it weren't for me, Mr. Collins would have selected you long ago, and Mary would have been left in the dust. You see, I know exactly what was going on, and I changed everything. So don't give me short shrift."

Elizabeth glared at him. "Things would have worked out this way had you not come to Hertfordshire and messed everything up."

"I don't know..."

"Well it doesn't matter now, does it?" she asked. "Whatever happened before is irrelevant. What is important is that you have made a mess of things again, and now I am the one to clean it all up. Or not. Perhaps I shall simply return to Longbourn, and forget about everything."

"No!" cried both the men at once. Lucas looked at his grandfather, then turned again to Elizabeth. "You can't do that. Things are working out perfectly. You love Darcy, and Darcy definitely is in love with you. The look on his face yesterday when he came back from the carriage ride-"

"Speaking of which," Elizabeth said suddenly, "I thought you had hurt your left wrist."

Lucas looked down at his right wrist, which he had bandaged again that morning. "Uh, no. It was the right," he said, whilst kicking himself mentally.

"No, it was your left hand. I remember it clearly. You didn't hurt your hand at all, did you?"

"Er, we had better be going, don't you think, Grandpops?"

The duke looked amused. "Actually, I don't have anything to do. And I am enjoying this immensely. Why don't you explain to us why your one hand is miraculously healed, and the other suddenly hurt?" Lucas shifted from foot to foot anxiously. "The truth would do, Lucas."

He sighed. "It wasn't my idea, Elizabeth. Darcy was the one to come up with the plan. He wanted to take you out riding, but he knew that you would refuse him."

Elizabeth was staring at him in surprise. "He did that? Just to ride with me?"

"Sure," Lucas said with a disgruntled look, "you think it's the sweetest thing in the world when he deceives you, and you yell at me when I do it."

She grinned at him saucily. "That's because I'm not in love you."

Lucas laughed. "I guess that would count for something. And it's great to hear it. I knew it would come about eventually."

"Oh, did you?" Elizabeth said with a brow raised.

"From the very moment we met."

Elizabeth smiled. "I'm sure. Have you ever thought of joining the gypsies, my lord? Do some fortune telling perhaps? You'd be even more rich than you already are."

Lucas shrugged. "It's something to think about. But right now what we have to think about is not my future plans, but yours, Elizabeth. Now, what shall we do about tonight?"

Chapter 20

Posted on Saturday, 29 April 2000

To sit with a pretty girl for an hour, it seems like a minute.
But to sit on a hot coal for a minute, it seems like an hour.
That is relativity.
~ Albert Einstein

Darcy was in his study when his sister came to find him. "Oughtn't we be going, Fitzwilliam?" she asked uncertainly.

"For what?" he snapped. When she didn't answer, he looked up at her, and seeing the pain in her eyes, he stood and wrapped her in an embrace. "I'm sorry," he said softly into her hair. "I'm so sorry Georgie. It's just...I have a lot on my mind right now."

"Are you not to come with us to the theatre? May I go by myself, with the Miss Bennets you mentioned?" she offered timidly.

"No, you must go with an escort, my dear."

"Then perhaps Mr. Bingley will take us, or Lord Harding."

Darcy sighed and set her away from him. He tipped her chin up with a forefinger and made her look at him. "I'll take you to the theatre, Georgiana. Just let me get fixed up a bit. I cannot go like this."

She giggled. "I don't think they'd even let you into the box, Fitzwilliam," she said as she took in his dishevelled appearance.

Darcy grimaced. "I suppose you're right. Tell Tomlin to ready the carriage, and I'll be down in no time." He kissed her on the forehead and shoved her out the door. He turned and glanced at the glass of brandy still on the table beside the chair, and with a short hesitation, went and swallowed the rest of it. He would need all the fortification he could get if he was going to make it through this night.

He took the stairs quickly-two or three at a time-and entered his dressing room, where his valet was already waiting. "I thought that you had changed your mind, Sir," said Dawkins meekly as he took out the jacket he was just re-hanging in the wardrobe.

"Don't worry yourself about it, Dawkins. Just help me look my best as quickly as you possibly can."

That the valet did, and Darcy was hurrying back down the stairs in no more than ten minutes. His sister was waiting at the door, and he ushered her quickly out the door and into the waiting carriage. They set off as soon as the door was closed.

The ride to Gracechurch Street was quiet. Darcy had nothing much to say, and his sister was rather frightened of the mood he was in. The closer they drew to their guests' house, the darker his humour became. By the time the carriage pulled up to the curb, he was scowling threateningly at some spot outside the window. When the footman opened the door, he stepped out and walked up to the door, which was opened again by the housekeeper. He was let into the foyer, and was greeted by Mr. Gardiner.

"Good evening to you, Mr. Darcy," with a smile to which it was difficult for Darcy not to respond. "It seems awhile since you were last here, sir, though it has been only a few days. I enjoyed your conversation about fishing very much."

Darcy found himself grinning unwittingly. "As I enjoyed yours, sir."

Mr. Gardiner nodded. "If it wouldn't be too much of a hassle-I understand that, you being a society gentleman and all-if you might be willing to have dinner here with Mrs. Gardiner and I later this week. My sister and nieces are leaving soon, and though they have only been here a week, it will be quite empty at the table, you understand. And my wife enjoyed your conversation, as well. It would please her greatly to have you as our guest."

"Of course," Darcy replied, finding that he actually would like to have dinner with this gentleman. He relayed these thoughts, and they decided on the coming Friday.

Just then, Mr. Gardiner's gaze transferred to the staircase behind Darcy, and a wide grin transformed his face. "Here they are, it seems," he murmured.

Darcy turned around, preparing himself for their doubtless exquisite beauty, but he still found himself gazing up the staircase in sheer admiration. Elizabeth came first, wearing a satin gown of a light rose colour, the bodice dotted with sparkling gems and silver embroidery. As she drew closer, he saw that the hem of her skirt was embroidered with tiny silver roses. Her hair was in an upswept coiffure, but several tiny curls fell from it and a few framed her face and fell at her neck, the soft dark brown contrasting strikingly with her ivory skin. As she came down the stairs toward him, he noticed how the gown accented her figure, hinting at the curves beneath the light material as she descended the stairs. He hadn't realised that he was holding his breath until she was standing before him. He let it out in a sigh of appreciation. "You look lovely, Miss Bennet," he replied somewhat huskily.

Her lips curved in an ionic grin. "And my sister Jane?"

Only then did Darcy notice that another person had come down the stairs. He took in her appearance and nodded in approval. "You look quite charming."

Elizabeth glanced at her sister in amusement, but didn't say a word. She accepted from the butler the stunning silver-coloured wrapper she had bought that day on the sudden shopping trip Lucas and the duke had insisted she go on with her sister, but Darcy was there to help her with it. She gave him a slight smile, then waited for her sister to put on her cloak with the assistance of her uncle, and they preceded Darcy out the door. He handed them both into the carriage, but could you blame the poor man when his hand lingered a bit longer in Elizabeth's?

He sat in the backwards-facing seat with his sister, directly across from Elizabeth. Every so often his knee brushed hers, and he could feel her pull back from the touch, saw her blush in the dim lamplight. He studied her features in the near-darkness, memorising every plane and curve that he had not memorised before. He imagined touching that face, touching the lips tinted coral-he could remember what they had felt like. But why was he torturing himself like this? He had no business thinking about her at all. She was off-limits to him. He could not betray his friend like that, no matter that Lucas had betrayed him first.

This was Hell, sitting in the same carriage as her, not able to talk to her, to tell her what he truly felt. This was Hades, the way that she glanced at him every so often, as if she were flirting-but that was only his addled, lovesick brain. This was surely Satan's kingdom, the Devil's house. But the only demon that lurked here was his own treacherous heart.

He was glad to escape from the carriage when they arrived at Drury Lane. If he had stayed in those close confines, smelling that particular scent that was always hers-he believed it to be lavender-he would go crazy. Or do something drastic, like kiss her...in front of his sister and hers. Oh, no, that wasn't about to happen.

He handed his sister down, then Miss Jane Bennet, and finally Elizabeth. He felt the light, warm pressure of his hand in his, and had a hard time not taking her into his arms right then. But he had a check on these emotions; he would not create another scene by losing control. He released her hand as soon as he was able and turned away to offer his arm. At that point, he realised that someone would be left out.

At that very moment, by some odd quirk of fate, Lucas showed up and saved everything. He greeted Darcy and the two women beside him, and then bowed low over Elizabeth's hand. "It's funny that we should see you here, Lucas," Darcy replied stiffly.

"Perhaps," Lucas said, "But I merely asked your butler where you would be tonight, Darcy, intending to give you a bit of my company. I had no idea that you would be escorting such lovely ladies."

Georgiana giggled at this, and Darcy shot her a quelling glance. He had no intention of sacrificing his little sister to this seeming god of women. On second thought, though, he smiled. "Yes, Lucas, actually, I am. Perhaps you would be so kind as to escort Georgiana to my box? You may even join us there for the performance." Darcy would have asked Lucas to escort Jane, also, but he decided that was simply pushing his luck.

Lucas simply raised a brow and offered his arm to Georgiana. Darcy smiled to himself as he offered his own to the two Bennet sisters. He walked through the doors and up the grand staircase proudly, bearing the most beautiful women in the room on his arms. They entered the box Darcy had purchased for the night to find Lucas and Georgiana waiting for them. They were deep in conversation when the door opened, and both looked up in guilty surprise, Lucas hiding it more carefully than Georgiana.

Darcy paid them no mind and ushered Jane and Elizabeth to their seats as the crowd began to hush each other and watch as the curtain was raised. Darcy took a seat close beside Elizabeth and sat back, ready for the entertainment to begin. He was incredibly aware of the woman at his side, even more so when she leaned over and asked him, her breath tickling his ear delightfully, "What is being performed?"

He smiled and turned his slightly to make eye contact with her. "I thought you might like it," he whispered. "It's Much Ado About Nothing."

Elizabeth flushed as she remembered the last time she had read part of the play, and sat back in her chair, folding her hands demurely in her lap. Darcy chuckled inwardly and after gazing at her a few more minutes, returned his eyes to the stage.

At intermission, Georgiana expressed a wish for lemonade, and after a staring battle with Darcy, Lucas offered to get the ladies refreshments. The door had barely closed when there was a soft knock, and Bingley entered. "Darcy! I hadn't known you were going to be here!" he cried.

Darcy began to smile at his friend, but then noticed the two women who were just entering. "Your sisters are in London?" he asked with polite interest.

"As you see," Elizabeth replied from his side, and Darcy his a grimace.

Bingley sat down immediately next to Jane, and they both began to talk quietly together, Jane blushing and Bingley smiling and stammering. Elizabeth smiled at the two and turned to the other scene that was unfolding. Miss Bingley had approached and, sending a malicious glare at Elizabeth, sat down in the chair on the other side of Darcy as her sister began a conversation with Georgiana.

