Summer at Pemberley

 

 

“[Elizabeth] looked forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley."

 

Jane Austen

 

 

It is the first summer at Pemberley since Darcy and Elizabeth wed and they will play host to some expected and some unexpected guests.

 

The world would intrude on their idyllic

 

 

 

"That will be all," Darcy said.

 

As the servants departed they closed the door upon the breakfast room and Darcy turned to his wife and watched with fresh fascination as she poured him a cup of coffee. He wondered for not the first time that he should find such delight in such ordinary activity. For while the private privileges of wedded intimacy were indisputably manifold in pleasures and rewards, these several months into their marriage he found almost a greater enchantment and fascination in that knowledge which revealed not the intimacy of loving, but the intimacy of living: the manner in which she slightly pursed her lips when pouring tea or coffee; the way in which she tilted her head when reading her correspondence, and the slow, careful gait of her hand while writing the same; the near delirium with which her lovely visage was infused when she inhaled a flower's fragrance; the extra brilliancy in her marvelous eyes when the day dawned bright; how she bit the corner of her lip when she could not decide from a selection of books; the peculiar pleasure she took in stealing sips of his brandy while persistently denying any inclination for the same; the manner in which she discreetly rolled back her head and stretched her supple neck when the night was long and she was tired. Watching as she finished preparing his coffee and as she fixed now her own cup of tea Darcy mused upon the truth that with each small and daily charm that he observed she was every day burrowing herself deeper into his heart.

 

Grown accustomed now to her husband's penetrating, frequent and silent observation, Elizabeth did not disregard said observation, and she was, in point of fact, pleased more then not by its continued performance.

 

"Your coffee will grow cold, my dear, will you not sit?"

 

Taking his seat Darcy merely said, "Thank you," before happily turning his attentions to the plentiful breakfast before him.

 

"Today promises to be another fine day," Elizabeth continued, as she spread her toast with strawberry preserve. "The remainder of Georgiana's journey should be quite comfortable. In her letter she sounded very content. I am so pleased she had such an enjoyable visit with your aunt."

 

"She has long been a little afraid of my uncle, but with the Earl away and only my aunt for companionship I am sure we will indeed find her content with her visit. Colonel Fitzwilliam has always been a favorite with Georgiana and his easy temper is very much like his mother's."

 

"I would imagine so, she was very kind to me when we were in Town. So warm and welcoming."

 

Darcy looked displeased as he remarked almost coldly, and certainly defensively, "As opposed to others, you mean?"

 

They occupied together the corner of the vast table, allowing Elizabeth to easily stretch out her hand and place it on Darcy's arm, giving it an affectionate squeeze. "I meant to make no such intimation. I thought you understood that I am not at all discontented by how I have been received by any member of your family. While it gives me pleasure that with Lady Margaret I sense there can, with time, be some degree of confidence, I concede it was more than I anticipated. The Earl, your cousin Edward and his wife were perhaps not warm in their reception, but I imagine they are simply not particularly warm by nature. They were, however, perfectly civil."

 

"Unlike Lady Catherine."

 

"I have said before that while her coming to see me at Longbourn was a great impertinence, it was not, viewed dispassionately, wholly unexplainable. I do wish you would reconsider and attempt some reconciliation."

 

Darcy sighed heavily. "I should not have mentioned her. Pray, it is a lovely morning, let us not discuss this matter again. I understand that you would wish for me to reconcile with her, you have made that plain in the past, but I cannot find it in me to reconcile, not after the reprehensible sentiments she expressed in that unconscionable letter. Can we not simply agree to differ on this matter?"

 

Elizabeth observed the pronounced frown that sat upon her husband's face as he recalled all that surrounded the ruptured relations with his aunt and was certain she must persuade him to heal the breach. Now, however, was not the moment; he was not presently inclined for such discussion, and, in truth, neither was she.

 

"Very well, let us leave off for the time. Now tell me instead, are you not eager to see your sister?"

 

As Elizabeth asked her question she took a small bite from her toast and a small drop of the strawberry preserve stuck to her lip. As Elizabeth continued with her breakfast, quite unaware of the less then elegant offending strawberry preserve adorning her lip, Darcy's frown was quickly replaced with a smile as he reached across with his napkin and whipped away the offending drop of preserve. Elizabeth blushed becomingly.

