When Love Beckons

By Beth

Prologue

Posted on Thursday, 19 July 2001

When love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep.
~Kahil Gibran

Author's Preface - This retelling of PP begins with an Elizabeth/Darcy encounter previous to the Meryton Assembly. It provides a possible explanation for Darcy's comments at the assembly and his presence in Hertfordshire, while throwing a whole new twist onto the PP drama. Many other characters are introduced in Pt. 1 of this Prologue, with subheadings to indicate them.

Part 1: Portraits

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

"Oh, Lizzy, you do look well, tonight! You'll never be as pretty as Jane, but I will say you look well indeed!" cried Mrs. Bennet as she scurried into the room where Elizabeth sat quietly before a large glass mirror.

There was a sigh of exasperation in response, then Lizzy turned resolutely back to her reflection. Bright chocolate eyes stared, defiantly, back at her. Her cheeks were becomingly rosy and her usually unruly ringlets had been teased and powdered to perfection, framing the whole. But the thought of Jane's perfectly Grecian features still provided an annoying damper. She stared at the reflection. No, I may not be so beautiful as Jane, but I hope, no, I expect, and she smiled impishly at this piece of folly, the man who loves me to find me just as pretty!..."

In the next fraction of a second, her mother's voice would interrupt the reverie.

"Now child, I hope we'll have none of your impertinent remarks at the Ball! Nice and demure is the only way to catch them...and catch a husband, you must! before that horrid Mr. Collins turns out all out into the hedgerows..."

Elisabeth very nearly groaned. Yes, yes, Mama. So you've told me a million times before...

Thankfully, she was spared from further comments by the entrance of the attendant, Mme Le feuvre. Behind her, Aunt Gardiner propelled Jane into the room, her gentle features glowing with pride and joy. Mme Le feuvre, a highly skilled hairdresser and beautician from France, had been very expensive, but it had been worthwhile. The girls looked truly...

"Charming, Mademoiselle Jane, Elizibeth. Abtzolutely charming!"

Selina Le feuvre had reason to feel proud. Now, seeing the effects of her work made her feel oddly satisfied. In truth she had been taken back when first approached by this merchant's wife, resident of Cheapside no less, to 'do up' her nieces for a ball. She had expected her outrageous rates would be a discouragement, but soon discovered there was little Mrs. Gardiner wouldn't do for the girls. After spending several hours in their company, she no longer found that strange. Jane's unassuming sweetness and modesty were heart warming and Elizabeth's outspoken vivacity, refreshing. Certainly a novelty she wasn't often able to enjoy! And now the suppressed excitement, warmth and love that were shared by aunt and nieces seemed to fill the room. They stirred something unaccountable within her. She found herself remembering her past life, with the family she left behind in France. The happiness they had shared...before misfortune had come their way... And now, from the depths of her heart, she felt herself wishing the two beauties before her a little bit more luck in love than her own life had afforded.

She gave them both a warm smile. "Enjoy yourselves. I'm sure you will be very admired!"

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile back into the bright hazel eyes of the French woman. "I thank you...I'm sure we will enjoy ourselves very much."

Not all felt quite so certain.

"That will do, Miss Maria." Caroline Bingley waved off her maid with a dismissive flick of her wrist and surveyed herself in the glass with no little satisfaction. The dress was new, its orange and gold dupion silk, newly imported from Italy. And the headpiece was one of her favourites. "What do you say now, Mr. Darcy?" she cooed into the mirror.

"Talking to yourself again, hmm, Caroline?"

Louisa lowered herself onto the bed behind her, an indulgent smile on her heavily rouged face.

"Do you really expect me to believe that you weren't the one practicing signing Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy on my spare notepaper? Really, Caroline." She patted the bed beside her, "You should confide in me. I could help, you know. As you see I've already been successful in catching a husband."

Below, their younger brother Charles impatiently tapped a tune on the hard wooden floor, while Mr. Hurst, the aforementioned 'husband' sat by, intent on downing his third successive glass of wine.

Caroline's eyes flashed. "You may as well give up, Louisa. I can promise you you're not getting anywhere with me." No, indeed. She had better things to worry about right now than taking her annoying sister into confidence. Maybe, when a little more luck has come my way, I'll share it. But until then...She gave her reflection a parting, conspiratory smile, before parading down the stairs, Louisa in tow.

They were exactly twenty minutes late.