Miss Bingley laid a hand possessively on Darcy's arm. Elizabeth didn't fail to notice that he flinched from her touch, and his expression was stony. "You hadn't told us that you would be so long in London. Why, we had thought you would return within days."

"I had a change of plans," Darcy said coolly.

This distance caused Miss Bingley to hesitate, but forged on ahead, undaunted. "But you are coming back to Hertfordshire with us when Charles returns, are you not? Or will you stay here for the remainder of the Little Season?"

"My plans are yet undecided."

Miss Bingley pouted somewhat at this, but decided to try a different subject. "I thought that I had seen Lord Harding with you."

"He went to get refreshments, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth offered. "He should be back any moment."

The door opened then, and Lucas appeared, bearing glasses of lemonade, which he dispersed to Georgiana, Jane, and Elizabeth. He turned to Miss Bingley. "Oh, how sad," he said in a patently false tone of voice. "I hadn't known that you were here, Miss Bingley."

Miss Bingley withdrew her hand from Darcy's arm and stood up. Elizabeth heard the slight sigh of relief from Darcy, and had a difficult time trying not to laugh. Miss Bingley approached Lucas and wrapped her arm through his, drawing him to a pair of seats close together behind Jane and her brother. Lucas resisted, saying, "I'm sorry, Miss Bingley, but you must be mistaken. That's my seat over there." He broke free and sat down in his former seat beside Georgiana, leaving Miss Bingley standing stupidly in the middle of the box. As Lucas turned to join the conversation between Georgiana and Mrs. Hurst, he caught Elizabeth's eye and gave her an amused wink. She couldn't keep her laughter in then. As soon as Elizabeth started, Darcy began to chuckle himself, and soon he was laughing heartily.

Miss Bingley looked shocked, then offended, then turned to her brother, asking him to return to their box with her. When she found no help there, she turned to her sister who reluctantly stood and excused herself. Miss Bingley turned with a huff-and ran smack into the door, which only made Elizabeth and Darcy laugh harder, causing Lucas and Georgiana to join in. Bingley looked slightly embarrassed, but couldn't help a slight chuckle as Jane giggled. Mrs. Hurst quickly opened the door and left the box, and Miss Bingley, giving a final huff of indignation and holding her nose up high, followed her, making the exit she had been planning.

When the laughter in the box finally died down-which took quite a while, because they only had to glance at each other, or the box across the way where Miss Bingley was just entering, to burst out in gales of laughter again-Darcy wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and said, "I don't think the actors could surpass that performance if they tried. What say you we return to my townhouse and continue the evening there?"

The only one that disagreed with this plan was Bingley, who worried about his sisters' escort home. Darcy laughed and pointed out the large bulk in one of the chairs in the other box, saying that Mr. Hurst would be enough escort as they would need. So Bingley agreed, and the gentlemen took Lucas' carriage, while the ladies took the Darcy carriage, and they all met again at the Darcy townhouse.

Chapter 21

Posted on Wednesday, 10 May 2000

I have never killed a man, but I have read many
obituaries with a lot of pleasure.
~ Clarence Darrow

Tomlin was exceedingly surprised to find a group of young people waiting on the doorstep when he opened the door. It had been assumed that the master and young mistress would be at the theatre, and would not be home until later. So why were they here?

It was a question destined not to be answered. For the true purpose of their visit was a mystery-in fact, each of them had their own. For both Bingley and Jane, it was the opportunity to be in each other's company for a while longer, able to talk and laugh together in a more relaxed setting. For though they were engaged, the rules were still adhered to, and they had very few chances alone together. This was as alone as they could possibly be. In their love, no one else mattered more, anyway. And the others let it be that way.

For Georgiana, it was a chance to get to know the young lady Lucas had been describing to her when they were on the way to the theatre box. He had explained everything that had happened between her brother and the lady-told her about the feelings each had for the other. And though she was not of the matchmaking bent, she still thought that to see her brother happy would be the best possible thing in the world-and if it meant that Elizabeth Bennet was to be his wife, then she would do everything in her power to make it so.

Lucas was of the same turn of mind, yet he knew that he played a deeper part in all of this. He was there to maintain the charade, to pretend for a little while longer. He knew that to collapse the foundation suddenly was to ruin the whole structure. He had to play his role until he was sure of the plot, until the end was secured. And that would take more time. This was an opportunity to further his cause, and he meant to make the most of it.

There was a sense of unreality about the whole scenario in Elizabeth's mind. Here she was, in the Darcy townhouse-in the townhouse which, if Lucas had his way, she would be the mistress of. The house itself seemed to welcome her; she felt at home here. She couldn't explain why, but she felt as though she belonged here, with these people, with these surroundings. It was a feeling of love, of respect, of safety, of security. This was where she was meant to be.

Darcy was not the only one in the group that was nervous, yet he felt as though he were. He looked around at the others, who seemed to be at ease, and felt exceedingly jealous. He looked at his sister and Lucas, who were in playful conversation with Elizabeth, and all he could think about was how he wished that it were he that she was speaking to, laughing with, smiling at. He wanted to be with her for the rest of his life, he realised with a start. He wanted her as his wife.

And it was an impossibility. She was engaged; she was betrothed to the same man with whom she was speaking now. How he could endure seeing the woman he loved married to another, how he could endure seeing her married to such a friend was unfeasible. Yet he would have to be there, unless he would risk losing his friendship. In fact, it was more than likely that he would be asked to stand up with Lucas. How could he stand there, across from Elizabeth, yet with Lucas standing between-always between them?

"...Tour of the house?"

Darcy looked up with a start, surprised to find himself the object of scrutiny. His sister was looking at him, and apparently waiting for him to say something. "Uh...I am sorry, Georgie, I was not attending."

Though she flushed at his use of her childhood nickname in front of others, she repeated her request. "Miss Bennet was asking if someone might show her the house, and I was wondering if you might wish to show her. You take so much pride in it, only second to Pemberley."

Darcy met Elizabeth's eyes, and found himself unable to look away, but his gaze slid away at last, coming to rest on Lucas, and he knew what he saw in her eyes could not have been what he hoped. But he acquiesced to his sister's request with as much grace as was possible. He stood and followed Elizabeth out the door. After taking a candle from the table in the hall, he offered his arm to her and they proceeded down the hallway. Neither said a word as they strolled slowly. Both were too aware of the other, too aware of the other's touch.

At last Darcy broke the silence when they reached the door to the library. He opened it and gestured for her to precede him. She did, and stood in the centre as she gazed around her in awe. "This is indeed an enormous collection, Mr. Darcy. Netherfield is impressive, though by no means this size. Nor this organised, I might add," she said as she began to scan the titles.

"Thank you," Darcy responded, the pride evident in his voice as he moved towards the desk and placed the candle upon it. "But this is nothing to Pemberley."

She paused as he said the name, and he recalled the last time he had told her of his estate. He stepped toward her, but hesitated, holding himself back, recalling who she was-who he was. And he remembered more than the kiss. His hands fell to his sides, and he watched her move about the room, waiting impatiently for her to finish. Suddenly he wished that he had declined his sister's request.

Suddenly, she turned to him. He felt his breath catch in his throat at her dark beauty in the shadowed candlelight, her hesitant eyes glowing. "Mr. Darcy, there is something I must tell you," she began as her eyes darted about the room-anywhere but him.

When it wasn't forthcoming, Darcy prompted her, "Yes? You wished to tell me what?"

Her eyes met his, and she sighed heavily. "It is about what you heard this morning."

Darcy's face grew hard, and he withdrew his gaze as he walked to the dark window. "You don't have to explain anything. I understand. Lucas had said that he admired you, I just didn't realise that his feelings went so deep as to ask your hand in marriage."

"No, it's not that-"

"Look, I understand!" Darcy said curtly. "You do not have to explain. It is your choice to marry whom you will. I do not particularly think that Lucas is the best choice in the world, but his title is quite an incentive, as is his wealth-"

"His money doesn't mean anything!" Elizabeth cried.

Darcy didn't say anything, merely shrugged in disbelieving acceptance. Elizabeth felt her temper rise. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"Is it for me to decide?" Darcy responded, his voice laced with contempt.

Her temper snapped. "You are the most pig-headed man I know!" she shouted in exasperation.

"I'm glad your opinion of me is so high," he replied, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

"And boorish, and proud, and arrogant-"

"I will refrain from sharing my opinion of you," Darcy retorted acidly. He turned and looked darkly at her for a moment. "I think it would be better if I left," he said before turning to leave the room. But he stopped mid-stalk and stared blankly at the closed door, then turned to look at her in surprise. "Did you close that door?"

She shook her head enquiringly. His brow furrowed, and he strode forward and tried the handle. He cursed under his breath as he found it wouldn't turn. "They've locked us in here," he said to her curious gaze. "I am going to kill him," he muttered under his breath as he turned to stare at the door again.

"Impossible," she murmured as she came forward to try the knob herself.

"You don't trust me?" Darcy asked in disbelief, and she turned her head and caught his gaze. "Not if you don't trust me," she replied bluntly.

His eyes grew hard and flinty, and he turned around and stalked to the window, anger written in every step. "Why do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?" he demanded tersely.

"Stare out the window like that. You do it all the time."

He turned to look at her in surprise, then looked back at the window. "I don't know," he said at last. "I don't really think about it."

She shook her head. "No, you do it when you are angry or annoyed. Or when you are full of emotion."

"I never think of it. It just seems so...safe here." He seemed surprised at his own choice of words. "Not safe, exactly..."

"No, I know what you are saying," Elizabeth said. "You don't have to explain."

Darcy didn't respond; he simply returned his gaze to the window and stared out into the darkness. "When do you think they will let us out?" he heard behind him. He shook his head slowly. "I don't know. I suppose when they think that we've done what they want us to."

"And what is that?" she asked uneasily.

There was no response. And the clock on the mantle ticked slowly in the silence as the time stretched on.

Chapter 22

Posted on Thursday, 11 May 2000

The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.
~ Oscar Wilde

Neither spoke for some time. When Elizabeth finally did, it was to ask: "Can't we scream for one of the servants? I am sure that they will hear us and let us out."

Darcy grimaced. "I gave them all off for the night. All except for Tomlin, that is."

"Then we can shout for him," Elizabeth said, though doubt riddled her tone.

Another grimace. "Not if he is where I think he is. He would never hear us from his quarters-they are on the other side of the house." He forestalled her next suggestion. "As is the drawing room. And the way that Charles and your sister are so involved with each other, I doubt they would hear us, anyway. And my sister is most likely involved with this plot, so there will be no help from that quarter."

Elizabeth sighed heavily and sank down into a chair near the empty fireplace. She felt a shiver pass through her frame from the chill that was slowly pervading the room. "I am sure that they would not leave us in here for long. And besides, they cannot keep me here overnight. I must return home or my aunt and uncle will worry for me, not to mention Jane."

"But there is still an hour, at least, until the play will end. They will keep us in here until then, perhaps longer, as they might account for the traffic."

"They wouldn't!" Elizabeth cried.

Darcy shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past Lucas."

