A Chance Encounter

By Lisa Hope

Jump to new as of July 12, 1999
Jump to new as of July 20, 1999
Jump to new as of August 15, 1999

Prologue

Posted on Monday, 7 June 1999

"Leave me alone! Let me be!"

"Come on, my pet. No one will find us here; I can caress and touch you all I want without anyone coming upon us."

The garden walk was dim, cold and shadowy in the mid-Winter moonlight. Overhanging branches of oak trees danced in the breeze while the smell of evergreens permeated the chilled air.

"Oh yes," he said, smiling as he crept slowly towards her, "you will be my own little purring kitten. I've known since our first meeting that you were eager for me. His eyes raked over her form greedily. "I had to wait until I wed your sister. Now that that's done, nothing will stand in the way of us being together."

She watched as his fingers reached out and caressed the delicate skin of her neck and shoulder blades. "Don't fight me, my sweet. You have led me on a merry chase, but I will have you at last. I am not a patient man, come to me now and tell me how much you need me."

As he spoke, she had slowly moved backwards until she could go no further, for a tree was in her path. "You are mistaken, Mr. Wickham. I am your sister-in-law. You are newly married to my sister, Lydia."

Chapter 1

Posted on Tuesday, 8 June 1999

"Wickham, I have never tried to attract you. Any regard I have felt for you is based solely on the fact that you are now my brother-in-law. I have offered you sisterly affection, but nothing more. I will not accept your advances, please leave me alone." She pushed against his arms as he pinned her tightly against the trunk of a tree. He smiled at her, the raw desire in his eyes.

"You look enchanting in the moonlight. The way it glistens off your dark curls and highlights your many attributes makes me eager to sample your hidden delights." As he said this, his fingers progressed slowly along the edge of her low bodice.

"I am not your pet, unhand me at once! You b******! I'll tell Father what you are about. He will have you thrown out of the militia and tried for attempted rape."

"You will do no such thing, my sweet. It would kill the old man to hear how his great-nephew and heir was seduced by his own wife's sister. It won't take much to assist him to his grave, you know. Not that it would concern me much, after all, the sooner dear old Mr. Bennet meets his maker, the sooner I become master of this estate. The estate, and all who dwell within its protection." He twisted her arms above her head and pressed her against the rough bark and made to kiss her.

The garden path was isolated from the house by a tall brick wall-gate. During the day, servants could be found walking the path on their way to and from Meryton. During the evening however, the path was desolate except for the two grappling people. She knew there would be no one would wander by to help her, she had to help herself.

"No!"

Her first reaction was to bring her knee sharply up to hit him in the groin. She was a tomboy growing up, and learned to defend herself against the neighborhood boys. She was often teased and had once gotten away from the butcher's brutish son once that way.

"Damn you," he cried as his eyes glazed over and he fell writhing to the ground. "Damn You, Elizabeth Bennet!"

Chapter 2

Posted on Wednesday, 9 June 1999

Elizabeth ran from him. She needed to get as far away from him as fast as she could. Wickham and Lydia had been married less then a month. "How could he do such a thing, to her and to her elder sister?" she thought.

She remembered the day that Wickham arrived at Longbourn House. He was dressed in immaculate red regimentals. He was on leave from his militia unit based in Dover and was visiting at the request of his great-uncle that wanted to assess the only male descendent of the Wickham-Bennet line. Upon closer inspection, Mr. Bennett concluded that "Lieutenant" Wickham was a suave, slick-talking fop; but after all, he was family.

"Come and meet my lovely daughters," Mr. Bennett said after his introductions.

"Lydia, my eldest is 23 and Elizabeth is 20."

"Charmed, ladies" he said as he bent over to pass light kisses on his cousins hands. "The talk of your beauty is heard far and wide. I was desolate until I had the opportunity to see you for myself."

He leered openly at Lydia through heavily shaded eyes. Her tall, light brown hair and buxom figure were just to his liking and taste. "A pleasure, Miss Bennet," he said bowing without taking his eyes her person. "If only she were six or seven years younger," he thought.

Mr. Wickham then turned his gaze to Elizabeth. "Miss Elizabeth, I am eager to sample some of your......uh.......the witty conversation you are known for." I will have some fun with this one, he silently sneered, "She looks like she could be a wildcat, but I think with enough charm and guile, I could tame her."

Although she was not wholly unaffected by his manners, Elizabeth was not fooled by his fawning behavior. She shuddered as he paid false homage to her father. Wickham was boyishly eager to gain the old man's approval. From the way Lydia looked at him, she was eager to accept his attentions as well.

As she ran towards the house, Elizabeth frantically wondered what she would, or even could do. "Papa." She swallowed a sob. If she told him that his son-in-law of less then a month had tried to rape her, he would go into shock. It might even kill him. Only her dear papa stood between her and Wickham, but he was too old and frail to protect her. She reached her bedroom and quickly turned the key in the lock. During his attack, Wickham had promised to come to her that night and warned her not to lock her door. Time was of the essence. She needed to decide quickly what to do.

"Lydia, I will go to Lydia and together we will decide what is to be done. She will help me; then she won't have any doubts what kind of lecher she married."

Chapter 3

Posted on Thursday, 10 June 1999

Note: To clear things up to this point...Wickham is the heir to the Bennet home and living because he is the closest male relation. Wickham is newly married to Lydia.

Elizabeth cautiously made her way to Lydia's sitting room. She found her sister lounging in the window seat reading the latest La Belle Trousseau's fashion magazine. "Lizzy, you should see this. Your curry-colored Spencer and straw bonnet are not the least the fashion for ladies. I simply must go to London! I am sure Dear Wickham would take you too, but he has little time to spare from me. You could go to Uncle Gardiners house; I am sure he and Aunt Madeleine would love your help with the children."

"Lydia, we must speak now." Lydia sighed regretfully and laid her magazine aside.

"What do you want? Can't you see that I am quite busy?"

"Listen to me, Lydia! This is important. It's Wickham, Lydia - he just tried to rape me."

Lydia tossed her head and snorted. There was a twisted little smile on her lips. "Oh Lizzy, what a joke! Is this some sort of new game or folly from London or Bath? You are telling me that my dearest husband of less then a month has attacked you? I can not believe it. Are you so envious of my new marriage and situation, that you must concoct these lies?"

Elizabeth stared numbly at her elder sister, reluctant to believe the coldness in her sister's voice. "You don't understand, look at my neck, look at my shoulders. You can see clearly the marks that he left on me." Elizabeth cried as she exhibited the finger shaped bruises imprinted on her skin.