"Caroline, Louisa, I was beginning to fear you weren't coming at all!..." Caroline rolled her eyes. Charles could be so tiresome sometimes. Didn't he know it was the thing to be late? "...but I must say, you two do look remarkably well tonight!" he finished. Hint of a smile from Caroline. Admittedly, if it had've been Mr. Darcy, she would be beaming, but as it was... She gritted her teeth.

"As do you, brother. No doubt all the young ladies will be smitten with you tonight." Her eyes gleamed. With any luck, their fortunes will be equal to any attachment...

"Do you expect Mr. Darcy will be present at the ball?" She tried to sound disinterested, but still couldn't miss Louisa's answering snort.

Charles was typically oblivious. "But of course! And why wouldn't he? Miss a ball?! I think not! Now come on, let's go right away. We'll already be prodigiously late."

The above mentioned personage, Mr. Darcy, was at that very same moment yet in his bedchamber. Six short steps to the closet. Six back to the bed again. He frowned and compressed his lips. Should he go, or shouldn't he...would he, or wouldn't he? The ritual was the slightest bit amusing when you consider that he almost always followed it, and almost always did end up going. Five brisker steps to the closet, five back again...

"Yow!" his knee bumped the side of the dresser. Cursing softly and nursing the bruised flesh, he settled himself onto the mattress edge.

Tonight's ball was to be given by his aunt, Lady Matlock, and would be quite the society event - the invitation lists had been extensive. If he didn't go, not only would his aunt be put out, but his absence would be much talked on. His attendance was not a matter to question, then, but, ever the 'he-man,' he did not wish to admit to it.

To be sure, he expected to find little pleasure there. But then, when did he ever?

At least that was a long time ago...

Childhood memories flitted through his mind, and for a moment, the slightest hint of smile softened his features.

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

A sigh. I was so naďve...

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

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

"Father..."

He could never wholly forget the moment he'd been summoned to his fathers' sickbed, nor the apprehension he'd felt.

Cheeks flushed and black curls tousled from a wrestling match he'd just won with Wickham, he slipped into the darkened bedchamber and hesitantly pushed the shut behind him. Anxiety-flecked eyes were turned questioningly on his father.

The older Darcy tried to appear casual, put him at ease.

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

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

Click. The handle on his bedchamber door turned and the door swung open, interrupting his reverie.

"Mr. Darcy, sir. Won't you be going out tonight? The time is passing, so I took the liberty of offering..."

There was no question about it, really. He cut his valet's inquiry short. "Yes, yes, of course. My navy suit, please. I'll be ready in a moment." Reluctantly, he dragged himself off the bed and made his way over to the basin that sat by the window...eyes closed tightly, he plunged his face into the icy water.

The older man had exhaled slowly, then turned his gaze out the window before continuing in a gentler tone...more too himself.

"I only wish my Anne was the first woman I smiled at...the first one I kissed."

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

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

"Yes, Mama. Of course, Mama. I will, Mama..." After five very trying minutes of attempting to follow Mrs. Bennet's conversation, Jane realized her answers weren't needed at all. They had been squished up together in the Gardiner carriage for longer than she cared to know, and even though their aunt had assured them that Matlock Manor was 'just a few blocks away' Jane was starting to feel just the tinniest bit impatient.

But, for what ..?

To get out of this less than ample carriage? Most definitely.

To get away from her mother's constant screeching? She supposed so.

To be back in the fresh air? Of course.

But to arrive at the ball? She didn't even want to try to answer that one, for fear of the 'no' that was sure to follow. It wasn't that she was frightened of society... Not that. But Jane had never been overly fond of the unexpected. She liked feeling she was in control, and if something must be unexpected, she hoped to at least have some premonition, so as to know how to react... Not only would she be among strangers, but she'd never attended a city ball before. And this was not just to be any London ball, but a grande London Ball.

Though Aunt Gardiner had been careful not to mention the fact at any previous point in the evening, she had made it quite clear in her letter of invitation.

My dearest Jane and Elizabeth,
...my friend, Rebecca, Countess of Matlock will be hosting a ball, Friday next. It will be quite the society event, as most of the ton will be present. Rebecca was most gracious, and what do you think, my dearest girls, but she informed me that, in addition to your Uncle and myself, I might bring two friends of my own choosing. Imagine my delight! Such an wonderful chance for you both to enjoy a taste of high society...I look forward very much to your arrival in town...