Elizabeth didn't respond, and pulled her feet up beneath her, trying to stay warm. She huddled into the soft, plush velvet. She heard a soft curse from the other side of the room and looked up at Darcy, who was taking off his jacket and approaching her. "No, really. You do not need-" she began, but was interrupted.

"Of course I need to," he replied. "It was daft of me not to think of it sooner. With no fire, it will get even colder. And you are not wearing enough to stay warm." He placed the jacket gently around her shoulders, but his hands remained there for a moment more, until one reached up and caressed her cheek softly. She looked up at him in mute question. And as her face tipped up, his tilted downwards, and their lips met.

It was tender at first, but deepened as her hand reached up to the back of his neck and threaded through the soft, dark hair at his nape. She moaned softly and leaned further towards him. But as his thumb began to stroke her cheek, he broke the kiss and stepped back. Spearing his fingers through his hair, he began to pace towards the window. Elizabeth sat back in the chair, stunned, her fingers reaching up to touch her lips in surprise.

He finally stopped and turned to look at her. "Elizabeth-Miss Bennet, I am so sorry. That should never have happened. I ought to have controlled myself. I just-I don't know what came over me. I never should have taken advantage of you like that. I-I am so sorry."

Her face darkened as his words sank in. "You are sorry?" she said angrily. "You are sorry?" She shook her head in astonishment. "You are even more of an idiot than I thought, Mr. Darcy."

He stared at her for a moment, before his brow came together sharply, and fury lined his face. "An idiot? Is that what you think me? Why, tell me, Miss Bennet: why am I so unworthy of your good opinion? I did something wholly unseemly and completely ungentlemanly, and I apologised. What more do you expect of me?"

"I don't want an apology," she spat at him. "There was nothing to apologise for."

"I kissed you!" he replied, incredulous.

"Do you think me stupid, as well? Of course you kissed me! And I participated, didn't I?"

"Yes, but I started it!"

Elizabeth smiled humourlessly. "And I would have thanked you for it," she said wryly, "if you had not apologised immediately afterwards."

"It still isn't right," he said softly, though passionately. "You're engaged. To my best friend, of all people."

She stared at him for a few moments, then shook her head slowly. "You just don't get it, do you?" she asked, her tone tinged with disappointment. "I am not engaged to anyone."

Darcy looked at her in surprise. "But-but I heard..."

"I know what you heard," Elizabeth said, "but what you heard was a lie, a trick. I never was and never shall be betrothed to Lord Harding. It was a simple mistake."

Darcy gazed at her in mute skepticism, then suddenly a look of dawning understanding passed over his face, and he began to laugh. "Perhaps I am an idiot, after all. I ought to have known something was amiss when the news came from Grandpops. He and Lucas have always tried to pull the wool over someone's eyes. I just hadn't realised that he would do something so intentionally cruel to me."

A question rose to the tip of Elizabeth's tongue, but she swallowed it back, unwilling to ask something so forward. But in the next moment, her question would have been trivial, in any case. For he answered it himself as he pulled a chair beside hers and sat down in it, holding her gaze with his dark, pleading eyes. "Do you wish to know why it was so cruel to me? Why it was so painful for me to hear that you were betrothed to another?"

Elizabeth reached out her hands towards him, and he grasped them warmly in his own, placing a butterfly kiss on the knuckles. "I couldn't lose you, Elizabeth. I hadn't realised how much you began to mean to me until there was a threat of losing you. I hadn't believed that Lucas...I hadn't thought he would be interested in you, and when I heard you were engaged, my heart broke, because I realised that everything I had been dreaming of for weeks, for months, could never happen. I thought that I had lost you, until I realised that I never had you to begin with.

"I still do not know if I have you-if I have your heart. But I know that if you truly did not want me, if you had no love for me, you would tell me. Tell me now, Elizabeth. Tell me: will you marry me?"

Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears, but she held his gaze. "Do you love me?"

A smile spread slowly over his face. "I would say 'with all my heart,' but unfortunately, it is not mine to give anymore. You have had it for the longest time, Elizabeth. My heart is yours."

A tear slipped down Elizabeth's cheek as she smiled happily. "Then indeed, Mr. Darcy, I will marry you. I love you so much-so very much."

Darcy's grasp on her hand tightened as he smiled widely, drawing her closer to him. When his lips were only inches from hers, he paused and whispered, "I love you, too."

Just as their lips touched, the door flew open, crashing into the wall with a resounding BANG! Darcy spun around and glared at the intruder, who stood in the doorway, grinning. "So I see you two have kissed and made up, eh? Or did I interrupt the first part?"

He strolled into the room, Georgiana close behind him. He smiled at Elizabeth and Darcy, who had sat back in their chairs, trying to pretend they hadn't been about to kiss...but it was slightly obvious. Elizabeth's eyes were glowing brightly, and her cheeks were flushed. Darcy was glowering at Lucas, completely unaware of the slightly dishevelled appearance he made with his tousled hair and without his jacket. "What do you want, Lucas? Haven't you done enough tonight?"

"I don't know," Lucas said slyly, raising a curious brow at Elizabeth, whose cheeks flushed hotly. "Have I?"

Darcy smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Oh, I don't know, Lucas. What would you consider enough? Perhaps an engagement?"

"You're going to be married?" Georgiana exclaimed excitedly.

"Yes, Georgiana," Darcy said with a grin at Elizabeth. "Elizabeth has accepted me. But the engagement is not official until I have asked her father. Which I will do," he said as he took her hand in his own, "at the next possible opportunity."

Georgiana came forward and kissed both her brother and her future sister-in-law, then ran out to find Bingley and Jane to give them the good news. Lucas watched her leave, then turned to the two and grinned broadly. "Well, well, well. What have we here? Do I hear the sounds of wedding bells?" He laughed. "And to think, I brought this all about myself."

"You?" Darcy scoffed. "I think not, my good man."

"Oh, really? And would you like to say that you were the one who put you two together? I beg to differ, Darce. I recall one night at Netherfield, and I quote, 'She's handsome, and self-assured, and independent, and intelligent. She doesn't need-"

"Yes, yes. Enough, enough! I get the idea, Lucas, and I thank you. You were a great help to us. But if you don't mind?"

Lucas raised a brow, but gestured with his hands for them to proceed as he sat down in a chair opposite. Darcy shot him a look of chagrin, but determined to ignore him, turned and, taking Elizabeth's chin in his hand, tilted his head towards hers and claimed her lips in a long, satisfying kiss. And Lucas only laughed.

Chapter 23

Posted on Thursday, 18 May 2000

Nature has no mercy at all. Nature says, "I'm going to snow.
If you have on a bikini and no snowshoes, that's tough.
I am going to snow anyway."
~ Maya Angelou

Darcy reined his horse and waited. When Lucas finally caught up, his friend was staring over the fields, and in the distance there stood a large house. "There is Netherfield, Lucas," Darcy said quietly.

"We've only a few miles to go, and a barrage of questions, and you are home free, my good man," Lucas replied with a smile. "And I doubt there shall be any objection, for you are quite the gent, if I may say so myself. He would be honoured to have you as his son-in-law."

"I suppose so, but I am still worried."

"Worried about what?" Lucas said with incredulity. "How could you be worried? You have everything to offer Elizabeth, and you love her, as she loves you. And if he objects, well, you could always run off to Gretna Green."

Darcy shot him an annoyed glance. "You aren't helping any, Lucas. And I am sure that everything will be fine. It's just...I don't know."

Lucas smiled, but didn't respond. Instead, he kicked his heels and set off down the road towards Longbourn, Darcy travelling in his wake. They rode in silence for a while in this fashion until Darcy pulled up alongside of Lucas. "With how many people, Lucas, were you in conspiracy? How many people did you bring into your plans? This is simply out of curiosity, you understand."

Lucas thought for a moment, then shrugged. "I'm not sure, in all. Should I count the ones that I used without their knowledge?"

"Never mind, Lucas," Darcy replied with a snort. "That's all the answer I needed, thanks. It's great to know that your friends are so devoted to you that they would do so much to get you leg-shackled."

"What, already regretting it?" Lucas took out his watch and looked at it, whistling. "I think it's a new record Darce. Why, it isn't even official yet."

Darcy shot him a glare. "I didn't say I was regretting it. I didn't even imply that I was regretting it. Because if I did, I would be lying. I can't wait 'til we are wed. And we shall be wed as soon as I get permission, mark my words."

"Why, Darcy!" Lucas said in a high-pitched voice. "We are to be wed? Oh, oh, OH!" he clapped his hands together. "Yes, yes! The jewels! The pin money! Ooooh, and you are such a fine-looking specimen, too!" He tried to squeal in happiness, but his laughter made it somewhat unconvincing.

Darcy just glared at him. "You know, if I weren't on a horse, and if I weren't headed to ask my future father-in-law's permission to marry his daughter, I would punch you right now. After all, I hardly think I might make a good impression with blood on my cravat and boots."

The speech only made Lucas laugh harder, until he was practically falling off his horse. "Darcy," Lucas gasped, trying to control his hilarity, "I regret...to inform you...that it would be...your blood. Gentleman Jack...is a great friend...of mine." And with that effort, he burst into gales of laughter again.

Darcy wisely said nothing and turned his horse onto the drive towards Longbourn. It took quite a good deal of time, but Lucas finally realised his friend was gone and had to double back and catch up. Darcy was already dismounting when Lucas finally arrived, still wiping tears from his eyes, squirreled his horse and followed Darcy into the foyer, where the housekeeper greeted them and left to inform Mr. Bennet of his visitors. She returned in due time and took them to Mr. Bennet's library, where they were shown in and asked to have a seat.

Lucas declined, instead leaning against the wall near the door, where he was able to see the whole room and its occupants. He watched, a mysterious smile on his face, his eyes half-lidded, as Darcy nervously sat in a seat, then stood, running a hand through his already-tousled hair. He shot Lucas a glance of pure panic, but Lucas' smile only grew, and he shook his head in silent refusal. Darcy sighed and turned back to Mr. Bennet, who was still sitting behind his desk calmly, waiting patiently for the young man before him to speak. At last he took pity and asked, "Is there something of which you wished to speak with me, Mr. Darcy?"

"Yes," Darcy said quickly, desperately, then cleared his throat, and sitting on the edge of his chair, looked up at the gentleman before him. "I am not sure whether you were aware, Mr. Bennet, but since I have met your daughter, I have been forming a strong attachment to her, and she to me, of which I have been recently made aware. She has accepted my proposal, sir, but it remains for you to give your blessing or your refusal, and though the latter would be heartbreak to me, and undoubtedly her, we would accept your decision.

"I am very well able to take care of your daughter, Mr. Bennet. I receive an annual income of ten thousand pounds, and I own the estate of Pemberley, in Derbyshire. I understand that this is a great distance from her previous home, here, but I do not doubt that she will make the adjustment." He cleared his throat nervously, unsure what else to say, and looked at Mr. Bennet for a response, but the other gentleman was reclining in his chair, looking at Darcy with rapt attention, and after a few moments, gestured for Darcy to proceed.