 

"I must confess," Darcy answered at last, "that I am not altogether eager for her arrival."

 

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, you surprise me!"

 

"I, of course, am eager to see her settled at long last here at Pemberley and I am eager for you and Georgiana to continue to understand each other, to see strengthened the regard that so happily and unaffectedly began while we were together in London." Darcy pushed his plate aside and reached across the table to take Elizabeth's hand, enveloping its small softness within his own two strong hands. "But I do confess, Elizabeth, that this time we have shared here at Pemberley, all alone, is not something I am eager to forsake. Particularly as once Georgiana returns home she will swiftly be followed by far too many guests. What were we thinking extending so many invitations? In truth, I am not at all disposed to sharing your company with others."

 

"That is very ungenerous of you, my dear," Elizabeth replied playfully. "Particularly as you have had me all to yourself all these weeks now and you know how I long to see Jane, who I have not seen for these many months."

 

"You see!" Darcy exclaimed. "My worst fears are sure to be realized!"

 

"And what are your worst fears?"

 

"These!" he responded wryly. "All her sweetness notwithstanding, Georgiana can be rather demanding in her attentions when she so chooses, and most particularly when she has just returned from a visit of some sort. And then your beloved Jane will arrive shortly thereafter and you shall have no time or inclination for my company at all and I shall find myself reduced to the ignominy of suffering jealously of your sister. Naturally, we shall concurrently have other guests who must be attended to and you will of course continue with your visits to our tenants. And I mustn't forget that with summer upon us we will have all manner of obligations with our neighbors. I will be reduced to having you alone to myself for no more then a half hour each day."

 

Elizabeth laughed gaily at the sight of her infamously severe Darcy pouting as petulantly as a small boy denied his favorite toy. "That is all perhaps for the best," she replied teasingly. "For too great a period alone with me might grow tiresome after a time."

 

"Never!" he responded as he pulled her from her seat, around the table and onto his lap. "You are well aware that I can be a very selfish, very spoiled man."

 

"Yes. It has been plainly established that you are rather too accustomed to having your own way, Mr. Darcy." She smiled as she caressed his face affectionately.

 

"That is indisputably so. And I should have you comprehend that I have grown quite accustomed to our time alone. Our long walks about the park, our quiet evenings sitting together, reading, conversing. I take great pleasure in having you play and sing for me and only me, and I quite enjoy having all your witty, adorable impertinence for myself alone. But what shall drive me quite mad is that once Georgiana arrives I shall no longer be able to kiss you at my own leisure."

 

And with that Darcy began to kiss his wife's hands, her shoulder, her neck, her lips, all the while murmuring playfully: "You are sweet and delicious and I have been able to freely love you these precious weeks that we have been alone, with no concern for what is right and proper or for who may see me kiss you with all the passion your mere presence elicits in your hopelessly besotted husband. What will I do now when I walk into your sitting room because I long to kiss you, only to find you in company, as I surely will, and so find I am only permitted to bow reverently over your delicate little hand? Tell me, my Lizzy, how shall I endure such suffering?"

 

Laughing at his delightful playfulness, she responded teasingly, "What would all your dignified acquaintances say to see you so?"

 

"To see me so? How so?"

 

"So very lively and unreserved."

 

"They shall never have a word to say about the matter, for it is only when alone with you that I can be such, that I feel myself unfettered, expansive, if you will. Does that displease you?"

 

"No, it does not. I would not wish you to all at once become as unrestrained in company as Bingley. Charming as Mr. Bingley is and as delightful a husband as he is for my dearest Jane, I would not have you look the fool in love for all the world. Let us keep this enchanting foolery as our own precious treasure."

 

"That, my dear little wife, is one of your most charming characteristics. You are so wholly unsentimental."

 

"Unsentimental? I do not know that I like that at all. It sounds almost as though I were unfeeling and aloof. Cold."