Not long after Mrs. Bennet laid eyes on the missive and she had discovered a pressing need for her own removal to town. Such an unrivaled opportunity for her girls to find wealthy, titled matches could not be very well handled without her assistance, she secretly decided.

So now, here she was. After much fussing and teazing on her part, it had been settled that she would go in place of her brother, who, to keep the peace had acquiesced. Her only apprehensions now were that the ball might afford girls prettier than her Jane, or that Elizabeth might frighten off prospective suitors with her impertinence.

The girl in question, 'Miss Impertinence,' seated beside Jane, was the only one of Madeline's guests almost wholly without any apprehensions of the ball. She sat, hands folded serenely in her lap, a tranquil smile on her face.

There was a feather-light touch on her forearm. "How can you be so composed, Lizzy? There is absolutely no way of knowing what to expect!" Jane breathed nervously.

Elizabeth smirked.

"I beg your pardon, one knows exactly what to expect!" Yes, indeed. No doubt there will be some gossipy old women, stuffy airheads and disgustingly rich rakes who care for nothing but themselves. Indeed, I am already disposed to think very ill of them all, she concluded silently.

But only moments later, in the receiving line both sisters found their respective assumptions being swept away.

Mrs. Gardiner, as the head of their small party, reached Lady Matlock first.

"Madeline. How wonderful to see you! I trust you've been keeping well." Her smile was, Elizabeth noted with surprise, nothing less than sincere. "...Your nieces? Well, girls, welcome to London. I hope you will both enjoy yourselves very much this evening."

Darcy was a fast dresser. And tonight he wasted no time in completing his toilette, eager for the solitude he'd find, travelling alone in the carriage.

Yes, he'd made a pact with himself, indeed...but where had it lead him?

Newly orphaned, he'd re-entered society after a long and painful mourning period, with high hopes. He'd hoped to find a woman who could fill his heart, heal his wounds, a companion to rebuild his life with...

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

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

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

The carriage had stopped and Darcy automatically stepped down onto the footpath. Sightlessly, he stared ahead into the brilliantly lighted ballroom.

There was only one option left. A marriage of convenience. It was about time he reconciled himself to it. So the woman of his dreams had turned out to be no more than a myth? He couldn't spend the rest of his life bemoaning fairytales. He needed an heir. He owed it to himself, to the Darcy line.

He let out a ragged breath. I'm sorry, Father.

He would wed a respectable woman, with respectable connections, respectable fortune and respectable manners. He had an obvious choice. Almost before he had finished exchanging pleasantries with his aunt, uncle, and cousins, she was before him.

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

It was enough.

"Mr. Darcy! How delightful to see you. We had quite despaired of your company tonight." She clasped the arm he had not offered.

Yes, it was enough. He'd wed his best friends sister, make Charles happy...and he'd have an heir. A solution had never appeared so simple, so perfect, before.

On the far side of the ballroom, a young lord leaned lazily against a marble pillar. A head of jet black curls and a broad jaw line combined with his height gave him a striking appearance. Sky blue eyes flickered carelessly over the mass of bodies before him. They came to rest on a golden-haired beauty standing alone near the dance floor. A slight frown creased his features. He couldn't quite place her. Lady Isabella Grey, perhaps? definitely not. This girl was far prettier. Marietta Smith, then? Absurd! Marietta was a brunette. Well, there was only one thing for it...

Part 2: The Ball

"She is woman, therefore she may be wooed;
She is woman, therefore she may be won."
~Shakespeare

With their engaging manners and lovely features, the Hertfordshire misses had, as Mme Le feuvre had assured them they would, been very much admired. Neither had lacked for dance partners, at least.

But now Jane stood by the dance floor alone. The next dance was about to start, so Elizabeth's current partner had already escorted her away. Aunt Gardiner was elsewhere with Mrs. Bennet, doing her best to keep her occupied. She was alone, yes, but not for long.

Within seconds, Lord Wimpleton had introduced himself and whisked her onto the floor. She wouldn't have to sit the dance out, after all...

"Do you reside in London?"

"No."

"In the country, then?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"Hertfordshire."

Damn! She might be stunning, but he could hardly get a word out of her.