"You are dirty, that is all. You are always roaming in the dust and muck, Lizzy. It is a wonder you do not disgrace the whole family by walking around in such a fashion."

"You must hear me, Lydia. I went for a walk in the garden after supper. I wanted to pick flowers for father's study. I was in a secluded part of the path, when I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. Wickham had followed me there. He knew that no one would be near to help me, or even hear me I'd screamed. Can you not see, sister? He wanted me, and didn't want any witnesses to the fact that he was molesting his own sister-in-law. He has no honor, he is malicious and cruel."

Lydia rose slowly to her feet. She was several inches taller then her younger sister, and therefore looked down her nose at Elizabeth. There was an intense hatred in her eyes now. "How dare you think that my husband, my lover, would be interested in someone like you? Dear, dear Wickham would never want you. Why would he, when he can have me? You are nothing better then a tomboy. I am married to the man who stands to inherit papa's estate and living; I will bear the heir and be mistress of Longbourn House, and you, dear sister, will be nothing."

"Sister, your husband even threatened to kill papa if I told him what he'd tried to do. You must help me decide what we must do. You must believe me for the sake of our father."

"You will cease propagating these lies, Elizabeth." Lydia said forcibly. "I forbid you from telling such absurd nonsense. I beg you to remember, he is my husband and our relation."

"Lydia, do you not understand what I am telling you. Look at me, see where your husband has damaged me, listen to the threats he made against our father. Are these all signs of a loving and devoted husband? I am sorry for informing you of this, but you would not believe me. He is not worthy of you, or to be the heir of our household. We must decide quickly what the best course of action would be. What shall we do?"

Lydia snorted.

Chapter 4

Posted on Friday, 11 June 1999

She smoothed the soft yellow muslin of her skirts as she stood up and slowly walked around her sister. "I take it you are still chaste, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth stared at her sister's indifferent response. She had expected Lydia to fly into high-pitched squeals of fury at Wickham, or at least to make claims about being used "extremely ill."

"Well, are you? Are you a deaf-mute? Can't you speak? Answer me!"

Elizabeth didn't want to answer. Her face reddened as she remembered how his hands had felt as he touched her. She had hated him. How she still hated him. In an instance, he had taken away her feelings of security, of love and compassion in her childhood home.

"Yes, I am still chaste, but no thanks to your husband!"

A self-satisfying smile appeared on Lydia's face. "Lord, what a good joke Lizzy! All that happened was that dearest Wickham was trying to show you some sisterly affection. You must have taken his attentions the wrong way." Elizabeth stood by, stunned.

"What happened is that you teased poor George, and him being a handsome, virile young man, he happily accompanied you to the garden. When you realized he had every attention of taking your teasing seriously, you ran away from him." She starred at her sister with such a look of apathy that Elizabeth was unable to talk for several moments.

"You play the innocent very well, Elizabeth, but I have always known that you were jealous of my marriage and happiness. You wanted him from the start, but he choose me! You have tried to seduce him, there is nothing more to say about it."

"Listen to me Lydia. You cannot truly believe what you just said. You know I would not purposefully try to seduce your husband, or any married man. I told you the truth sister, he is wicked and cruel. You must help me, help yourself."

Lydia's face darkened and disdain filled her brown eyes. "Now you will listen to me, you spoiled little wretch. Ever since our mother died birthing you, you have been a thorn in my side. Papa should have shunned you and sent you to live with relatives. Why did he need your presence as a daily reminder that his sainted wife was no longer with him? All our lives, I have watched you twist father around your little finger, wheedle your way into his heart and everyone else's affections. So much so that they had no love left for me. "

"I have not tried..."

"Father even allowed me a season in London with our Aunt Gardiner, hoping that I would find a husband so he could be rid of me for good. He did not understand that eligible gentleman would not be interested in a young girl without family, connections or fortune. It wasn't to be endured. But through all of the torment, I always knew my place was here, even though you have done everything in your power to appropriate my position as the eldest."

"I am sure that Papa never meant..."

"No more Elizabeth, I am Wickham's wife. When the old man dies, I shall be the undisputed mistress here. When that time comes, I have doubts whether my husband and I will allow you to live here. "

After his wife passed away giving birth to Elizabeth, Mr. Bennett was forced to deal with an infant and young child without the knowledge or experience usually associated with raising children. He had left the primary care of the girls to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Phillips and to various nursemaids and governess' throughout the years. Elizabeth was an active, happy child who was eager to please and had a love of learning that matched her fathers. Her sister however, was just the opposite. Because of a lack of interest from her father, and the constant change in caregivers, Lydia had grown up and an all-around holy-terror. At first, people were required to spend more time with the infant Elizabeth in order to see to her needs, but later on, the child seemed to attract their attention like a magnet. Lydia however, desired to gain attention through practical jokes, whining, and tantrum throwing. The child was given whatever she desired immediately, because no one wanted to deal with her temper. She also grew up vastly jealous of her younger sister.

When the girls grew up, not much was different. Lydia's interests changed from jokes to clothing and military men. Her main thrill in life was walking into Meryton to shop and flirt with the officers of the militia, and to laud her conquests over her sister's head. She was as silly as she was ignorant. No one had been able to teach her much beyond basic reading, grammar and arithmetic, and she therefore couldn't make conversation beyond idol gossip or the latest fashion trends.

Elizabeth slowly came to realize that the tantrums and hostility that her sister has always shown the world masked a bitterness of spirit that went deep. She struggled to understand her hatred, her defense of the man who didn't deserve to be her husband or part of the family circle. The answer was simple; she wanted him because she wanted to rule the roost.

"If you will not help me, then I must go to father. I can not ignore what Wickham has threatened to do to me. I simply won't wait like a weak, helpless female for him to come and abuse me." She turned on her heals and quickly left the room.

Lydia yelled after her down the hall, "If you have the nerve to carry your lies to father, I shall tell him that in your jealousy, you threw yourself at Wickham and he rejected your advances!"

Lizzy stopped and turned to face her. "Think of what would happen, sister. You would be shunned and disgraced as a loose woman and seductress. What do you think Papa would do then?"

"He wouldn't believe you. I would tell him the truth."

"Go on, Elizabeth, go to him. How long do you think it will be before you lose his doting affection after he learns what you have done? Wickham is his heir. Father will take his side because through him he gains the knowledge that a piece of his lineage will live on down the family tree. Perhaps this scandal would lead father to an early grave? And it would all be on your hands."