"I-I-I'm not sure exactly what to say, sir, other than that I love your daughter greatly, and she me. If you grant us with your blessing, rest assured that I will take all care of her that is possible. I will honour my vows, and will treat her with such concern due to my wife. I only ask for your blessing in this endeavour, Mr. Bennet: I wish to marry Elizabeth."

Mr. Bennet smiled and glanced at Lucas, who was still leaning against the wall, the same half-smile on his face. He turned back to Mr. Darcy, a thoughtful expression on his face. "I am not sure, Mr. Darcy. I am not questioning your judgement or your credibility in respect to my daughter's feelings for you, but I must question whether she will be happy with you. She took a great dislike to you when you first arrived, you know, and I have no assurances that her heart has changed, other than your own, which of course, I must give due consideration."

Darcy shook his head slowly. "It is true, Mr. Bennet, that she may have disliked me when I arrived. I realise that my conduct was perhaps a bit worse than I would have wished, but I am not necessarily so all of the time, which your daughter has discovered. I have made mistakes in my courtship of your daughter, it is true, and we have encountered more than a few obstacles during that time, but I believe that I have changed her opinion of me for the better, if it was truly so bad to begin with. I love your daughter, Mr. Bennet, and would never wish for her to be unhappy in her choice of a husband. I truly believe, though, that she will be happy with me. I will never intentionally give her cause to regret her choice."

"Well said, well said," Mr. Bennet murmured, than cleared his throat and leaned over the desk slightly. "I am deeply sorry, Mr. Darcy, that I can offer you no more than a meagre settlement for her dowry. But I suppose you will have already realised that, and are prepared to overlook that fact, am I correct?" Darcy nodded, and Mr. Bennet smiled. "Then I see no reason to withhold my blessing. I am extremely fortunate, I believe, to have you for a future son-in-law, Mr. Darcy, and I will enjoy welcoming you into the family. You will probably have more sense than all of my son-in-laws combined, and I am greatly looking forward to conversations with you in the future."

Darcy smiled. "I, too, Sir."

"Let's have a drink. What do you say?" Mr. Bennet asked, taking a decanter from the corner of his desk. Lucas approached now and took a seat beside Darcy. He smiled at both of them, then took the proffered glass. "Well, this is delightful. I am glad that things have finally worked out." He raised his glass in a toast. "To Darcy!"

"Here, here!" Mr. Bennet cried with a smile, raising his glass as well. "You know," he said, after taking a sip, "I knew it would happen eventually. And I told you so, if you remember," he pointed out to Lucas.

Lucas tapped his chin with a forefinger. "I'm not sure I remember that. I seem to recall myself saying those words, but..."

"Oh, no. I am absolutely certain," laughed Mr. Bennet. "But let's just say that we both knew it would happen eventually."

"I'll agree to that," Lucas replied with a smile, raising his glass in salute to the other gentleman.

"Now, stop just a moment," Darcy, who had been silent until now, interposed. "Are you telling me that you two have been in league?"

"I don't know," Lucas said thoughtfully. "I think 'collusion' has a nicer ring to it."

Darcy shook his head, a sigh escaping his smiling lips. "You are absolutely despicable, Lucas. Who have you not brought into your little game? Bingley?"

Lucas thought for a moment. "I don't think he was ever a player. Perhaps a pawn, though. After all, a drinking party is not a drinking party without Bings."

"Please, don't even remind me of that," Darcy said with a groan. "I had the headache of a lifetime the next morning. And all so that I would tell you that I loved Elizabeth. Much as I appreciate the effort on my behalf, I believe you might have done it in a different way."

"Hmm...no, not really," Lucas replied with an evil grin. "Anyway, it was more fun that way. And besides, if you think that was bad, just wait until your bachelor party!"

Darcy sat up in the bed that sat in the middle of the room he had taken at the inn at Meryton the night before after dinner at Longbourn. He stretched lazily and rubbed his eyes, then thrust a hand through his dark, sleep-tousled hair. He breathed in slowly, then exhaled on a sigh, smiling to himself. He was to be married. He was to be married to Elizabeth. If that was not the most wonderful thing in the world, he didn't know what was.

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his arms and legs, shaking the sleep out of them. He picked up his robe and wrapped it around himself, then strolled to the window and looked out. He immediately dropped the curtain and stepped back. Impossible. There was not a single, possible, imaginable way this could have happened. He was to return to London tonight. He was to go to the opera with Elizabeth. This could not be happening. It had to be a figment of his sleep-fuzzed imagination. He looked through the curtain again, then thrust it back and sat down on the edge of the bed, groaning as he put his head in his hands.

"You in here, Darce?" Lucas asked as he strolled into the room, not bothering to knock, not even interested in a response to his pointless query. He stopped in front of Darcy and shook his head, gazing dolefully down at the bowed head. "Still in your dressing gown? At this time of the morn? How sad. I had thought you would be up early today, ready to go at sunrise. And here you are, not even dressed."

"There wasn't a sunrise this morning, Lucas," Darcy said, gesturing towards the window. "Look outside."

"Yes, I know. It's snowing."

"Heavily," Darcy felt the need to point out. "How are we to get to London in that?"

Lucas smiled. "Easily. You see, there is this animal called a horse. And people, over the centuries, have found the most ingenious way to plant themselves on the back and do what is termed 'ride.' This feat is accomplished-" He stopped when he finally caught the withering glare Darcy was sending him. "Buck up, old chum. This is nothing. I've ridden in worse. And that wasn't even for love, though something akin," he grinned lecherously in remembrance.

"This is hardly the time..."Darcy said in exasperation.

"Yes, well," Lucas said, recalling himself. "I am sure we can still ride out. The roads cannot be too impassable. After all, they were perfect only last night."

"Much has changed since then," mentioned Darcy, indicating the window unhappily.

"Let us ask our host before jumping to any conclusions, shall we?" Lucas pointed out reasonably. And so he left the room in search of the innkeeper. He returned not fifteen minutes later, though, his optimism gone. He reported that the roads were, indeed, impassable, and even worse farther on. They were, it appeared, trapped in Meryton.

Chapter 24

Posted on Wednesday, 14 June 2000

If there hadn't been women we'd still be squatting in a cave
eating raw meat, because we made civilization in order to
impress our girlfriends.
~ Orson Welles

Elizabeth sat in the window seat of her room in the Gardiners' house in London, watching the few silver snowflakes drift down to land in the empty street. The house was situated in a nice portion of London, though perhaps not so nice as St. James' Place or Pall Mall or the other streets the aristocrats seemed to dominate. But the Gardiners were moderately well off, and had bought this house to be comfortable. It was reasonably quiet here, the streets not packed with carriages or pedestrians.

The snow was falling lightly, not even enough to dust the surface of the lined walkway to the house, where her mother and sisters were now hurrying towards the carriage. They had decided to venture out again in search of other articles for the trousseaus, but Elizabeth had asked to remain behind, on the pretext of a headache. In truth, she had simply wished a bit of time by herself to think.

Much had happened in the past few days, and it was troubling in the extreme. She had just promised herself to a man, promised that she would be his wife soon. With love or without love, marriage was a big step, and it made her wonder whether she was really, truly ready for it. When she was married, everything was her husband's, including herself. She never believed that Mr. Darcy could be violent-well, except for that short scene in Meryton...oh dear, she had completely forgotten about that. And despite the fact that it was in defence of her, it showed that he could be quite violent. He had been ready to choke Mr. Wickham to death-she had seen it in his eyes. He had completely lost control. Would he ever do something like that to her?

Elizabeth shook her head fiercely. It wasn't right; worrying like this. He was a kind man. He would never really hurt anyone, would he? It was an isolated episode, not one that would likely happen ever again. And besides, she was his fiancée, not a lying thief who had tried to seduce his sister. If he clearly cared so much for his sister, how could he even consider beating his wife? Impossible.

This was so illogical, for her to be thinking of such situations, when the likelihood of them happening was slim. She was worrying over nothing. It is purely the fact that she had made a large decision in her life, one that would last possibly her whole life.

Did Jane ever have these questions? Elizabeth mused. Probably not. But then, it was not Jane's wont to question fate; it was not her habit to think ill of people. Elizabeth was the one who questioned. It was she who was cynical. And no amount of love could erase that fact.

She was to see him again tonight. He would be back in London, he promised, and they would go together to the opera-just the two of them in his box. Elizabeth smiled and hugged her knees to her chest, watching the snowflakes collect on the ledge outside her window. She had nothing to worry about. Once he was here, the questions, the hesitations, the doubts would disappear. Being around him did that-she couldn't ever seem to think straight.

When had this feeling come over her? When had she begun to love him? There was not a specific day, of course. Love is not something that simply happens; it grows, takes time. And it did take time for them. She had not liked him in the beginning. He had been rude and arrogant. She had taken an instant dislike to him, and until Lucas had come, she and he were always at swords drawn.

It was unnerving to realise that Lucas actually was somewhat responsible for such an about-face. What would have happened if he had not come? she wondered. She couldn't imagine; she may have even remained disliking him. Whatever would have happened, it wouldn't have been this.

Elizabeth stood and went to her wardrobe. She sorted through the gowns she found there, wondering which one she would like to wear to the opera that night. She sighed as she discarded one, then another, until she was finally left with an empty wardrobe. She sat down and looked at the gowns laid out around her, wondering when her gowns had become so important.

"When I became engaged to Fitzwilliam Darcy," she murmured to herself. Engaged-it felt odd, for her to be engaged. But she was, and she couldn't take it back now. She was to be married. And with that marriage came all the responsibilities of being a wife. This thought worried her-what did she know about being a wife? But she was resolved to not let that get in the way of her decision. Everything would be fine, as long as Fitzwilliam was by her side.

She was startled by a knock on the door. At her request, the door opened, and her aunt stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. She raised her eyebrows at the profusion of cloth on the bed. "Has a storm come through the house that I was unaware of?"

Elizabeth smiled. "No, I am simply looking for something to wear tonight."

"And you cannot find anything?" At Elizabeth's nod, she came over and began hanging things in the wardrobe again. "Then we will have to look in my wardrobe. I believe I have some old gowns that might be just perfect. We're just about the same size, you know."

Elizabeth smiled and allowed her aunt to propel her from the room. She sat on a stool in the bedroom she was led to and waited as her aunt pulled gown after gown from her wardrobe. At last she stopped and pulled one out, holding it delicately over one arm as she turned around and showed it to her niece. "Now this is the gown you should wear tonight."

Elizabeth gasped as she looked at the gown. It was ivory-coloured, with gold embroidery on the bodice. The overskirt was a gold lace, and the hem was dotted with tiny golden gems. "I can't wear that," Elizabeth said once she had recovered from the shock.

"Whyever not, my dear?" Mrs. Gardiner asked, gazing wistfully at the gown. "I have only worn this once, to the opera. The queen was in the audience, and your uncle insisted that I have a gown beautiful enough to be seen in her presence. I never wore it again because I never had the occasion. This, I think, is the time for it to be brought out again. It may be a few years out of fashion, but a few alterations and it shall be stunning on you."