Unbeknownst to him, Jane was far too distracted by the male on her left to pay much attention to his questions. She'd felt drawn by his boyish grin the first time their paths had crossed in the dance. But though she'd tried her hardest to smile winningly, he'd been too preoccupied to notice. Since then, she'd taken every possible opportunity for surreptitiously observing him. The more evidence she found of his easy, open manner the more attracted she felt. And disgusted with herself. Am I out of my senses? her practical mind screamed. Here I am enthralled with a man I'm not even acquainted with! She determinedly tried to shake the feeling off. Every succeeding time their paths crossed in the dance, she took care to train her eyes elsewhere - anywhere, but him. At other times, however, she found it well nigh impossible to resist the urge to - just very occasionally - glance in a certain direction.

Unbeknownst to Jane, however, the mysterious male on her left, had, in fact, noticed her. A moment after he felt the gentle, but insistent pressure of her hand in his, he'd stopped grinning stupidly at the wall, and trained his earnest gaze onto her...back. It was too late. She'd already turned away and he had only the pleasure of eyeing the profusion of golden curls that Mme Le feuvre had left to caress the bare skin at the base of her neck. Every successive meeting, he noted dejectedly, she'd refused to look at him entirely.

Jane's own partner was less enthralled. He was still willing to admit to her beauty, but her uncommon reticence had done nothing to endear her to him. Now he determined to quickly escort her back, make his excuses and search for more interesting quarry.

So much for his plans.

Just as Lord Wimpleton was making his final bow, as luck would have it, Elizabeth's partner returned her.

"Sorry to delay you, my Lord, but I should like to introduce my sister, Elizabeth. Lizzy, this is Lord Wimpleton."

For the longest moment, Elizabeth didn't respond, and he groaned inwardly, Don't tell me this one is even more reserved. So much beauty and grace wasted.

He couldn't have been farther from the truth.

To begin with, she had been trying hard not to be too impressed with his appearance. But when Jane mentioned his title...Lord Wimpleton. She repeated it to herself and felt how very precarious a position her composure was in. Lord Wimpleton. 'Wimpleton' was a ridiculous enough name on its own - but to attach a 'Lord' to it??! all her previous notions about lords came back to taunt her. And then, to appendage it to this creature?? It was too much. She managed the automatic curtsey, but knew that if she spoke too soon, her immense amusement would be impossible to hide.

Try and hide it she may, but the moment her eyes moved, as they did of their own accord, boldly upwards to meet his and her lips would curl defiantly.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lord Wimpleton."

Understanding dawned. "Find my title a tad ridiculous, Miss Elizabeth?" he blurted out.

"I fear you have caught me out, my lord."

It was too much for him to resist.

"I believe I shall have to punish you, Miss Bennet."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"I see that. But I must warn you, my punishments can be very severe."

"Ready and waiting, my lord."

"Very well, then. I insist you dance the next set with me."

If he had expected the usual, "I would be honoured." or even, "I'm not engaged sir, I thank you," she caught him off guard. Certainly, he had not anticipated her rejoinder.

"That, is a severe punishment, indeed, my Lord..." her lips curved ever so slightly upward again, "but I suppose I shall be obliged to submit, this once."

He felt oddly triumphant. More than once, if I have a choice...

Later, Darcy couldn't explain exactly what he'd first noticed about her, or when it had been. Not when he'd first stumbled into the brightly-lit parlor - duty-bound, he'd danced with Caroline... But sometime afterwards, between pacing and simply standing, staring sightlessly into space and actually looking, it had been impossible to miss the delightfully rich laugh, glossy curls, mischievous grin, smooth creamy skin and eyes that intermittently sparkled with enthusiasm or flashed dangerously.

He'd realized he was staring and forced himself to do a double take, facing determinedly away again. He was no school boy to have his head turned by another pretty face. No, indeed!

But in the next moment, she passed directly in front of him, leaving a teasing whiff of lavender scent in her wake. He willed himself to stay put, but found his eyes had followed her, regardless.

Once, he even fancied that she was looking back at him, but while he searched the intoxicating features for its verity, he realized that she was glaring at him...that he'd been staring again. Damnation! He reddened and quickly looked away.

He felt called upon to do something; anything. Seek an introduction and ask for a dance? Whatever for? he hated dancing...Still... He started to move her way... But he was too late. He took in the strangely familiar back, moving over to her, facing her, before making out his words.

"You didn't think I'd be back, Miss Elizabeth? Really, I couldn't let you get away without making good my claim to this dance." Lord Wimpleton raised an aristocratic eyebrow and grinned saucily.

Darcy held his breath...there was something about the voice that was unpleasantly familiar...