 

Darcy smiled broadly and shook his head. "Such willful misapprehension!" he said. Adding provocatively, as his finger traced her collarbone, "Do you not think that I would be intimately acquainted with such a dreadful demeanor if it were so?"

 

"Perhaps," she replied archly.

 

"I would not have you sentimental, Elizabeth. I find sentimentality rather suspect; a particularly impetuous, careless sort of sensibility. Indeed, you are as unlikely as I to give your affections rashly, yet when you do give your affections, you give them faithfully, unconditionally, and without undue mawkishness." He grew serious and taking her face squarely within his grasp he continued in a quiet, adoring tone. "I, most fortunate man that I am, have by some happy means won your frank, ardent, devoted and yes, entirely unsentimental love. And I would have it no other way."

 

"That is a very pretty description of my love. However, it discloses such an excess of confidence, Mr. Darcy. In truth, how can you be sure that I love you so beautifully?"

 

"Minx!" He laughed as he looked into her vibrant, joyful eyes—such luminous, mesmerizing eyes, he thought. Placing temperate, yet lingering kisses on her neck, he spoke with a tenderness that was palpable: “I can be sure because you show me. You show me in the manner in which you kiss me, in the manner in which you touch me, look at me, care for me and tease me. I know because you show me, generously and forthrightly.”

 

"I show you?" she replied weakly, not a little affected by his attentions.

 

"You do."

 

"No more then do you, my love," she whispered in return. And, dear reader, as you could well imagine, they then indulged in some such shows of affection that would be, as Darcy had earlier regretted, quite inappropriate in the company of Georgiana. It was a sweetly mischievous kiss unluckily interrupted by a knock on the breakfast room door. Elizabeth returned somewhat unhappily to her seat at the table, but not before, with a charming arching of her eyebrow and pouting of her lips, straightening Darcy's slightly askew cravat.

 

"Enter," he commanded.

 

"Begging your pardon Mr. Darcy, your steward has arrived and says he has a matter of some unexpected urgency to discuss with you. He will await you in the library."

 

"Very well, Mrs. Reynolds. Please inform Mr. Fairfax that I will be with him shortly."

 

"Yes sir," she responded with a curtsey, exiting the room and being quite sure to close the door behind her. The staff had quickly ascertained, when Mrs. Darcy was first introduced to Pemberley before the Christmas season, that the master had made, rather surprisingly to some, what was universally described as a love match, and as such they quickly modified their service appropriately. When Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were in residence, open doors in occupied rooms where not as frequent as in the past.

 

"I suppose I must see what Mr. Fairfax is about," Darcy remarked with no small irritation as Mrs. Reynolds left the room. "However," he continued as he rose and walked to a small table across the room. "Not before I give you this."

 

Returning to her side, he handed Elizabeth a prettily wrapped package to her great surprise.

 

"And what is the occasion for a gift?" she inquired.

 

"I have told you before, I will spoil you with gifts whether you desire them or not, and for no particular reason at all."

 

"I do not need gifts."

 

"Yes, just my devotion, is that not what you said the first time I gave you a gift? At any rate, nobody needs gifts. I defy you, be that as it may, to not enjoy them when I present them to you."

 

"That I cannot do."

 

"I thought not. Now, my little minx, open your gift."

 

Leaning over he kissed her on the cheek and smiled expectantly as she removed the wrappings. Inside Elizabeth found a small music box whose top was decorated with inlaid mother-of-pearl in a very pretty motif of a violin and flowers. When she opened the box Darcy observed with pleasure her small, delighted smile as the sounds of a sweet, languid song escaped the confines of the box.

 

"Oh William!" Elizabeth cried. "I have never seen anything so charming, so delightful. Thank you, I shall treasure it."

 

As she rose from her seat, he wrapped his arms around her and enfolded her into his embrace. "Elizabeth, I would wish that every time you open this box and hear its music you would recall these weeks when we have had this time alone, during which we have had the opportunity to establish the foundations of our happiness."

 

"I would beg to differ, my love, the foundations of our happiness were established well before we were wed, when we learned to be frank and open with one another, to trust and respect as well as to love each other. Yet I will grant you that these weeks have been precious and I shall treasure them always; that you would wish to as well moves me beyond measure. But now we are being sentimental."