Salty tears made their way down Elizabeth's cheek at the harsh words. She carelessly wiped them away with the back of her hand.

"You know, there is nothing really to keep you here at Longbourn. If you are indeed concerned about my dear husband's attentions towards you, perhaps it would be better if you leave. Lydia turned away and walked slowly back into her room. "Leave me. I do not want to see your lying face again."

Chapter 5

Posted on Saturday, 12 June 1999

Knowing she could not go back to her bedchamber, Elizabeth ran quickly to her father's library and curled herself under the desk. She would be safe here, for the moment anyway. From her vantagepoint, she could see through the window that it had started to snow. Light, downy flakes fell from the sky as the tears fell down her cheeks.

"I can not stay here another day, " she thought to herself. "But where will I go?"

Elizabeth fell into a fitful sleep, waking at dawn, and quietly made her way to her bedchamber for a change of clothes and a warm winter cloak. She crept outdoors and down to the stables.

She slowly opened the wooden stable door so that it wouldn't squeak and rouse suspicion. It wouldn't have made much difference though, because the light dusting of snow which had fallen earlier was now piled a third of the way up the door. In the dark, Elizabeth made her way to her old mare, Kindra. Elizabeth quickly attached the bridle and saddle to the horse and rode out into the darkness and the cold.

Upon Wickham's marriage, he had taken control of several day to day operations of the household. His first 'act of economy' was too sell off most of the horses and dismiss the stable lads. Now, only Kindra and Hercules were left. Hercules was Lt. Wickham's mean-spirited war-horse, who could not be made to do anything on the estate except to bite the servants. Mysteriously, the household account books never received any record of monies received for the horses. It wasn't questioned, but assumed that the good Lieutenant had pocketed the money.

Had it only been a few hours since Wickham's indecent behavior and Lydia's betrayal? It seemed like an eternity in the dizzying cold and snow filled sky. She could barely make out the trees in her path as shapeless dark masses against a white backdrop. The pristine snow lay waste to the once familiar landscape and had covered the path long ago. The horse gave her harness a shake and neighed as if to ask if there was some mistake to be out on a day such as this. The storm raged on in the woods, dark and deep with snow.

She pressed her chilled hand against her waist and felt some hope at the thought of the
six pounds hidden safely away in her bodice. It would be enough to buy her passage on the stage to Cheapside, to her Aunt Gardiner.

Elizabeth pushed the horse onwards. Surely she had rode in the right direction. It could not be too much farther to Meryton. Her attire was not suitable for a snowstorm she soon found out. Her fingers and hands were frost bitten, and her lips were dead white. Her teeth were chattering loudly, it was the only sound heard on the sweep of icy wind and downy snow. She had lost the feeling in her toes long ago. She knew her situation was very bad.

"I only have to go a little farther..."

She nudged the horse through the thick underbrush and through the trees. She felt a wave of hope when she was certain that the trees cleared in the near distance. "Yes," she gasped in a raspy voice. "Up ahead, there is an opening. I shall nearly be to Meryton."

Suddenly, Elizabeth went flying. The horse had stumbled over a root hidden by the snowdrifts and had thrown her from her seat. Elizabeth's fingers were too cold to stop her descent and landed face down on the frozen ground. She was stunned by the suddenness and force of the fall, and so she stayed where she had landed.

"I will stay here for a moment or two, no longer," she thought to herself. "I need to rest for just a little while so that I may regain my strength."

She closed her eyes.

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.

Chapter 6

Posted on Sunday, 13 June 1999

"Damn it!"

Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire drew up the reins of his bay stallion and gazed at the bleak, white wilderness around him.

"Damn you Charles," he grumbled. "Well, at least damn your lack of directional sense."

He liked the good-natured Charles, truly he did, but this was too much. The directions he had given Darcy to Netherfield Park had landed him right in the middle of a forest during a snowstorm. He had known him since their days at Cambridge and had gone through a lot with him, but the next time he saw Charles Bingley, he would shoot him.

"That is, if I ever see him again."

Mr. Darcy had been riding through forest for what seemed to be days instead of just hours. He had seen no signs of the turn-off to the estate. When he had left the town of Meryton, the innkeeper had assured him that Netherfield lay only 2 miles ahead. But now, here he was in the middle of nowhere without so much as a farmhouse near to ask for shelter.

He had been a fool to wave his carriage and servants off. Darcy had been eager to reach Netherfield as soon as possible so that he might share a bottle of cognac before dinner. His valet and footman were probably warm and fed at the Inn, and here was their master - cold, wet, hungry and lost.

"Giddy-up Apollo, if we stay here much longer, Bingley's sister, Caroline may come after us herself. She would have no trouble leading the search party. Her man-hunting instincts, he observed, were better then a bloodhounds!"

It was getting late; it would be dark soon.

Darcy blinked as Apollo made his way slowly through the trees. Suddenly, a splash of red peaking out from a small mound of snow caught his attention.

"What the devil could that be? " he said as he made his way over to investigate. "Probably some poor rabbit or doe caught in a trap. " He dismounted into calf-height snowdrifts and grabbed his hunting rifle off the back of the saddle. Better to put the animal out of its misery now instead of letting it freeze to death.

As he got closer to the area, he was shocked to see that the red was not the blood of an animal, but the velvet of a cloak.

He immediately stooped down and turned the owner of the cloak over. He was shocked to discover that the cloak belonged to a delicate creature with dark hair and deathly white features.

"Oh my God..."

Chapter 7

Posted on Tuesday, 15 June 1999

Oh my God...

He kneeled besides her, lifting her half upon his knee and ran his hand along side her jawbone and down to her neck. "Yes, she still has a pulse, faint, but strong." He made sure she breathing; Darcy watched as her chest slightly rose and fell with each shallow breath that she took.

He needed to get her warm quickly if she was going to survive. Darcy carefully lowered her to the ground and made his way back to his horse. He reached into the saddle pack on the rump of the horse and pulled out his extra greatcoat. The snow was deep, but he made his way back to her with a strength caused by fear.

Checking her again to make sure she was still breathing, he gently wrapped the greatcoat around the cold figure. The concern he felt for this lost soul made him not even feel her weight as he picked up the freezing bundle of cloak and woman. It was then that he felt her shudder slightly in his arms. She murmured softly as if to protest being handled in such a fashion, but he knew her to be beyond hearing. He whispered gently to her about his concern.

"Do not fear, madam. You must trust your care to me; I will not harm you in any way."