"Yes, but, Aunt," Elizabeth stuttered, still slightly uncomfortable, "this gown is too much..."

Mrs. Gardiner laughed. "Oh, fiddle-faddle. You will not divert me from my purpose. You will wear this, and you will look breathtaking for your fiancé. He will appreciate it, I know."

Elizabeth sighed, but didn't argue, realising that her aunt would not be put off. So she allowed her aunt and her maid to help her into the dress. The bodice was a bit snug, so the seam was let out a half-inch and lowered a few inches to be more fashionable. The rest of the gown fit perfectly. Elizabeth looked nervously into the mirror, and gasped. She looked, as her aunt had predicted, breathtaking. She twirled from side to side, getting a glimpse of the back of the gown. Her aunt and maid stood by, watching avidly.

"It's lovely, Miss," the maid said in awe.

"It's stunning," said her aunt, her hands clasped in excitement. "Oh, I never looked that beautiful in it. Now, what shall we do with your hair, do you think?"

"We still have a few hours to think about that, Aunt Gardiner," Elizabeth said, trying to reach around and undo the tapes on the back of the dress. The maid hurried over to help. Mrs. Gardiner sighed. "I know. And Mr. Darcy still hasn't sent word that he is back in London."

Elizabeth looked over in surprise. "You do think he will return in time, don't you?"

Mrs. Gardiner shrugged. "The snow has been falling lightly here, my dear, but there is no saying how hard it is falling in Hertfordshire, or anywhere between there and here. I think it's quite possible he won't make it. But then, he may. One doesn't know."

"If he doesn't return in time, we'll miss the opera," Elizabeth said as the dress was pulled over her head.

"Yes, I know, dear," Mrs. Gardiner said with a sigh. "But I am sure if that happens, he will make up for it thousand-fold. In fact, I would be hoping he doesn't return tonight."

"Aunt!"

Mrs. Gardiner chuckled. "I am simply joking, Lizzy. He will be heart-broken if he cannot return tonight, and so will you. But if he doesn't make it, we'll play cards or something after dinner. It is no hardship, you know."

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "I know. I was looking forward to tonight so much, though."

"Is there anything wrong, Lizzy?" Mrs. Gardiner said as she dismissed the maid with a wave, seeing the change in Elizabeth's demeanour.

Elizabeth shrugged. "I'm not sure. Just pre-wedding jitters, I guess."

"Pre-wedding?" her aunt sputtered with a laugh. "If you're jittery right now, my dear, you'll be fifty times this on your wedding." She sobered suddenly. "But you shouldn't be so nervous. Do you mind my asking why?"

Elizabeth threw up her hands in a gesture of exasperation. "I don't know, Aunt. I simply feel nervous. I have so many doubts, so many worries that I am not making the right choice."

"That's natural," Mrs. Gardiner said softly with a nod. "I remember when I was marrying your uncle. It's not a decision to be taken lightly. I do believe that two people must love each other, or at the very least have a respect for each other, in order for a marriage to function properly, for it to last. I put no faith in the aristocratic mumbo-jumbo about arranged marriages. It only makes me more content with my own un-aristocratic lineage than I already was. I am happy, Lizzy, in my marriage, and watching you and Mr. Darcy makes me believe that if you try, you, too, can be happy."

Elizabeth felt tears in her eyes as she embraced her aunt spontaneously, who released a small startled exclamation before hugging her niece in return. At last, Elizabeth pulled back and smiled, her eyes bright with happiness. "I guess I just had to hear it from someone else, Aunt Gardiner. I just..."

Mrs. Gardiner patted her niece's arm lightly. "I know, my dear. I know. I say the two of us should go and do some sightseeing. What do you think?"

Elizabeth greeted this suggestion with enthusiasm, so the two clothed themselves warmly and forayed out into the snow, which was falling a bit heavier than before. They hailed a cab and got in, informing the driver of their destination. They then sat back and waited as the driver navigated London's thoroughfares. Outside the hack they could hear the sounds of London-the horses, the drivers, the people. It was noisy, dirty, and quite unbearably malodorous. Yet it was London; how much better could one get?

At last the driver stopped, and the two ladies descended from the cab in front of a large brick building. Mrs. Gardiner paid the driver, and the two proceeded up the steps to the large, double-doors that led inside. Inside, the crowd was sparse-a few visitors were dotted here and there in the exhibits.

They were strolling through the different displays, pointing out different objets d'art , the paintings, and the statues to each other, enjoying themselves immensely. They had just turned a corner, and were gazing at an odd sculpture of Hermes when they were interrupted by a loud voice from behind them: "Ah! Miss Bennet! How delightful to see you again!"

Chapter 25

Posted on Friday, 16 June 2000

I hate quotations.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

Elizabeth turned in surprise to see Lord Kilroy bearing down upon them, a bright smile on his face. She couldn't help smiling as he bowed over her hand, then turned to her aunt. "And who might your companion be?" he asked politely.

"This is my aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, my lord," Elizabeth said in response, then turned to her aunt. "This is the Duke of Kilroy, Aunt Gardiner."

Her aunt's brows rose, but she turned and offered her hand to the duke. "A pleasure, my lord."

"No," he replied gallantly, "the pleasure is all mine, I assure you." After exchanging civilities, he turned again to Elizabeth and said with a grin, "I wish to offer my congratulations, my dear, or am I too precipitate?"

Elizabeth laughed. "You are, indeed. But I shall accept them, anyway, because it is all but in the papers. Mr. Darcy went to Longbourn yesterday to seek the blessing of my father."

"And I suppose that is where my grandson is, as well." At her nod, a puzzled expression appeared on his face. "They have not returned?"

Mrs. Gardiner shook her head. "Unless they have returned while we were here."

The duke thought for a moment. "It must be the snow. That is the only explanation I can really think of. I am sure poor Darcy is absolutely perishing, not being able to be in London with you, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth blushed. "We were supposed to go to the opera tonight, he and I."

A slow smile appeared on the duke's face. "Ah, the opera, was it? Which one, may I ask?"

"Le Nozze di Figaro," she replied.

"Ah! The Marriage of Figaro. Well then," Lord Kilroy said with a boyish grin, "I may be able to spare you the embarrassment of being without a escort. I offer myself on a platter as your attendant, Miss Bennet." At her bewildered expression, he laughed. "I will take you to the opera tonight, as my own companion was unexpectedly called away from London-a dying uncle, or some such-and so I am left with a box and no one to share it. Say you will join me. You will enjoy yourself, I promise you."

She hesitated. "Well..."

"You and your husband will join us, of course, Mrs. Gardiner?"

"Unfortunately," she replied, "we cannot. We have a prior engagement. But you two go; I am sure you will enjoy it. Have you seen the opera before, Lord Kilroy?"

He smiled. "Of course. It is one of my favourites."

Elizabeth was dressed and ready to go by the time that the Duke of Kilroy came to the house to collect her. She came down the staircase and accepted her wrapper from the butler. The duke laughed. "Will poor Darcy be disappointed he missed this! You look absolutely stunning, my dear."

She accepted his compliment, and after a quick farewell to her aunt, uncle and Jane, who stood in the foyer with them, she accepted the duke's arm, and they went out into the cold. He handed her into the carriage, then followed her in, taking the seat opposite her. When the door had closed, he rapped on the roof with his pearl-handled cane and the carriage began to move.

Neither said anything at first until the duke remarked, "The snow has become heavier, hasn't it?"

She replied in the affirmative, and he continued: "Have you ever seen The Marriage of Figaro? You'll love it, I think. The last time I saw it was nearly ten years ago. You know the history of the play, do you not?" She said she did not, and he sat back, looking up at the ceiling. "It was before the revolution in France that the play was written-Louis XVI banned it from the stage, as it spouted the exact threat that later cut off his head, the idea of social injustice and social equality. Mozart, of course, created the opera from that play."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "And I thought this was to be a comedy."

"Oh, it is, it is," he said with a laugh. "Do not misunderstand me. It is simply a comedy with a tragic history."

She laughed. "Oh yes, that makes complete sense." He smiled and didn't say a word. They continued on in silence.

As the carriage drew close to Covent Garden, the traffic grew denser and denser. Elizabeth glanced out the window and saw the carriages lined up, waiting to drop off their occupiers. She sat back in her seat and sighed. "It shall be a long time until we reach the theatre, do you think?"

He nodded. "It always is. That is why we leave so early. But we shall have some fun tonight. After all, the opera is generally not what everyone is here for. Most are simply here to see and be seen."

"Much like Hyde Park at the fashionable hour," Elizabeth muttered.

"Exactly," the duke said with a smile. "In fact, the street is as congested here as it is there, usually. But what I am saying is that everyone will be either lined up on the steps, or descending from carriages as slow as possible so as to look around them, or waiting in the lobby to see who comes in. We shall make quite an appearance. You, with your beauty; me, with my rank; the carriage, with its large ducal crest. You see, all three of us shall be quite the centre of attention by the end of the night."

Elizabeth laughed. "Sounds delightful."

"You would not have garnered so much attention with your Darcy, I might point out," Lord Kilroy said, "but I'm sure you would not have noticed, eh?" She blushed, and he laughed. "But I shall not tease you, my dear. It is a shame that he could not come. But everything will work out. I have a plan."

Elizabeth groaned. "Oh, I do not like the sound of that. You and your grandson are exactly the same. And whenever either of you say the word 'plan,' it is the same thing as screaming 'watch out!' or 'danger!'"

He only laughed at this. "We do like to have fun," he admitted, "but you must remember-I have had more years of experience."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. She then turned her attention to the carriages outside the window, studying the crests on the doors, or, as it was sometimes possible, the occupants. At last their carriage drew up before the steps to the opera house. The duke stepped out first, then turned to hand out his companion. Elizabeth felt the eyes of a number of people on her, and she caught a glimpse of the mischievous grin on her escort's face.

Once she had both feet on solid ground, the duke offered his arm, and they proceeded up the steps. "Just hold your head up-look down your nose at everyone. Act indifferent," the duke murmured under his breath. And so, trying to hide a smile, Elizabeth pretended that she was the proudest, most haughty person in the world. In other words, she emulated Darcy at the Meryton assembly.

They walked through the lobby, manoeuvring through dense crowd that parted like the Red Sea before the duke. Behind them, Elizabeth could hear murmurs and whispers, people speculating on who she was. Some of the theories nearly made Elizabeth wince, but she ignored them best she could. They finally reached their box and sat down. She laid her fan and programme on her lap. Beside her, the duke was using his opera glasses to look around, at the same time discouraging a number of other opera-glass users, whose eyes seemed trained upon the box.

At last the curtain was drawn, and the opera began. Soon enough, Elizabeth was laughing at the antics of the Count and Figaro and hardly noticed the crowd around her. Therefore, she was sorely disappointed when the first act was complete, and she was again reminded of her situation. She folded her hands tightly in her lap and stared at them until she was startled by a knock on the door.