 

"Not sentimental, but truthful in our sentiments. There is a distinction."

 

"Before I make a muddle of that distinction then, perhaps you had best see what Mr. Fairfax so urgently requires."

 

"Perhaps I had better," he responded quietly.

 

As Darcy made to leave the breakfast room to see Mr. Fairfax he paused as he took the handle of the door and turned to Elizabeth. He gave her one long parting look and both understood that these precious weeks of private communion had now come to an end. Georgiana would arrive in the afternoon and the others would follow soon thereafter. The world would intrude on their idyllic. And as with a warm smile he turned and walked away Elizabeth mused that indeed it had been an idyllic. They had loved and lived without formality, without ceremony, without hesitation and they had come to value and understand each other more deeply. She suspected she would be always grateful to Lady Margaret, who, by inviting Georgiana to stay in Town with her for those additional weeks, had given them the gift of intimate, uninterrupted time. Elizabeth felt the benefit of this gift particularly as she recalled Jane's letters, so filled with daily visits from Longbourn and other well-intentioned Meryton neighbors. But for now, neither Jane's letters, nor Georgiana's imminent arrival, nor the anticipated summer months filled with guests and obligations would dominate her thoughts.

 

Elizabeth walked across the room to the open window and looked out on the lovely park as it stretched out in the morning sun. She looked down at the music box in her hands, traced the intricacies of the design and lifted the top. The sweet, languid music escaped from the box and she smiled. Elizabeth was happy; happy as she had never before been. Darcy was in all manners the husband she had anticipated he would be and yet, surprisingly more, surprisingly different as well.

 

By Elizabeth's Persuasion

 

 

 

Darcy had spent the better part of the morning in his study completing estate business and correspondence he wished concluded before the arrival of the Bingley party on the morrow. His tasks successfully accomplished he rose from his meticulously ordered desk and stretched; he thought he might go for a ride and get some exercise, but then thought the better of it as the morning was nearly past. He walked leisurely to the large window that overlooked the trout stream and leaned his tall form against the frame of the opened window. After two days of rain, it was a glorious morning. The sun was bright, the breeze was mild and the sky a clear, cloudless blue. The prospect from his study was one of his favorites. It was not the most expansive, like that to be had from the master bedchambers or the public rooms, but was instead almost intimate. From here he could see not only the gentle course of the trout stream that had provided such delightful distractions since boyhood, but also the lovely canopied pathway that led from the rose garden to the cutting gardens where he could still recall his mother selecting flowers for the house. As a boy he had occasionally accompanied her, only to sit in quiet observation of her occupation, participating in the stillness with which the household tacitly surrounded her in consequence of her delicate and timid disposition, so unlike the robust and vibrant disposition of his father. They had been, in character if not in station, improbably matched; respectful, loyal, dedicated to one another, certainly, and yet he could not recall any particular warmth.

 

He remained at his window and indolently considered the lovely morning. After a time he saw, under the canopied pathway and coming from the direction of the cutting garden, his wife and sister, walking arm in arm. Elizabeth wore a simple, white muslin gown and dangled a basket filled with yellow flowers from her hand. She was looking tenderly at Georgiana while she, in turn, appeared to be conversing enthusiastically. He did not know which to admire more, his unaffectedly lovely wife or his surprisingly grown sister. He settled easily on admiring them both and enjoying the gratifying affability of their intercourse. For although he did greedily lament the loss of Elizabeth's exclusive companionship since Georgiana's return, he nonetheless took great pleasure in each exchange that he witnessed between them. He could see in Georgiana's every expression that she was sincerely delighted in having a sister and a confidant. And he likewise perceived that Elizabeth offered to Georgiana the same tender sisterly devotion that was Jane's and he treasured Elizabeth the more for this natural easiness of confidence that he had so often felt unable to provide his beloved sister. Their mutual regard was sincere and increased daily and for this he was grateful.

 

The sound of Elizabeth's laughter rose into the air and drifted toward his window. As that now familiar and beloved sound reached his ears he did not move and he did not smile, yet his entire spirit was pervaded with a sense of peace that was visible upon his countenance. That he should have found the source of such peace--this incomparable woman--in a village of no consequence and in the midst of an often impossibly careless family, remained, for Darcy, an unspoken source of astonishment.