That seemed to settle her, and she fell back into unconsciousness. He had meant what he said. He did not know who she was, or where she had come from, but she was a woman in need and that is all that mattered to him. It wasn't well known in his circle of friends, but Darcy had a weakness for the unfortunate and helpless. In company, he was perceived as the most arrogant and stolid of men, but in practice his good heart led him to spectacular acts of charity.

Darcy made his way to his horse and lifted the bundle to the front of the saddle and quickly jumped up behind her. He held the rein with one hand and wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling over. It was an intimate position to be in, but he had no choice but to hold her thus. The unknown woman slumped against his chest and he wrapped the edges around her to share his warmth with her.

From what little of the sunset he could see, he knew that they needed to head south. He turned the horse in the correct direction and started off. The snow was coming down harder, making it more difficult to see ahead of him.

He blew on her kid leather encased hands in and effort to warm them. The woman had moments of lucidity, but they did not last long enough for him to get any information from her. Still, in an effort to keep her awake and aware, he kept talking to her.

"You need to keep awake. I have seen storms far worse then this one. It will blow over soon enough. Have you ever seen London in winter? There is a park where one may go sledding or ice-skating. Have you ever been there?"

Darcy continued talking about pedantic topics and polite inquiries with her which, as a whole, went unanswered by his companion. They traveled had traveled for not more then a quarter of an hour, fighting their way through phantom white trees and snow, when they came to what looked like a large cottage, half hidden by the snow.

He looked at the building looming ahead of him out of the snow like a great, dark angel of mercy. As examined the building, he came to the realization that it was no simple farmer's cottage, but a hunting lodge.

There was no smoke coming from the chimney, nor could candles be seen in the windows. The lodge, he thought, was probably deserted for the season. He led the horse to the stable and got the unlatched door open. It wasn't luxurious, but at least the stable was dry and did not let the frigid air in.

"Now let's see if I can get you warm."

He gently dismounted then reached up and lifted her off the horse. There were no animals farmed here at the moment, but Darcy could see a clean pile of hay in one of the stalls. He laid the semi-conscious form carefully down on the ground. A horse blanket was draped nearby and he arranged it around her prostrate form.

"I need to leave you now to see if there is anyone in the lodge, at present. I will only be gone momentarily."

Darcy made his way towards the stable door and looked back regretfully. He did not want to leave her in such a state, but he needed to find a more suitable shelter for her. And a fireplace as well.

Chapter 8

Posted on Thursday, 17 June 1999

He knocked on the front door. No answer. Darcy glanced back at the stable, he had only been gone for a few minutes, but they were precious moments he could not spare. He banged on the door louder. Still, no answer, no lights in the windows nor servants at the doors.

He had to get in...for her. The sun was setting and they needed protection from the storm and cold. The temperature would drop fast. There was only one thing he could do.

"Baines is going to be most upset with me, but a gentleman must do what he can for the survival of a lady."

The gentleman backed himself away a few paces, braced his shoulder and ran at the door full speed.

WHOOMP

He fell back onto the snowy ground. "Ugh," he grimaced holding his shoulder and arm. He gingerly got off the cold ground and looked at the door. The wood around the handle had splintered a good amount, but not enough to break the lock. He tried again.

WHOOMP

Again, he fell to the ground. He grasped his shoulder in pain. "I believe I will have to cancel my fencing practices for the next few months." He looked at the entrance again. One more hard push would break it in completely. He braced his aching shoulder and ran at the weak spot in the wood frame.

WHOOMP...CRASH!!!

The door came crashing in and he fell once again, but this time onto the straight wood boards of the hunting lodge's foyer. He cried out in pain at his strained shoulder.

"I don't have time for this," he stiffly drew in his breath and got up the floor.

The lodge was lit only by the moon shining off the snow through the windows. . He didn't stay longer then a moment but noted the contents of the room in one sweeping glance. He saw a large fireplace and several large, leather chairs. There was a deer head and hunting rifles in a rack on the wall; a stand of wood stacked near the broken threshold. He also saw what was the most important commodity in his life at the moment, a book of matches.

He sent up a silent prayer of thanks. With these, he might be able to save her life.

He stumbled through the wind and snow carefully keeping his eyes focused on the large, brown stable. The door slammed open, and he rushed inside and fastened it with the steel latch bar. It was almost pitch-black inside.

"Where are you?" he yelled against the sound of the wind as he felt around the room with his hands. "Can you hear the sound of my voice, miss? If you can hear me, please answer me!" From his left, he heard the sound of rustling hay and a soft whimper.

"Hold on, I am coming." He followed the noise until he found her. Darcy didn't need his eyes because he could hear her teeth chattering violently from out of the darkness. His eyes were adjusting to the dim light when he saw her. She was lying on her side, her arms wrapped around her knees.

"Where...am...I?" she whispered hoarsely between the chattering of her teeth.

"Shhh. There will be enough time for me to explain later. Right now, I need to get you to the lodge and in front of a warm fire."

She didn't have time to protest, for he gathered her up, wet cloaks and all and headed out the stable doors into the snow.

Chapter 9

Posted on Tuesday, 22 June 1999

Clutching the now unconscious woman to his chest, he carried her through the broken front door into the hunting lodge. He kicked the broken door closed and pushed a small chest against it to keep out the wind and snow.

"Please hold on a little longer" he whispered. Darcy felt the cold and wetness emanating from her clothes as she pressed against him. The cold air leaked still leaked through the crack in the doorframe and was making the room exceedingly cold.

"I need to get her out this draft. "

Carrying her as gently as a near born babe, he looked around the room for a warm place to lay her down. It was then that he saw the stairs to the second floor. "A bed chamber!" he exclaimed. Without a thought to impropriety of being in a bed chamber alone with what he assumed was a respectable young lady, he raced up the steps two at a time.

He found a large bedchamber at the end of the hall and laid her down on the soft, linen-covered bed. Darcy walked to the fireplace and lit the stack of kindling left next to the fireplace by the room's last occupant. It took him several tries to get the timber aflame, but he had not had to do such a task in quite a long time. That's what servants were for, after all.

She was soaked through and he knew that he needed to get the clothes off of her before she could get warm. He removed the cloaks from around her shoulders and then after a light pang of conscience struck him, he removed her gown. Darcy turned around and put them to dry near the fireplace.