"And so the real comedy begins," the duke murmured. Elizabeth looked over, about to ask him what he meant, when he called out to whomever was on the other side of the door to enter.

An older, yet still handsome woman came into the box, dressed splendidly in burgundy silk, her dark black hair swept into an elaborate coiffure with a dyed ostrich feather sticking out. Her almond-shaped dark brown eyes were fixed on Elizabeth from the moment she entered, despite her effusive greeting to the duke. He noticed her interest and introduced them. "Elizabeth, this is Lady Stanholpe. Heloise, this is Miss Bennet."

Lady Stanholpe shot a quick glance at Lord Kilroy. "So this is the one your grandson is interested in?" she asked with a raised brow.

The duke laughed, and Lady Stanholpe stepped back, surprise evident on her features, though it was quickly concealed. He shook his head. "No, not quite, my dear, though that is what I had told you."

She seemed confused, so the duke leaned forward. "Can you keep a secret?" he asked, his face completely devoid of expression, though Elizabeth thought she recognised that peculiar twinkle of amusement in his eyes. Lady Stanholpe sniffed. "Of course, David. When have I not?"

Elizabeth caught the trace of a smile on his lips before he continued. "You know Mr. Darcy, do you not?"

"Lady Anne's son?" she asked, curiosity evident in her tone.

The duke nodded. "The very same. Well, he is in Hertfordshire right now." Lady Stanholpe was definitely confused by this seemingly irrelevant line of discussion, but she nodded anyway. "He is asking Mr. Bennet for permission to marry his daughter, Elizabeth."

Lady Stanholpe turned to Elizabeth with new respect in her eyes, though there was still a measure of suspicion. "So you are the one who has captured our eligible Mr. Darcy?" She smiled cattily at Elizabeth's blush, and turned back to the duke. "And so you are keeping her company?"

The duke nodded. "Darcy was supposed to have returned by tonight to escort his fiancée to the opera tonight, but was unavoidably detained. Therefore, I took it upon myself, as the fiancé's friend's grandfather, to act as her escort."

Lady Stanholpe rapped him on the arm with her fan and twittered. "You are always so generous." She smiled up at him for a few moments, then turned and glanced around the box. "Well, I have a few other people to visit before the next act. I will talk to you later, David?"

"Of course," the duke answered with a bow. "You will, of course, remember that this," he indicated Elizabeth with a vague wave of his hand, "is all unofficial as of yet?"

"Oh! Of course, David. You may rely on my discretion." Lady Stanholpe smiled, and with a nod in Elizabeth's direction, sailed from the box.

Elizabeth turned on him the moment the door was closed. "Why on earth did you tell that woman about my engagement-as you said, it is not even official. She's bound to tell someone."

The duke smiled smugly. "Exactly." Elizabeth shot him a puzzled glance, and he explained: "Your being with me, and no one knowing who you are has a disadvantage to it. I would not have your reputation ruined, my dear. But your being with me also has its advantages. You see, if a duke shows you favour, the rest of the ton will accept you. That, in turn, smoothes the way for your introduction into society when your husband decides it is time for you to have a Season. Which reminds me: you will inform me when that happens, will you not? I must have at least one dance with my honorary godson's wife."

Elizabeth laughed. "I will save you a dance, if I can remember that far in advance."

"Less than a year; less than a year, I promise you," he replied with a solemn nod of his head. "We cannot have you rusticating in the country for too long, newlyweds or not."

"I've been 'rusticating' my whole life, my lord-"

"David."

"Yes, David. But as I was saying, one more year will not hurt me."

"No, but it will surely hurt the rest of society." He made a wide, sweeping gesture of his arms. "Look at them all. They need someone to liven them up."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "It seems that the gentleman and two scandalously-clad females in the box across from us need no help."

The duke raised his opera glasses and tsked, shaking his head dolefully. "Poor Lord Haring. I'm not sure how he will occupy the both of them. But I do not think you ought to look over there anymore. It's not a sight for a properly bred lady."

"I wasn't planning on it, thank you."

They returned their gazes to the stage, as the curtain was once again raised. Elizabeth felt the curious stares from the other boxes, but ignored them, returning her attention fully to the scene before her. She soon forgot her surroundings, anyway, as she was so caught up in the story. She clapped enthusiastically at the end, smiling broadly. "That was wonderful!" she said to the duke, who only smiled.

As they were walking down the stairs to the lobby, amidst the throngs of people, Elizabeth clutched to the duke's arm. She was afraid of getting lost in such a crowd. In the lobby, it was even worse. Some people remained standing in little groups, talking to one another. Others were moving in and out between the groupings, and still others were making their way out the doors to the carriages. Elizabeth and the duke were making for the doors when he was hailed by someone, and they stopped and turned around to talk. As the duke stood talking, Elizabeth released his arm and turned, surveying the crowd.

Another couple joined the small grouping around the duke, and Elizabeth stepped away a bit in order to give them a bit more room. She was looking up at the fancy decorations on the ceiling and the walls when she felt something poke her in the side. She looked over and nearly gasped. Her eyes widened with surprise, and her hand flew to her mouth as she came face-to-face with someone she knew all too well.

"It is lovely to see you again, Miss Bennet."

Chapter 26

Posted on Friday, 16 June 2000

The basis of optimism is sheer terror.
~ Oscar Wilde

"Yes, that is a knife that you feel, Miss Bennet. I'd suggest you don't say a word and come with me as we calmly walk out the door, eh? And smile, would you, so it doesn't look as if I'm killing you?"

Elizabeth did as she was bid, but had to grit her teeth to force the smile to her lips. "You practically are," she muttered under her breath. "Do you think you might loosen your grip on my arm, not to mention the knife in my ribs? I'd be surprised you're not drawing blood."

"Oh, I'm not. You've nothing to worry about. Yet." He grinned a little maliciously. They walked through the rest of the crowd and out the doors with no mishap. Outside, he propelled her down the stairs until they stood within the crowd waiting for carriages. She was pushed along until they stood in the shadow beside the Opera House. He pushed her against the wall and held the knife to her throat as he glared at her. "You will be quiet, you hear me? Although it won't do me any good to kill you, I'll do it if I have to."

"Are you mad?" she whispered over the lump in her throat.

He smiled bitterly. "Perhaps. You can only be pushed so far. And I've definitely been pushed. You are my ticket out. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know."

She shook her head. "You'll never get away with this, Wickham."

"Now, why would you say that?" he asked as he turned her around, pushing her flat up against the wall and pulling her hands behind her. She squirmed as she felt him tie something around her hands tightly, trying to get loose, but he only pushed her harder against the wall. "Don't try me, Miss Bennet. I might not be so gentle as I have been."

She scoffed at this, but he ignored her. Once he had tied her hand together, he did so with her feet, leaving them just loose enough for her to take small, mincing steps. He then turned her around and smiled. "Perfect. Now, if you don't mind, I'll have to gag you, as well."

"Perhaps I do mind," muttered Elizabeth. "Would that make a difference?"

He stuffed a rag in her mouth, tying it behind her head. "No," he said with a malevolent grin. He then fixed the hem of her gown to cover the bonds, and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head to throw a shadow on her face. "Now, before they raise up the hue and cry, we'd better make an escape, my dear." He let her feel the tip of the knife through her gown. "And you won't make any trouble, will you, love?"

She shook her head, and he chuckled. They left the alley onto the street opposite. There were few people on the street, and most had no interest whatsoever in what the two people who emerged from the alley were doing. Wickham hailed a passing cab and gave the driver directions before picking up Elizabeth and stuffing her inelegantly in the carriage. She wriggled in her bonds as he eased into the carriage and sat next to her, putting the knife to her throat. "We're going for a little ride now, Elizabeth," he whispered in her ear. She recoiled from the feel of his breath on her skin, but he only laughed and sat back in his seat.

"Would you like to hear a story while we're on our way back to my rooms?" Elizabeth shook her head, but he continued: "I had joined the regimentals stationed in Meryton, thinking that I could finally get back on the virtuous path-no more gambling, wenching, lying, cheating...But no; I had to go to the one place in all of England where Darcy was. So I left; came back to London. I found an old friend of mine, Mrs. Younge. She owns a small place here; found me some rooms. Since then, I've been forced to rely on my wits to live. I've managed to keep a bit of dough in my pocket, but my luck has been running out. I have nothing-Nothing!" He turned to her, his anger apparent on his features, but they smoothed out as he smiled. "Then I happened to hear a little tidbit of information I found very interesting. You see, Mrs. Younge was in Hyde Park a week or so ago with one of her charges-she's passing herself off as a companion." He gave a bark of laughter. "A companion, of all things!"

Elizabeth made a muffled comment that drew Wickham's attention to her. He leaned over and glared at her. "It seems that you and my good friend Darcy have been getting close...very close. And considering the company you've been hob-knobbing with, you seem to have done well with yourself. I'm sure there will be some very wealthy people wishing for your return, safe and sound. Especially if what I hear is correct. Are you really engaged to him?"

She didn't respond-couldn't have. So instead, she glared at him, which only made him laugh. He reached over and stroked her cheek with a forefinger, making her cringe against the side of the cab. "You know, you aren't so bad after all-at least you're female. And Darcy won't know that you're spoiled goods until it's too late. By then, I'll be long gone, and a whole lot richer, too." He smiled again, then sat back, looking at her.

"So you are to be the bait that brings in the big fish. I was glad to find out that you weren't going to the opera with Darcy after all. It would have been more difficult that way. Oh! You wish to know how I knew such a fact about you?" He chuckled. "I have been getting quite familiar with one of the maids in your uncle's house. She was nothing loath to part with the information."

Just then, the carriage stopped, and Wickham smiled. "It seems we're here. Come, my dear." He opened the door and pulled her out, placing her unceremoniously on the ground, forcing her to clutch to him to keep her balance. He paid the driver, then turned her about and propelled her towards a doorway, which he pushed open and forced her through. The inside of the room was dark, filthy, and smelled horribly. Elizabeth turned her head away, trying to capture a breath of fresh air as her eyes began to water. Wickham laughed maliciously as he lit a lamp that sat on a dingy table. "Do you think I like it any better?" he asked before pushing her to where a chair sat in the middle of the room, and placing her in it. He then tied her to the chair before pulling the gag out of her mouth. Before she had a chance to scream, he covered her lips with his own. She bit him, hard, tasting the salty blood. He pulled away with a curse and slapped her across the face, making her reel back in the chair.

"I won't forget this," he growled as he put the back of his hand to his bleeding lower lip. He stuffed the gag back in her mouth and then backed up a few steps, watching her the whole time. "No, I won't forget this."

He turned around and walked out the door, closing it sharply behind him. Elizabeth watched him leave, feeling the fear rising within her. Was he just going to leave her there? For how long? What if she needed to eat-what if she needed to relieve herself? She struggled at her bonds, but there was no give. He had tied them tight and sure. She gazed at the ceiling, willing back the tears that sprang to her eyes.