 

Elizabeth and Georgiana neared the house and Elizabeth pulled her arm from Georgiana's, raised her hand to the ribbon tied neatly beneath her chin and pulled on it. Releasing the bow, she removed the bonnet from her head and revealed her glowing and smiling face to Darcy's secret observation. She was listening attentively to Georgiana's conversation and as they turned toward the house Elizabeth stepped absent mindedly, her foot falling into a small puddle in the pathway, not yet dried by the morning's sun. On his sister's face Darcy could read Georgiana's immediate concern for the soiled hem and on Elizabeth's her evident lack of concern for the same. He could not hear the words from their lips, but imagined Elizabeth telling Georgiana that it was nothing to be bothered about.

 

As Darcy watched them he unexpectedly discovered the answer to Elizabeth's once proffered inquiry: when did he fall in love with her? At the time she had playfully made the inquiry he had responded that he could not know when he had begun, and yet as he watched her now he suddenly understood precisely when he had begun. For as clearly as he watched her walking into the house now, the hem of her white muslin slightly soiled, he saw her walking into Netherfield, her petticoat six inches deep in mud. Elizabeth had stood before the censorious Netherfield party defiant, independent, challenging, and bravely impassive to their disapprobation. Bingley's sisters had said she looked almost wild, and indeed she had: her cheeks flushed, her eyes particularly bright, her hair tousled, her entire appearance in minor disarray, her petticoat infamously sullied. In that one singular moment, however, he had seen her--her character, her person, her spirit--entirely stripped of civility's guise and he had been overcome with an unfamiliar, profound admiration which he had swiftly done all in his power to deny, as if to flee from the consequent want, need, desire, longing that welled uncontrollably within his breast. How could he, then, when she had inquired of the same, have not know that had been the moment when he had lost his heart? Perhaps because while his every instinct had reached for her, his head, his rational self had not similarly done so until after her rejection of his hand at Hunsford. That morning in the Netherfield breakfast room he had pushed aside the moment's insight as quickly as it had captured him. But now when he was in every respect so happily, passionately, rationally hers he could recognize the truth of that passing moment's revelation. He could never have dreamt then, bewitched and troubled as he was, that in that daring, poised, pretty country girl with the muddied petticoat he had stumbled upon the very thing he had never thought to want: his soul's companion. She had reached him, touched him in some restless, lonely, secret portion of his being and filled what he had not consciously recognized was empty.

 

A knock on the door roused Darcy from his revelry. Matthews entered the study and delivered the days post. Bringing his thoughts back to the present and the practical, Darcy stood at his desk and quickly reviewed the post, stopping at one with handwriting grown lately familiar. He opened it and found a short and in all ways satisfactory correspondence.

 

June 18__

Gracechurch Street, London

 

Dear Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Gardiner and I have received your letter and find once again your power of persuasion too daunting to dismiss. While Mrs. Gardiner had indeed indicated to Lizzy that my business would not allow time away this summer, we relent to your argument and your plotting. We will make the effort you so generously demand of us and we will be at Pemberley on the appointed day. It will, however, be a visit of necessarily short duration and so the children will not accompany us. One point that puzzles me, however, is why these plans must remain secret. Pray, enlighten me.

 

Yours etc.

Edward Gardiner

 

"Excellent!" Darcy cried, as he sat down at his desk and quickly scribed a response.

 

June 18__

Pemberley, Derbyshire

 

Dear Mr. Gardiner, I am delighted that I have been successful in pleading my case. I trust the secrecy is no great burden to bear and as for its cause, can you not simply indulge a gentleman's wish to indulge his wife? Elizabeth was disappointed by your initial denial and will be delighted by its rectification. When you do arrive we will have been so filled with guests that I am sure she will quite overlook that your arrival will be so particularly timed. She will rightly accuse me of maudlin feelings I am sure, but for this one time I care not. I await your arrival with great pleasure and expect that this year will provide ample opportunity for the fishing plans, among others ,that were last summer so regrettably delayed.