He turned back, and his eyes opened wide and his breath caught at the sight he beheld. He walked to the side of the bed and stared down at her. She looked to him, for all the world, to be an angel fallen from heaven. Deathly white limbs slipped out from beneath the white cotton of her chemises. Shining hair wet from the snow lay across her shoulders and dark eyelashes fanned out from her closed eyes. He had never seen anyone like her in all his life.

"Who are you, Angel? " he half whispered to out loud and tucked the sheets and counterpane tightly around her form.

While he undressed her, he had kept his eyes his hands directly on task and his eyes averted whenever possible. When he undid the tiny row of pearls that lined the back of her dress, he did his best, in his own mind at least, to treat her like an object instead of the beautiful woman she obviously was.

He removed himself from starring at her face and went to remove her boots. He saw that they were light riding boots, made for a springtime canter in the park, not trekking out into a snowstorm. It hit him then, if she was wearing riding boots, where was her horse? From her clothing, Darcy could see that she was no servant, but the clothing weren't of the quality he was used to. In his observation of her, he noticed that her hands were not rough with toil and she did not have the 'older then her years' look about her that a servant might. He concluded that whoever she was, she was definitely a gentlewoman.

A noise from the bed broke him out of his reverie. The woman was thrashing under the weight of the bed covers, tossing her head from side to side.

Her face was flushed and her skin glistened from sweat. He sat down beside her and pressed his hands to her forehead and cheek.

Darcy had feared this; the cold and exposure had brought on a putrid fever.

Chapter 10

Posted on Monday, 28 June 1999

He stacked his arms with linens from shelves in the downstairs hall closet. "Shelves in the closet?" he thought. "What a strange thought, indeed!"

There was a small well of water left in the kitchen so Darcy filled a small bucket with the stuff. He looked out the frosted window onto the dense layers of frozen white that lay outside the lodge door. "If need be, at least there is an endless supply of water at our disposal" he smirked in irony. The kitchen was well stocked with supplies, he noticed. "How fortunate," he thought. "We won't starve to death either."

As he walked back into the bedchamber, he heard her labored breathing before he saw her. With each intake of breath, her lungs gave off a loud crackling sound. He tensed, remembering a similarly torturous sound coming from his own sister as an infant.

Georgianna had barely survived her illness, and had only come through it with the help of the top physicians available. He was only boy at the time, but he still recalled the helplessness he had felt, not being able to do anything for her.

He shook himself from his reverie and strode quickly to her side, depositing the bucket and linens next to the bed. The sheets had been ripped from away from her body by her own restless hands and lay heaped on the floor. Her hair was coming loose from its moorings and was a tangle on the pillow.

Darcy picked up the discarded blankets and placed them again around her. "It is okay, Angel. I am here now. I told you that I would not be long. Hush." He crooned softly as he pushed an arrant raven lock from her face.

She moaned and pressed weakly against the cool metal of his signet ring that was resting against her hot cheek.

He removed his hand from her flushed face and picked up a wash cloth from the pile on the floor. The delicate cloth was repeatedly dipped into the cool water and then placed on her forehead.

"There, doesn't that feel nice now?" He dipped the cool, wet cloth into the bucket again and ever so gently ran it over her face, neck and breastbone in an effort to reduce her fever.

Her eyes flickered open in response to the coolness, and took a deep inhalation of air. They closed just as rapidly from the pain her lungs gave her for her trouble.

"Madam," he soothed, trying his best to get her to wake. He had to keep her lucent, he knew. He did not know much about caring for the ill, but he knew he had to make sure she did not slip into unconsciousness again if she were to survive.

"I do not wish to play nurse-maid to a woman whose name or family background I do not even know. Pray, who are your uncles and aunts?" he smiled at his mocking imitation of Lady Catherine's vulgar proclamations. Fortunately for him, the formidable lady was not present.

He cupped her chin in his hand. She made to turn away, but he held her firm. "Come on now, you have been dull company for long enough. It is time for you to wake up. Open your eyes for me." He shifted his position so that he was leaning over her, his face above hers. "I am not accustomed to waiting for people to obey my orders, madam" he said with a hint of anger and agitation in his voice.

She could hear the force and strong tones as if she were hearing his voice echo from the top of Oakham Mount. She could not muster enough strength to open her eyes, as much as she would like to. She couldn't understand what he was saying, but he sounded angry at her.

A moment passed before she moaned something indistinguishable and arched her head back in an effort to escape from the malevolent presence she felt. Because his face was directly above hers, his lips unintentionally came in contact with her soft mouth and chin. The caress sent shock waves though his senses.

He stared down at her intently, inches from her face.

"Is this all the reply in which I am to receive?"

Chapter 11

Posted on Tuesday, 6 July 1999

She couldn't comprehend what the man was saying to her. The delicate lashes on her eyes felt weighed down by some unseen force. She forced her eyes open and blinked several times in an effort to clear them. Her vision was still clouded; a figure of a man was leaning inches away pinning her to the bed with his hands on either side of her head.

Fear tightly gripped her in her fever-addled state.

"Please George. No, please no!" she cried and wildly tried to push her perceived attacker away. "Do not touch me, George. Leave me be!"

He looked down at her thrashing figure, trying to figure out the reason for the terror he saw on her face. He had never in his life seen a woman look at him such in his entire life. Admiration with a look of money-lust, yes, but never fear.

"I knew you would have fine eyes" he spoke softly trying to calm her as he held her shoulders. "Brown with flecks of gold."

She continued straining against him in an effort to escape from the binding arms that kept her on the bed.

"No! You mustn't! No Geor..." she whimpered as the last of her strength drained from her body. Her struggles stopped and she laid her head back on the pillow, exhausted from her outburst.

"Madam...Angel...I am not the man you speak of. Please know that I would never do you any harm. Nor would I let anyone else harm you. Please do not be afraid of me." He knew it was not his place to make such promises to a strange girl, but he felt the need to waylay her fears.

He stared down at the now still form. She had fallen into an exhausted slumber. Her exertions had left her skin hot to the touch and the sheets tangled around her legs.

"Unhand me this instance, sir!

He stared at her, shocked, but didn't remove his hands from her. She seemed lucent. Her clear brown eyes filled with rage were boring holes in his person

"Who are you? Where am I?" she spoke in a panicked voice and looked around the room and then back at the dark eyed man.

"You are safe. I found you in the woods nearly frozen to death in the snowstorm. I brought you here."

"And where is here, sir?" she said half sarcastically.

"I am ashamed to say, that I do not know for certain myself."