Her cheek still stung where he had slapped her, but she didn't regret what she had done. She was not about to sit still and let all this happen to her without at least a little retaliation. What she could do was limited, of course-she couldn't move from this chair. But someone was bound to save her. Her disappearance could not have gone unnoticed. And when her fiancé returned, he wouldn't rest until she was found, she was sure of it. He would come and find her, wouldn't he?

A sudden movement caught her attention, and she released a muffled shriek as a rat scurried across her feet. She tried to push her chair away, but then screamed again as it tipped backwards instead. Her head hit the floor hard, and as she felt everything go black, her last thought was, "Why me?"

"Perhaps I should visit her first," Darcy said unhappily.

Lucas turned to look at his friend and shook his head. "You are hopeless, you know that?" Darcy didn't respond, and Lucas sighed. "No, we'll go home first. You look as if you haven't slept in days. We'll make sure you look presentable before you go haring off to apologise. We also have to find something nice for her. She'll forgive you more easily then. And it's not as if you don't have an excuse."

"That's not the point. I abandoned her-I had promised we would go to the opera, and I failed her."

Lucas shook his head in exasperation. "Let's just stop at your house first, alright?"

Darcy shrugged in response, and they turned their horses towards his townhouse. When they arrived, they stabled their horses and went up the steps to the door. It was opened by Tomlin, who was looking quite nervous-a bad omen to begin with. Darcy noticed immediately, and felt a tremor of foreboding pass through him. "Is there something wrong, Tomlin?"

The butler swallowed. "You have a visitor, sir," he said with a note of unease in his voice.

Darcy looked up to see the Duke of Kilroy standing in the hall, looking haggard and spent. "Grandpops?" Lucas said in surprise.

The duke stepped forward, running a shaking hand through his grey hair. "Darcy, I have some bad news-"

"Elizabeth?" Darcy choked out, feeling the blood rush from his face as the older man nodded. "Wha-what happened? Where is she? She's not hurt?"

The duke hesitated. "We don't know. She's disappeared."

"Where? How?" Darcy cried impatiently. "Tell me!"

"At the opera. Last night. She was with me one moment; the next, she was gone. Someone mentioned seeing her with another man, going out the door, but I couldn't get a good description. She wouldn't have gone willingly," he added quietly.

Lucas stepped forward. "I think we'd better go to the library," he said quickly, putting a hand under Darcy's arm, and guiding the stunned man down the hallway. They entered the library and closed the door. Lucas glanced at the open brandy decanter and smiled humourlessly. "It looks as if you've already begun. Could you pour another glass? Darcy's going to need it."

The duke nodded and filled another glass with brandy, bringing it over to where Darcy was sitting. The latter accepted it and put it to his lips, downing the whole glass in one quaff. He then began to cough as the liquor burned his throat. The duke patted him on the back awkwardly. When Darcy straightened and looked up at the older man with watering eyes, the duke sighed.

"There is some question, logically, as to why she was chosen. And why she was taken from the midst of hundreds of people, for Heaven's sake! I was standing right there! He was either very brave, quite daft, or extremely desperate. And none of those possibilities instills much hope." He flung his hands out in desperation. "And there has been nothing since! No ransom, no note, no dead body-" He stopped when he noticed the ashen colour of Darcy's face, and flushed with embarrassment.

Lucas jumped into the awkward silence. "Perhaps he-or they-or whomever it is that has her-has been waiting until Darcy returns. Or until I return. That is, if the kidnapper knows anything about the details of the past few days. It's a possibility we must consider."

"Has anything been done to find her?" Darcy asked now.

The duke opened his hands. "Everything that can be done, with so little to go on. There is no trail, no clues, nothing. I have called in Runners, but they are of little use so far. No one knows anything."

Darcy put his head in his hands, resting his elbows on his knees. "This is all my fault," he said miserably. The other two tried to disagree, but he ignored them: "I should have been here. But I was in Hertfordshire. I was not there when she needed me. If I had been there with her, this wouldn't have happened."

"You don't know that-"

"Yes, I do!" Darcy said forcefully. "I wouldn't have let her out of my sight, much less off of my arm. She would not have gone a step from me the whole time."

Lord Killroy sighed. "I guess you are right. But how was I to expect..."

"I know, I know," said Darcy. "It isn't your fault. You couldn't have known this was to happen. But now that it has, we must think of something. We cannot simply sit and twiddle our thumbs. My Elizabeth is somewhere out there, in God knows what danger, and we sit here and do nothing!"

"But what is there to do, Darcy?" pointed out Lucas sensibly.

He heaved his shoulders in response. "I don't know. How much I wish I knew, but I don't."

There was a knock on the door, and the eyes of all three of the occupants of the room turned in that direction. The door was opened by Tomlin, bearing a letter on a silver tray. "This just came, sir."

The duke smiled mirthlessly. "It seems the ransom note has come."

Chapter 27

Posted on Monday, 3 July 2000

For every complex problem, there is a solution
that is simple, neat, and wrong.
~ H. L. Mencken

Darcy took the proffered letter and broke the seal. As he glanced over it, he shook his head. "No, this isn't the ransom note. The ransom was sent to the Gardiners-but it seems as though it specifically named us-all three of us."

"What?" Lucas asked, confused. "All three of us? That doesn't make any sense."

"Of course it does," offered the duke quietly. "Somehow the kidnapper discovered that you and Darcy are close to her-would pay a lot to have her returned with no harm, and I was with her at the opera. It brought in the Gardiners because first of all, that is where she is staying. But Mr. Gardiner is a merchant-he might have at least a little money to contribute."

Lucas shook his head. "That's despicable."

"But intelligent," Darcy pointed out. "So it appears we aren't dealing with an uneducated man. Simply someone who is down on his luck, extremely desperate. And someone with a grudge against at least one of us." He looked up at Lucas, whose eyes had widened, and as their gazes met, Darcy nodded.

Lord Kilroy had caught the exchange, but didn't understand. "Do you know who it is?"

"I have a feeling we do," replied Darcy, his teeth clenched. "Do you remember George Wickham?"

"The son of your father's steward? The little jackanapes that broke the priceless vase from King Henry VII?"

Darcy nodded with a grimace. "If my guess is correct, he now adds 'kidnapping' to his repertoire. He is our man to catch."

"I don't know how we're going to do that," muttered Lucas as he sat in a chair by the fire.

Darcy had stood and walked over to the desk. He now opened one of the locked drawers and pulled out a case. From it he took a pistol, and began to load it. Lucas looked up in surprise. "What are you doing, Darce? Darce!" he shouted when his friend hadn't seemed to hear him, instead continuing the fluid motions as he loaded the pistol.

At last, Darcy looked up, his eyes bright with calculated anger. "You and Grandpops go to the Gardiners-try and work things out from that direction. Though, knowing Wickham as I do, it won't be all that easy. He's rather shrewd for a man of such low morals. He's probably blocked off every option but his own. I will send along my valet, dressed in my clothes-he's about the same size and shape as I am. If, by some chance, Wickham is watching the house, I don't want him to get any inkling that I've got a plan of my own."

"And what are you going to do?" asked the duke, eyeing the pistol warily.

Darcy smiled mirthlessly. "Why, I'm going to visit an old friend."

The dark figure standing in the shadow of the townhouse across the street watched as the three men piled into the carriage pulled up to the curb. He leaned back against the wall as one of the men paused, looking up and down the street. But, evidently seeing nothing suspicious, climbed into the carriage last. After the door was closed, the driver hopped onto the seat and whipped the horses into motion.

The man chuckled to himself as he turned away and began to walk in the opposite direction. They were doing exactly as he supposed. He had thought more of his childhood playmate. But apparently, when one is so threatened...

A sudden thought occurred to the man, and he stopped immediately on the path, turning back towards the house as the idea formulated in his brain. He took a few steps in that direction then crossed the street quickly, hurrying over to the other side. He slipped in between two houses and ran to the alley behind. He looked up and down the alley, then jumped back into the shadow of the two houses as a movement caught his attention.

A familiar figure exited the back of the house the man had been watching, looking up and down the alleyway before hurrying away. The man stepped out of the shadow and began to follow the other quickly, wondering the whole time where they were going. He smiled, though, realising that his adversary was indeed as intelligent as he had assumed.

Elizabeth regained consciousness slowly, though it took her even longer to realise what she was staring at in the near perfect darkness. But as the pain in her head vanished, she looked to each side of her, at the filth on the floor. She shuddered as she saw a rat a short distance away, picking at garbage on the ground. She moved her head again, and realised that she had struck the back of her head against something-the reason she had lost consciousness.

She scooted to the side as far as she could, then turned her head to look at the object. She gazed at her disjointed face in the broken glass, the pieces still somewhat held in their frame. And as she stared at the broken mirror, an idea began to come together in her mind.

She scooted the chair back until her hands, still tied behind her back, were even with the mirror. Then she twisted sideways, reaching with her fingertips toward the glass. When she had achieved her object, she began sawing at her bonds with the glass. Several times she scratched herself with the sharp edge, flinching at the pain, but eventually, the rope wore away, and she pulled her hands out in front of her, rubbing her raw wrists gingerly, wiping away the blood from the cuts. She then untied her feet and the gag from her mouth and stood up.

The room spun for a moment. Or at least, what she could see of the room. The interior was dark and thick, the heaviness nearly smothering. Elizabeth breathed deeply a few times, trying to retain her consciousness. At last the dizziness passed, and she put a hand to her head as the headache intensified.

She remained standing in the middle of the floor for some time, until she began to shiver with coldness. The chill of the winter air was seeping into the room. The pathetic fire that had been built in the fireplace had long since turned to ash, and the heat coming from it was minimal, inadequate. She walked over to it anyway, looking around for a bit of coal, blowing on it slightly to fan the coals, hoping against hope that there was enough...

At last she gave up out of sheer exhaustion. She sat down before the fireplace, barren of warmth, and wrapped her arms about herself. Suddenly, she recalled her cloak and quickly retrieved it from the place she had seen Wickham throw it. The material was somewhat thin, though it was warmer than the mere gown she wore. At the thought of the gown, she glanced down, completely ashamed. Her aunt's gown was now torn and dirty, spots of blood covering it from when she had cut her wrists. It looked as if she had been dragged backwards through a bush. Or halfway across London, she thought bitterly.

In truth, she had no idea where she was. She was definitely not in Pall Mall; that was for certain. But which of the slums, she had no idea. She had not even set foot here before, of course. There was never any reason for her to venture into the unwashed parts of London. Even this small glimpse of what it must be like made her shudder.

After a while, Elizabeth stood again, keeping the cloak wrapped tightly around her. She glanced at the closed-up windows, wondering what time it was. There was no sign of a clock in the small room, and there was not so much as even a crack in the shutters to tell her how light it was on the outside. She sighed. She couldn't have been unconscious for that long, could she have?

Her stomach told her otherwise. She looked around for any food, but saw none-until she saw the rat sitting on the counter. She shuddered as she realised what it was eating. "Well, apparently I won't have any dinner," she muttered wryly, then sighed again. There was no point in getting upset. She was sure Wickham would return soon. He couldn't have forgotten her, that was for sure. She was his "bait;" he couldn't kill her without killing his chances of payment or escape. At least, she was hoping that was the case.