 

Yours etc.

Fitzwilliam Darcy

The letter sealed and dispatched, Darcy went in search of said wife, finding her in her sitting room accompanied by Georgiana. Each was happily occupied, Georgiana embroidering, Elizabeth reviewing menus for the coming visits.

 

"Good morning, my dears," Darcy intoned contentedly as he entered the room and took a seat on the chair across from Elizabeth's table after properly greeting each. "How do I find you this morning?"

 

"We are quite well," Elizabeth replied. "We were sorry to miss you at breakfast this morning. Has everything been completed to your satisfaction?"

 

"Indeed."

 

"You join us at the right moment. We were discussing the arrival of the Bingleys tomorrow. I was inquiring of Georgiana, who is so much more intimate with Miss Bingley than I, whether one days rest would be sufficient for Miss Bingley before we embark on our anticipated excursion to Cranston's lake, but she could not say. I suspect we may be required an additional days anticipation, what do you think, my dear?"

 

"Perhaps an additional days anticipation would be best."

 

"So I suspected," Elizabeth replied. "I shall adjust the menus accordingly."

 

"I am so looking forward to furthering my acquaintance with Mrs. Bingley," Georgiana remarked quietly. "Your sister was so amiable when we were together in London."

 

"Dear Jane!" Elizabeth sighed. "I am so very eager for her arrival. I do not believe there is a better soul in all the world than Jane. She is all goodness. William, Georgiana has graciously offered to attend carefully to Miss Bingley's needs when they first arrive that I might have sometime with Jane. Is that not thoughtful?"

 

"Quite propitious, I am sure."

 

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Elizabeth inquired, aroused by his satirical tone.

 

"Why do you persist in disliking Miss Bingley so?"

 

"I, dislike her? Hardly."

 

"Yes, hardly!" he replied sarcastically. Fixing his eyes upon her, he continued. "Perhaps you do not dislike her, for she can be quick witted enough, if a bit caustic in the execution of the same. Perhaps what you dislike is all the excessive attentions she continues to bestow upon me?"

 

"Brother!" Georgiana cried. It sounded like such an outrageous suggestion to her ingenuous ears. Miss Bingley was an acquaintance of some standing after all, and he appeared to be accusing her, if not of infamous behavior, certainly of unladylike attentions. Elizabeth, however, merely looked at Darcy with an arched eyebrow and responded with amusement.

 

"Do not be alarmed Georgiana, your brother means to provoke me. And as for that, Mr. Darcy, if a lady chooses to pay such excessive attentions to my husband as did Miss Bingley when we last saw her in London I will hardly feel anything regarding her pains excepting perhaps a little mortification on her behalf. She can hardly win you now."

 

"Will you not even allow a moments jealousy if only to gratify a man's sense of worth?"

 

"You need no help in that regard, my dear." Elizabeth laughed. "You think quite highly enough of your worth already. You need no help from me." Darcy smiled as Elizabeth returned her attentions to the menus before her.

 

Georgiana listened to the exchange with something between curiosity, amusement and shock; she was, even after all these months, not wholly accustomed to Elizabeth's lively manner with her brother. As she occasionally chose at such moments, she made excuses to leave the room, in this case pledging a great desire to recover a sketch she had made that morning; she wanted her brother's approbation of the same, she said.

 

As she left the room, Darcy rose from his chair and went to Elizabeth's side; lifting her hand to his lips he kissed it tenderly. "A moment alone."

 

"So it would seem."

 

"Do I disturb you?"

 

"Most happily. I am reviewing the revised menus from cook and I cannot keep my mind on it at all. I would much rather be out of doors on such a splendid day."

 

"Were you not out earlier? I saw you walking with Georgiana."

 

"Spying, my dear?"

 

Darcy smiled and did not respond. Instead he urged her to her feet. A soft breeze came in through the window behind them and a loose curl brushed onto Elizabeth's forehead. Darcy pushed it away, letting his hand caress her soft hair, so happily unencumbered by the odious caps married women were meant to don. Elizabeth leaned her head into his open hand and smiled. "I have an answer for your question." Darcy remarked.

 

"Do I have a question outstanding?"