She exhaled deeply in frustration and then succumbed to a fit of coughing. Darcy watched her sympathetically and twisted his signet ring nervously around his finger. It was beyond his comprehension to sit next to her and do nothing, when she was in pain.

Darcy reached out and picked her up so that she was sitting, leaning against his broad chest with her head resting on his shoulder. He rubbed and pounded his open hand lightly against her back trying to loosen the congestion in her chest.

"Go on, cough for me Angel. Once your lungs are clear, you will feel much better." He held a cloth up to her mouth.

When she was spent, Darcy gently lowered her back down to the bed. She no longer had any fight in her and submitted to his gentle administrations. He placed a cool cup of water he had procured from the pantry to her lips and watched her sip a bit of the fluid.
She could not swallow much, and he soon removed the cup to the floor.

She closed her eyes against the pain she felt in her chest and ribs. She no longer cared who the mysterious man was. All she cared about was drowning herself in sleep.

She was deeply asleep; her breath was coming regularly, but still held its wheezing tone. Every few seconds, she would emit a hacking cough, but she did not wake up.

He had been concentrating so much on her welfare, that he didn't see to his own needs. It had been several hours since he brought her to the lodge and even longer since he had eaten last.

Growing up at Pemberley, he had had no reason or need to cook his own meals, or even visit the kitchen. It was much the same in his London house. The food arrived from the kitchens already prepared and often very edible. Chicken arrived with crčme sauce, not feathers. Fruits were almost undistinguishable, stuffed in pies and tarts. He had little experience with what actually went into concocting a meal, but he knew he would have to overcome his inexperience and aversion if they were not to starve to death.

Darcy made sure the coverlet was tucked tightly around the woman's form, and gently touched the back of his hand to her forehead. She still was hot to the touch, but not flailing about in delirium as before.

He took the empty water bucket and crept silently to the doorway, being careful not to disturb her.

To ease his concern for her and put his mind towards a task which would benefit both of them, Darcy began to muse about his parents and their charitable work around the Christmas season as he made his way to the kitchen

When he was a boy, he recalled the family carrying baskets full of delicacies from the Pemberley kitchens to the poorest among the tenants. He had spent many joyful hours, making puddings and broth with the cook, Mrs. Barnes, in eager anticipation of bringing happiness to the needy. And if he were a good boy, the jolly woman would give him a taste of the sweet apple butter she kept for special occasions.

As he grew older, the time spent aiding the poor was instead spent writing cheques for new farm equipment, church funds, or providing adequate drainage, rather than in hands on communications. The tenants needs were taken care of without fail by the estate's solicitor. He now kept himself apart from the day to day doings of the people who depended on him for support. He no longer visited the kitchens. Mrs. Barnes had retired from service when his father died, and he had hired 3 French chefs to replace her, French chefs being the fashion of the time. The kitchens had lost their pleasant reminiscence for him. The sense of warmth and belonging he had felt in years gone by had been eclipsed by his sense of decorum and pride in own situation.

He had not set foot in a kitchen since then. But he would now, for her.

Chapter 12

Posted on Monday, 12 July 1999

Darcy raised the dried beef strips to his nose. He was repulsed by the sight of the unappealing food staple and quickly put it back down on the table.

"I suppose I will it eat, if I absolutely must," he grumbled.

He looked at the array of supplies he had gathered and laid out on the sturdy wood kitchen table. It was all he could find when he tore through what was left of the pantry. The lodge was made for bachelors, and had no real comforts for ladies. The food staples consisted of dry meat and vegetables, tins of flour, baking soda, salt, a small cask of wine and a large barrel of ale. There were smaller amounts of sugar, tea, spices, and other conveniences.

He looked over at the large cooking cauldron hanging in the kitchens spacious fireplace. From the ingredients, he knew that he could make a satisfying broth. Satisfying enough for someone with an undiscerning palate, that is. But the warm concoction, no matter what it tasted like, would be extremely beneficial to the young woman lying above- stairs.

Darcy removed his jacket and went to work filling the pot with water and light the kitchen fireplace. While waiting for the water to boil, he diced the tough beef strips, dried carrots, turnips, and potatoes in small pieces. He then mixed up flour and water in a bowl to thicken the soup, although most of the table and his waistcoat ended up covered with the thick white paste.

"The stuff is stickier then toffee pudding," he exclaimed as he flicked the impertinent dough from his sleeve. He glance over at the fireplace.

"Why does water take so blasted long to boil?" he said impatiently. It didn't really occur to him that the hot water the servants filled his bath with every day did not naturally come at that temperature. He now wondered how his manservant ever dealt with the demands that his water be ready in an instant. It took time, he realized, for the servants to heat enough water and carry it up the several flights of stairs to his bedchamber. Maybe when he got back to civilization, he wouldn't be so demanding.

In its own time, the water heated and bubbled. He carefully scraped the meat and vegetables into pot and stirred the medley with a long wooden spoon.

Darcy then turned his attentions to brewing a strong pot of tea. He wished for some laudanum to put in the cup for her, but there was none available in the hunting lodge, since gentleman did not find the urge to faint dead away at every loud noise or strong tone of voice.

He had no idea if she were the type of woman who kept a perpetual supply of smelling salts handy at all times, like his cousin Anne, or if she had a stronger constitution. He thought that she must, after all, he found her in the woods in a snowstorm. No sickly woman would have dared venture out in weather such as this he pondered, looking out the window at the slowly abating storm.

The soup was beginning to let off pleasant aromas. Darcy looked at the pot, pleased with himself for being the best and most capable chef in the whole world. He dipped the spoon into the pot and raised to his lips. He blew on the hot mixture to cool it and then put the spoon in his mouth.

"Ugh!" he sputtered as he spit the offensive material out of his mouth and onto the floor. The gruel was mostly made up of hard carrot chunks, and even harder pieces of beef jerky in a base of water. The remainder of the "soup" had slipped off the spoon and landed in the crisp white of his cravat.

He looked down at his soiled apparel in disgust. He unwound the linen from his throat, now and then plucking a stray bit of turnip from its creases. Its owner then threw the garment none too gently over the back of a nearby chair leaving its ends dangling in a stray bit of broth on the floor.

Darcy stared at the repulsive brew and wondered what had gone wrong. Had he forgotten something from the recipe that the cook and he had made together in his youth? Impossible! For his memory was impeccable.

His gaze swept over the table in an effort to job his memory. At the end of table, he spotted it. The forgotten, thickening rue for the soup! The one ingredient needed to turn vegetable water into a fulfilling meal! He sheepishly picked up the bowl and poured the mixture into the simmering pot and stirred. He was not the best and most capable chef in the world, after all. But he was trying.