Elizabeth's playful laugh brought him back to the present,

"I don't recall any thing of the sort, my lord. Reason forces me to suspect you of lying," but she accepted, anyway. What else should he have expected? He didn't even know the girl, for goodness sake, and he expected her to defer to him? Wait...she couldn't have even known he'd planned to ask her...There was only one thing for it. He would ask Caroline. He didn't fancy the idea of standing alone by the floor and being caught staring again.

It was only after he'd asked Caroline and was escorting her to the floor that he realized the impropriety of his actions. Asking any girl thrice, though not positively sinful, would be sure to start some whispers. Too late...

He made his opening bow reflexively and took Caroline's hand.

Less than halfway into the dance, Elizabeth realized she'd made a mistake accepting Lord Wiggleton's offer so readily. She might not have danced every dance, but she'd danced and sampled enough punch to be feeling the effects. The heat rose crazily to her head and it became harder and harder to follow the steps as exactly as she was wont to. Soon she'd given up all attempts at conversation, instead focusing her attention on making the right moves and trying to fight her rising dizziness.

"Fatigued, ma belle dame?"

She looked up in surprise to find her partner regarding her quizzically. Lord Wiggleton had felt the slightest prickling of alarm at Elizabeth's silence. He still couldn't escape the memory of his utter failure with her sister, but after their last dance, he was far from suspecting the same reticence from Elizabeth. Nor was he about to accept it. There had to be something the matter, and he wasn't taking any chances.

Elizabeth started at his choice of French, but there was no denying the truth. He found his answer in her faint blush and stammered,

"I...uh...I had not..."

He decided to push his luck further.

"Very well then. But I am not about to release you..." Elizabeth blinked hard, had he winked at her? "...how about some refreshments? Come."

He wasn't even asking, she noted warily, but acquiesced, mutely following as he led her swiftly away from the dizzying row of dancers. He stopped in front of the punch bowl, and gallantly poured her a glass.

Glass in hand, the young Lord by her side, Elizabeth glanced around the room, taking in the images surrounding her, piece by piece; people milling by, passing them...whispering.

She noticed with amusement, a brightly dressed young lady scarcely older than herself, prance by, clinging to the arm of an aristocrat as if for dear life, her head held a little too high, her smile, predatory.

Of its own volition her attention moved onto the gentleman, her eyes boldly moved to meet his...and there they caught. Bright, sparkling brown eyes collided with unyielding, intense ones and for a split second, neither party so much as breathed.

Part 3 Aftermath

Our memory is always at fault, never our judgment.
~American proverb

Gold brocade, blue swirl, more gold brocade, more blue swirl. Three golds, three blues.

Darcy stared stonily at the ceiling of his bedchamber, counting, counting. Anything to keep his mind off the evening. Gold brocade, orange swirl. Hold it - there wasn't any orange on the ceiling! He knew right away it was Caroline's gown he was seeing. Yards and yards of that blasted orange and gold silk. He couldn't get the image out of his mind. Of her facing him, taking his hand.

It had been a mistake asking Caroline for that extra dance. It hadn't taken him long to realize that. Their previous two dances had been tolerable. There'd been a slight titillating novelty in viewing her as his future bride. The one he would entrust Pemberley, Georgiana and ultimately himself with. Oh, it hadn't exactly been pleasurable. No, but there'd been something reassuring in the certainty that he would finally be securing his future and that of the Darcy line. Charles would be wildly happy, he'd decided ruefully and not at all unhappily. It had all been so remotely comforting...

Well, not any longer. Nothing had really changed; he would still be marrying her, of course, still securing his future most satisfactorily. But the feeling it had given him had gone - or at least, was different. He had certainly not been up to hearing the vulgar speculations tendered on their relationship. One too many during the dance, and he'd lost his composure completely.

In this state, he had come upon her again. Before he knew it, she was directly before him. And when he caught her eye, she'd held it; defiantly challenging...one glossy brow arched, giving the slightest hint of a teazing quality to her gaze. For an instant, he had felt himself rising to her challenge; responding... But as instantaneously as she had appeared, she was gone.

Elizabeth had remembered propriety long enough to lower her eyes. No, more - she'd looked away.

He had been left to face a mocking pair of painfully familiar blue eyes. He'd moved away, yes, but he was still fuming. Lord Wimpleton. So he was the cad she had danced with, probably the one she had been with all along... Why, he had probably been her escort to begin with...The very thought made his blood turn cold - her escort? No, please not that. He wondered dazedly why he should even care. Why should the sight of a pretty girl affect him like this? One he hadn't even been introduced to! Why should it matter that she was keeping company with a rake?