She moved around the room now, looking at the scattered, broken objects on the floor. There was a mockery of a bed in the corner, the sheets probably covered in lice, she mused-she wasn't about to check. In fact, she avoided that corner altogether. At last she reached the door. Her hand stretched out slowly, and she found the doorknob, turning it and pulling slightly. She was surprised when the door actually opened. How could he not have locked the door? Unless, she thought, the door had no lock.

She peered out into the street cautiously. The sun was just going down, and the street was near empty. She wasn't about to venture out, yet, though. She would be extremely vulnerable: a woman alone dressed in fashionable, if not rather dirty, clothes. She was of the high class, transplanted in a place she definitely did not belong. She would not know what to do if someone of less reputable background accosted her in the street. She wouldn't last long out here.

She closed the door slowly, with a long sigh. Well, what was she to do now? Wait for him to return? That, too, would be stupid. She had to leave before then. What she would do once she had left, she had no idea. Perhaps she could find a cab...with what money? she realised bitterly. She could possibly make the driver believe she would pay him when she reached the Gardiners, true, but she would be suspect, to say the least, especially considering the fact that she was in the middle of the slums of London alone, wearing a torn and dirty evening gown.

Elizabeth laid her head in her hands, her headache intensifying. This was incredible-no matter how she thought of it, she was trapped. As soon as Wickham found her missing, he'd go out searching. And it wouldn't be that hard, either. She would be incredibly conspicuous in this area of town wearing what she was...unless...

But there was no possibility of finding someone to give her other clothes, was there? Elizabeth peered out the door again, looking up and down the street. Suddenly she caught sight of a woman walking down the sidewalk on her side of the street. Elizabeth opened the door wider and beckoned to the woman. As she came nearer, Elizabeth realised that she wrong-she was little more than a child.

The girl looked suspiciously at Elizabeth, glancing at her clothes with surprise and a little bit of awe. At last, she looked Elizabeth squarely in the face, but didn't say a word, merely raised a brow in question. Elizabeth lowered her eyes from the frank gaze. "Do you think you might come in? I was wondering if you'd help me with something, and I'd rather not stand in the street and discuss it."

After a short hesitation, the girl nodded curtly, and followed Elizabeth into the room. She glanced around at the state of the room dispassionately, then looked back at Elizabeth in expectation. Elizabeth sighed. "First of all, my name is Elizabeth."

The girl nodded, but didn't offer her own. Elizabeth continued: "I was kidnapped from Covent Garden last night, and I need to get out of here before the man who took me returns." The girl glanced apprehensively at the door, but Elizabeth shook her head. "He probably won't return just yet. He's been gone ever since he brought me last night." She turned her eyes pleadingly towards the girl. "Do you think you can help me? My fiancé will reward you handsomely. Perhaps he could even get you a job in a shop if you would like."

The girl gazed impassively at Elizabeth for a while, then nodded. "I'll see if I can help. My name is Serena. I live a few doors from here with my ma. We'd better get out of here, though. We'd be in trouble if he came while I'm here."

They went to the door, and the girl glanced out into the street before gesturing for Elizabeth to follow her. They ran down the sidewalk quickly, disappearing through another door. And the street was empty and quiet.

Conclusion

Posted on Sunday, 9 July 2000

God may be subtle, but He isn't plain mean.
~ Albert Einstein

Darcy leaned back against the seat of the hired hack, passing a hand over his brow, wiping away the sweat that had accumulated there. His hand curled over the gun in his belt as the cab travelled further into the slums. He didn't have to use it yet, and hopefully not at all. But he wasn't taking any chances.

The idea that Mrs. Younge was working as a companion was ludicrous. But it was a good point of negotiation. With a little promise of money, and the threat of exposure, Mrs. Younge told him everything-how she had found him lodgings in an area less than desirable, but the best he could afford with the little money he had, and the little money she could give him from blackmail.

He shook his head slowly, disbelievingly. How Wickham could go through so much money in so little time was beyond his imagination. But that was his way, and there was little that would even possibly be able to change him. Perhaps a few years in Newgate, or even a moment on the hangman's stage, Darcy mused with a grin, then felt immediately ashamed of himself. No matter the amount of animosity he held towards the man, there was no excuse for such blatant sadism.

Soon enough, the driver pulled up. Darcy opened the door and hopped out, looking around himself cautiously. He didn't see anyone else on the street itself, but caught a glimpse of people through grimy windows, and a few standing on the street corner. He glanced back at the driver and said, "I will return in a few moments, sir." The driver's mouth compressed slightly at the thought of standing for any amount of time in that area, especially at this time of day, so Darcy pulled out a few coins and said quietly, "There'll be more coming if you wait."

The driver pocketed the coins and nodded, turning his eyes back to the horse after glancing suspiciously around. Darcy, satisfied that there would be transportation when he returned, then approached the house Mrs. Younge had indicated. He looked up and down the street before trying the door. It opened to his touch, and he immediately went on his guard.

The only light in the small room came from behind, his shadow large in the doorway. Nothing in the room stirred, until a rat jumped off a counter and under the bed that sat in one corner. He shuddered, and took another step inside, breathing shallowly in the heavy stench. A chair lay overturned in the middle of the room, rope scattered around it. Darcy's heart caught in his throat as he saw the broken mirror and the blood that was spattered around it.

He knelt there, on the floor, examining the object, anger thrumming through his veins. He tried to think rationally, though, willing himself to think with logic on the situation. One fact was clear-Elizabeth was not here. Chances were, taking into account the rope and chair, that she had been. But what had happened, and why was there blood there?

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, when he examined the rope more closely. It, too, was covered with blood where it had been frayed by some object. A wave of relief swept through him when he realised that Elizabeth had cut through the bonds herself, then felt all the dread returning when upon the heels of that thought came the realisation that now she was somewhere on the streets in London's most dangerous area, and in addition, she was hurt.

He closed his eyes briefly, painfully, and hung his head. This was not going as planned. Nothing was going as planned. He opened his eyes again, and his head came up sharply as he saw the figure in the doorway. "Wickham," he growled as he stood, his hand reaching for the pistol in his belt.

"Ah, ah, ah, Mr. Darcy," Wickham said, and Darcy then saw the glint of the last of the sun's rays off the cold barrel of a pistol. "None of that, shall we? He took a step further into the room. "Where is she?"

"I don't know," Darcy replied truthfully. "She was gone when I arrived."

Wickham paused. "For some reason, I believe you. There are not many places she could hide in here, and I saw no one leave through the door." He sighed. "So, what are we going to do with you? I have a serious problem, you realise. I cannot kill you, for I lose my hope of ransom and revenge-well, at least from you, that is. It is also quite difficult to drag a body down to the Thames. Quite heavy, you know. I could tie you up, of course, but it is difficult to do so with a pistol in one hand."

"So what will you do with me?"

Wickham shrugged. "I suppose knock you unconscious, then go find your darling Elizabeth."

He had taken a step towards Darcy, when suddenly, there was a noise behind him. He spun around quickly, but the other person was too quick for him. With a soft thud, Wickham collapsed in an unconscious heap on the floor, the pistol falling a few feet away. Darcy stared in astonishment at his fiancé, standing in the doorway like an avenging angel, a block of wood in her hands. She lifted it with a shrug. "It was the first thing I could find."

With a laugh, she rushed into his open arms, and they embraced each other. He held her closely, stroking her soft curls as tears slipped down his face. "I thought I had lost you, Elizabeth," he whispered.

"I never lost hope," she replied into his shoulder.

He brushed a light kiss on her hair, then noticed the other figure in the doorway. "Who is this?" he asked quietly.

Elizabeth turned around and laughed. "This is Serena. She was going to help me find my way back." She turned again to look at Darcy. "I happened to see the hackney pull up and you get out, though, and plans changed. I had just been about to fly out the door when Serena stopped me. She had seen Wickham across the street, and when he began to approach the house, she realised who he was. It was a close thing."

Darcy smiled then. "Well, Miss Serena, you have definitely proved yourself. I will give you anything you desire."

The girl grinned and looked at Elizabeth, who laughed. "She's to be my new ladies' maid. Is that fine?"

He held her close to him and said, "Whatever you want. Whatever you want, Elizabeth."

Lucas Harding stood by the window of the Gardiner's drawing room. "He should have returned by now. He could be hurt, killed, something!"

"Now, there's no reason to get upset," Mrs. Gardiner said gently as she refilled Lord Kilroy's cup with tea.

Lucas shook his head as he moved away from the window, watching his feet make their way towards the fireplace on one side of the room. "It's dark out now. We have no idea where he is. We have no idea where Elizabeth is. All of this waiting, wondering, having absolutely no clue what is going on is going to drive me into Bedlam! I swear it, if he doesn't show his face in five minutes, I will be out that door, knocking some of those stupid red-vested popinjays they call Runners into little bloody pulps unless they give me some information that I can use!"

At that very moment, all eyes turned to the window as the sound of a carriage arose from the street. "It can't be..."Lucas muttered, rushing over and looking out anyway. He shook his head in bemusement. "Well, speak of the devil, and here he comes!"

The exclamations in the room upon the entrance of three ragged figures were nearly deafening. Elizabeth was embraced by her sister and aunt, Darcy was slapped on the back by Lucas and greeted warmly by the rest of the room. The other figure was regarded with some curiosity and only a bit of suspicion. At last, Lucas asked the question they all wanted to hear: "What happened?"

Darcy grimaced. "It's a long story. I will tell you all later. In the meantime, this is Serena. She helped Elizabeth to escape, and is to be her new ladies maid as soon," he shot a glance at Elizabeth, "as we wed."

"Which if I have my way," Elizabeth said with a grin, "will be very, very soon."

The wedding went on without another hitch, and the bride and bridegroom were married amidst much joy and congratulations. Their honeymoon was spent in Milan, a wedding gift from the Duke. They returned in time, however, to greet the new arrivals to the family: the son of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley, and the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Collins. Their own addition did not come until the following year, when they were blessed with twin sons, named Lucas and David after their respective godfathers.

Mrs. Bennet now had only two daughters over whom to fawn. Lydia Bennet's ways did not change much, and eventually she married a decent officer, of which her mother was proud. Kitty, therefore, was left as the last unmarried daughter. Once Lydia had gone, she spent most of her time with her other sisters, as life with Mrs. Bennet was, of course, nearly intolerable.

Caroline Bingley, for some time, attempted to capture Lucas Harding, but eventually gave up and married a rich old baron, thinking that perhaps she would be soon left a rich widow. She was not content with her marriage, however, when Lord Reginald lasted long into his years, so spent most of her time in London, as her husband hated Town.

Lucas Harding went back to his normal habits for the most part, proclaiming to the world that he was going to remain a bachelor for the rest of his days and enjoy it, much to his grandfather's aggravation and amusement. It was not until much, much later that Lucas met a woman who was indeed, his match. But that, unfortunately, is a whole different story...

The End.

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