After keeping a watchful eye on the pot for another 15 minutes, Darcy again raised his creation to his lips. This time, the soup was now quite a bit thicker and more palatable than before. His distinguishing taste buds, however, continued to find fault with it.

"It is not appetizing enough to tempt me!" he professed to no one in particular. But there was no one in the room, besides himself, to provide praise or censure at his proclamation.

"Damn, where are the Bingley sisters when you need them?!"

Chapter 13

Posted on Monday, 19 July 1999

Darcy scrounged around the cupboards for soup bowls and utensils, but was disappointed to find only cheap Wedgwood china instead of the good quality ones he was accustomed to. And one plate and saucer even had a crack! What kind of owner was this who put up with damaged serving wares in his own lodge? Either he was not a very discerning individual, or he just lacked the capital to invest in leisure pursuits.

He pondered the question no more at present, for the owner would surely not comeback for a few days at the very least.

The teakettle had been squealing and steaming for the past 10 minutes while Darcy had been daydreaming. He ran to unhook it from the fireplace, and in his haste, grabbed the scalding hot metal handle.

"Yeow!" he yelled and quickly jerked his hand away from the heat. " For the love of..." Darcy ran to the kitchen door, through it open, and thrust his injured hand into a snowdrift.

He carried the soup and tea up on a tray to the bedroom where she lay.

Darcy made a rather amusing picture, standing in the doorway of Elizabeth's room. He carried a tray containing the soup and tea with one hand wrapped in several linen napkins. His dark hair and what remained of his clothing was covered with a mixture of flour dust and food stains. The flour gave him a rather distinguished look, as it was formed into a line down the middle of his head.

He was surprised to see his mystery woman awake and sitting up in bed.

"You shouldn't be sitting up. You are not strong enough yet!" he exclaimed in alarm.

"Well sir, I awoke and found myself quite alone" she said rather testily. "Have you been out hunting by any chance?" She suppressed a smile.

Darcy laid the tray on the bed table and went to sit lightly on the bed by her side. He looked at her with a confused expression on his powdery face. "No I have not. Why do you ask?"

"Then perhaps you were modeling for a pastoral painting?

"Madam, I do not see where this line of questioning is leading." He was becoming more bemused at nonsensical behavior.

She reached her hand out weakly and ruffled his hair. A fine mist of white came showering down on the floor and counterpane.

"Your appearance is rather shocking, sir. Is wearing your hair patterned like a striped-skunk the latest fashion for men in London?"

Shocked, Darcy reached up and ran his hand through his mane; a cloud of white floated around his head and shoulders like a cloud. He quickly swiped most of the remaining flour from his hair and slowly raised his eyes to hers, embarrassment reddening his features. Her eyes were twinkling with mirth. Fine eyes, he noticed.

She could not contain herself any longer and burst out laughing. "I am sorry...it is just that...giggle...I have never seen such a sight before" she spoke between fits of laughter.

Darcy was a bit put out. He frowned. Who was she to laugh at him? He, the master of Pemberley and the recipient of a living that made him the envy of many an aristocrat?

He was about to place a stinging retort upon her head when she started to cough violently from the exertion of making him look foolish. One look at her struggling to breathe made him forget about the injury to his pride. He leaned over and started to pat her back until the racking convulsion subsided.

"Here," he said handing her a cup of the tea he had made. "Take a sip of this, it will make you feel better."

She took the cup shakingly in her hands. Her energy almost exhausted, she held it to her lips and nearly succeeded in upsetting the remainder of the liquid into her lap. The cup was gently removed from her grasp and held by a pair of masculine hands to her parted lips.

"It seems that you are in need of some assistance, madam."

Elizabeth knew she wasn't strong enough to protest. She sipped the soothing tea slowly until she could drink no more and pushed the cup away.

He removed the cup from her hands and fluffed the bed pillows behind her back to make it easier to sit upright.

"You are in for a treat," he grinned at her. Darcy walked to the small table and uncovered the bowl of beef and vegetable soup. A delightful smell reached his nostrils. He ladled the broth into two bowls and went back to his seat on the bed.

"This is an original concoction," he looked at her with pride at his accomplishment in his eyes. "I hope you appreciate the fact that I never have had to cook my own meals before. You should feel honored, I made this especially for you."

She looked at him questioningly. What sort of man was this who offended at the same time he sought praise at doing a simple task? The offense she felt soon gave way to hunger pangs. "Even if he is a fool, I need to stay in his company long enough to eat." So she held off giving him the sharp edge of her rapier wit. She felt as if she hadn't eaten for weeks. Her mouth watered at the smell of the meaty broth placed being held out to her.

"I thank you, sir. I am sure it will be delicious." She was rewarded by a shy smile on his face, which revealed a sweet dimple on his cheek.

His own bowl lay unattended in his lap while he stared at her, wanting to see her reaction when she tasted the soup. Elizabeth took the handle scooped a generous amount onto the spoon and placed it in her mouth.

"What do you think?" he stated eagerly even before she had a chance to swallow.

"It is very...refreshing...sir."

Darcy's face fell. After all the effort he had put into the soup, her only reaction was that it was refreshing? He had been expecting a flood of praise, but instead got a mere trickle. If he had placed the same effort into doing something for any other woman, he would have been lavishly complimented and fawned over. He tried to understand why this woman's response to him was so different then the norm.

"Is your stomach giving you pain?" he quipped.

"No, I am not in pain, it is just that the soup...well...the soup is a bit bland."

"Bland?" he said incredulously.

"What, perchance, is wrong with it? I'll admit that the ingredients may have left something to be desired, but they were edible, surely!"

She was getting angry. "Please taste it yourself, and see if I have been mistaken."

He dipped his spoon into his bowl and raised it to his lips. He was shocked by what he tasted. The soup had almost no seasoning. With all the chaos of preparing the food and drink, he had forgotten to add spices into the mix.

He replaced the spoon in his bowl and took the bowl out of her hands. "I am sorry, exceedingly sorry for serving you such a bland mess. I will rectify the situation immediately. He grabbed the tray and made his way to the door.

"So, the mysterious gentleman is not as perfect as he thinks himself. Very interesting. I shall have to get to know him better," she said, her eyes glittering with amusement

Chapter 14

Posted on Saturday, 14 August 1999

He returned to the bedroom shortly with two new bowls of highly seasoned beef and vegetable soup. It was perfect now, seasoned to perfection and was nice and hot. She lay on her side facing the door. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in a rhythm that told him she was asleep.