But she hadn't been 'just any pretty girl'. Something had somehow, seemed different.

And Lord Wimpleton wasn't just any rake.

He was the one man, who had, even more than Wickham, dared to attempt ruining Georgiana. Had almost succeeded. That it could be the Victor that he'd played with as a child, admired as a teen, who made the attempt, made it that much more painful. True, he hadn't always admired Victor. When his old playfellow's father had died, instead of observing the proper mourning period, he'd raced of to London, brashly sporting his new identity as Lord Wimpleton. He'd already been devastatingly popular enough as just plain 'Victor Marburg, of the six thousand pounds' but now he was a lord as well. The girl that snagged him would become a Lady. Quite an inducement. Problem is, the likelihood of any girl catching him was woefully low. He was far more interested in charming their skirts off, than settling down with any one of them. He had a decent harem of actresses, as well.

Actresses? Darcy suddenly felt sick in the stomach.

An actress? Would Victor dare bring one of his actresses along to a London Ball? Good lord, Victor was capable of anything. The idea of Victor so completely possessing that soft, pliant female form made him want to wretch. He had allowed himself to feel an attraction for one of Victors conquests? The thought felt dirty and he wanted to push it away. But he couldn't; he mustn't. He owed it to Georgiana, to himself, to wholly punish himself with it.

Involuntarily, his mind flashed horrible images of Georgiana - with him. Of Victor, his arms about her waist, holding her tightly against the wall, forcing his lips against her neck.

They had been at a ball given by Lady Wimpleton - Victor's mother, Eudora. She was sweet, but silly creature, Lady Wimpleton. Fond of herself, of balls, dancing, and excessively proud of her son. She was also fond of high society, including that of the late Lady Anne Darcy. So when she planned to give a large London ball, she insisted that Fitzwilliam bring Georgiana along. No matter that the girl wasn't out, she'd said; it was about time the girl enjoyed herself, anyway. Georgiana wouldn't enjoy a Ball? What nonsense! what girl wouldn't, she wanted to know.

It never crossed her mind that the girl wouldn't be safe around her son. For that matter, it hadn't occurred to Fitzwilliam, either.

When Eudora hinted for a dance with him Darcy had found Georgie a quiet corner seat; where she could watch the goings on without attracting undue attention while he danced. Well, Victor had spotted her, anyway, hadn't he?

He greeted her charmingly, kissed her hand and begged for the honour of a dance. She knew that seeings she wasn't officially 'out' yet, it would be highly improper for her to stand up with him, but all she said was,

"In front of all these people?"

Big mistake.

He'd whisked her of to the music room, where they could dance in 'private.' And that was where her brother had found them - just in time to catch sight of Victor holding his own dear sister firmly against the wall, his lips on her neck; Georgiana, pale, trembling, and weakly trying to shove him off.

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

That had been the last time he'd seen Victor. The last time he had ever cared to see him. Then, he'd appeared by her side. The sight of him had brought it all back. That mocking grin...

It was really more than anyone could bear.

He could never forgive Victor, he decided. He wanted never to see him again, never to speak his name, never to hear his name spoken. He needed to get away... He had sent Georgiana back to Pemberley straight after the horrible incident. Now, he realized he desperately wanted to distance himself from it all, too.

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

When Darcy's best friend had begged him to come and stay with him at the country estate he was leasing, Darcy's refusal had been adamant.

"What?" he'd quipped, "leave Georgiana and London behind? I'm not out of my mind, yet!" And no, he wouldn't think of taking Georgiana, who knows where to.

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

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

Perfect. Caroline would be there. He would had an unrivaled opportunity to propose. It wouldn't be a love match, true, but he wanted, no, he needed more than anything else, to escape society and the strain his unmarried status was putting on him. It was too much to handle, anymore.

There was another reason for leaving...but he would not as readily admit to it. One that concerned flashing brown eyes that challenged and a lovely form that enticed. This, he hoped, would be the best way of insulating himself...

Cheered by his new resolve, he slipped under the bedcovers and pulled a pillow over his face, murmuring hoarsely into the soft cloth, as if in prayer, Oh Lord, a moments peace...a simple life. A woman I could love...and the death of Lord Wippleton - is that too much to ask? ...and then, with the morning sun filtering through the shades and caressing his face, he finally fell asleep.

To be continued......

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