Under their own power, his legs strode slowly forward to her bedside. Depositing the bowls on a chair along the way, Darcy knelt on the floor and rested his head on his arm.

This mysterious woman looks so innocent, so enchanting, and so...lovely. Such white delicate skin framed by a head of shining chestnut hair. He tentatively reached his fingers out and caressed the blowsy curls running riot over her ears. "She would be more comfortable without those pins to lay on" he thought.

Ever so gently, Darcy leaned above her and ran his fingers through her thick mane, nudging hairpins out as he went along. Her hair was silken in texture, so he did not have to pull out tangles overly much. He moved her head lightly to get the work done for fear she would awaken from the movement. After placing the last of the pins on the nightstand, she was free from the sharp accessories. He ran his hands through her hair one last time to make sure no errant pins remained and the realization of what he was doing came to him. He wanted to assure her comfort, but had not noticed the effect her closeness had had on him and quickly removed them from her person. He looked down at her angelic sweetness, and then at the strong hands which had just touched that sweetness. Darcy couldn't help himself and reached out his hand to touch her again. His fingers traced their way around and through the soft curls that now lay on her cheek. "So soft..." he whispered to himself. He brushed the curls behind her ears and brought her long hair around to her shoulders. He placed the wavy strands across her chest and longed to caress it, but that would push the bounds of impropriety to a new extreme. He could not, must not touch her so, no matter how he might wish it. He backed up and kneeled beside the bed again on the floor in order to put a distance between them, however small it was.

Instead of taking the action he craved, he decided to whisper to her instead. "I shall ask you again, madam, and you will give the response I desire without further ado. Who are you? You must tell me your name, or by g-d, you will have to listen to a most tedious list of my aunt's helpful advice! Will you not tell me your name now?"

"Elizabeth," came a voice from the bed, not much above a murmur.

He had been speaking mostly to himself and was surprised when she replied. "What?!" he froze. Did she really speak, or was it just his addled mind saying what he wanted to here?

"What did you say? Please, tell me again!"

She half-opened her heavy eyelids and spoke again. "My name...It is...Elizabeth." The lips fell silent and the delicate lashes rested once again on her cheeks. He had not been fast enough in asking the questions that he longed to have answered. However, before they had closed completely, the brilliancy and luster of her eyes caught his attention. For the first time in his life, he noticed how a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman could enhance her inner beauty. And her eyes spoke volumes to his heart. Whoever she was, this Elizabeth, he must get to know her better.

"Elizabeth," he tested the words out on his lips. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth..." he tried out again as he tidied the blanket around her sleeping woman. Was that the name of a farmer's wife? Darcy picked up her hand off the bed and studied it. No, he discounted that idea. Her hands were smooth, and her skin didn't show the effects of toiling in the fields. Laying it back down, he pondered other options. A servant on an errand who got caught in the storm? No, a housemaid would not have free access or the ability to ride a horse, and he had seen the last traces of horse hoof tracks in the snow where he found her, although there was no such animal in site. Besides, her clothing was too fine for someone of that class. A runaway governess? It was a possibility. Her clothing was fine enough for her station, and she would have to have the ability to take her charges out for their riding lessons. If that were so, what might have happened to her that she would risk her life out in a snowstorm? If she were a mere governess, perhaps from a great house in the area, why should that be his concern? Governess' were a sixpence a dozen. Why should he care if this unknown Miss should die? He did not know. The serpent head of pride once again was peaking out from behind the mask of aloofness.

Darcy reconsidered the situation. Elizabeth's face was finely chiseled and her form and figure showed the lines of someone with well breeding. She had spoken only her name, but from what he could discern of her accent, it was quite refined. New questions came into his mind. Was she the daughter of a landowner in the neighborhood? Was she a Lady? He was not very familiar with this part of the country, so he did not know how many people of means were located here. A Squire's daughter, perhaps? Surely she was not from a titled family, or else he might have seen here at the season in town.

Darcy was so engrossed in his own reflections that he did not take notice of the movements in the bed. She made to get out of the bed, but did not have the energy to quite accomplish this task. He jumped quickly to his feet and caught her before she fell on the floor.

"Elizabeth! " he exclaimed. "What are you about, getting out of bed when a moment ago, you were lying there almost lifeless" he said as he pointed accusingly at the pillows.

"How do you know my name, sir? I don't recall giving you that information."

Darcy was a bit flustered. "You, uh, told me in your delirium."

"And who gave you permission to call me by my given name?"

"Nah...No one. It is the only name I had to call you by."

Elizabeth contemplated his statement for a minute before returning her fine eyes to his face. "Very well. You may call me Miss Elizabeth, if you must. And whom do I have the honor of addressing?

"Will you not tell me your family name?" his voice erupted with curiosity.

She looked down at her hands that were twisting the blanket mercilessly. She did not want to answer him. He was a stranger; he might even be a spy sent by her brother-in-law to drag her back to Longbourn. The memory of what Wickham did made her blanch. She could not face that again.

"I think not, sir" she smiled. You might be in league with some unsavory characters who would extort money from my family." It was the first excuse that came to her head, and was not wholly untrue.

Darcy was a bit put out by this accusation, but decided to remain calm and composed. If he wanted to get more information, it would not do to alienate from her. "Very well, since you have bestowed on me the honor of using your given name, I will do the same. You may call me Fitzwilliam."

She smiled slightly in relief that he would not press her further on the subject of her identity. Elizabeth looked at this man called Fitzwilliam. She knew he was a gentleman. Even with the flour in his hair and his shirt stained with what looked like the remains of the soup she had tasted earlier. He gave off and airs of stately superiority with each breath.

"I thank you, Fitzwilliam for taking care of me."

"I assure you madam, it was no bother." He bowed his head slightly in consternation at the sincerity in her voice. "I did what any gentleman would have done in the same situation."

She blushed. "I recall you telling me that you did not know where we are, sir. How did you find this place? It is cozy, dry and warm. " She said, snuggling down in the blankets. "The last thing I recall is being on my mount in the woods, and then...and then...I was lying on the ground in the snow." Her forehead wrinkled prettily as she tried to come up with what happened to her.

"And how did you come to find me, sir?"

"That is a tale best kept until after you have eaten. You must gain your strength back so you will be well enough to help me shovel our way out the 10 feet of snow blocking our egress from this comfortable abode." He grinned wickedly.

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