 

"When did I fall in love with you?"

 

Elizabeth's eyes reflected her amusement. "I do not know whether to be gratified that you still recall the question or slighted that it took you this long to determine the answer."

 

"That is for you to determine. Would you like to have the answer?"

 

"I thought you were in the middle before you knew you had begun?"

 

"I had a revelation earlier."

 

"Well then?"

 

"The morning you came to Netherfield to attend to Jane."

 

"But we barely saw each other and certainly we exchanged not a single word."

 

"You had walked to Netherfield from Longbourn and when you were shown into the breakfast room your face was flushed and your petticoat was covered in mud."

 

Elizabeth furrowed her brow. "I must have looked a spectacle. Hardly the manner in which a proper young lady would ever present herself. You cannot be serious? "

 

"Quite."

 

"You tease me."

 

Darcy decided to let her think it so. "Perhaps. After all, among the many things I have learned from you, I have possibly also learned to tease. In truth, Elizabeth, that morning you looked particularly…" He paused and let his eyes roam freely across her face, his fingertips softly following the course of his eyes.

 

"Particularly?"

 

"Alluring," he whispered, as he absorbed her into a tight embrace and kissed her slowly and deeply. Both surprised by the powerful affect of Darcy's words, they kissed with an intensity rarely indulged outside the privacy of their bedchamber, with a languid, thirsty forgetfulness, with a heedless delight, a delicious abandon.

 

"It is not my best work, William, but I think you shall approve," Georgiana was saying as she returned unsuspectingly. Entering the room, she stopped abruptly and fell silent. She had, since her brother's marriage, witnessed frequent attentions on the part of her brother toward his wife. Some had been all that is proper in the presence of a sixteen-year-old sister, others, which she had espied unwittingly, were of a more tender nature clearly not meant for her observation; however, none, as she could recall, were quite as fervent as this interrupted embrace. Her face was immediately crimson and if her brother had not turned so quickly toward the window she may have seen something very much like a blush upon his own visage. Elizabeth, for her part, who might have been discomfited to be found in such an impassioned embrace with her husband, found the evident and extreme discomfort of the siblings amusing; she thought it best to alleviate their unease.

 

"May I see the sketch, Georgiana?" Elizabeth reached out her hand and took the sketch block. "Is it not lovely, William?" She continued, placing her hand on his arm that he might turn away from the window.

 

"Lovely." He responded, without giving it more than a passing glance. Long accustomed to seeking his approbation in all that she did, and long accustomed to his careful and thoughtful perusal of the same, his cursory attention only served to heighten Georgiana's embarrassment.

 

"It is not my best effort," Georgiana replied. "I should not have bothered you with it," she continued, turning to leave the room.

 

"You need not leave us Georgiana." Elizabeth said tenderly.

 

"Oh no, I understand," she stammered. "But I wish to practice a piece which Miss Bingley and I had discussed in London. I would not wish to disappoint her."

 

"Very well," Elizabeth remarked as Georgiana scurried away.

 

With no little annoyance, Darcy dropped himself into the chair he had earlier occupied. "She could knock before entering. She certainly has never entered my study without doing so."

 

"William, no young lady would ever enter a gentleman's study without first knocking, particularly when the gentleman in question is a severe elder brother. Nevertheless, you would surely not have us on such formal terms that she would not feel at ease simply entering my sitting room? I should never have it such with Jane and will not have it such with Georgiana."

 

"You really can be maddeningly sensible, my dear."

 

Elizabeth walked over to his chair and with a bright smile she lifted his hand and held it within her own. She observed her husband for a moment: his strong features, his thick disobedient hair, his broad shoulders and impeccably tied cravat. Lightly increasing her clasp of his hand she spoke in a voice rich with warmth and adoration: "Well then, I shall sensibly remind you, Mr. Darcy, that you shall have ample opportunity to kiss your wife before the day is through so such a display of bad temper is quite unnecessary."

 

Darcy looked up into Elizabeth's face. It was infused with a certain softness that came over her lovely features only when she looked at one truly beloved: Jane, her father, himself. Her eyes became warm, soft and melting and Darcy was, as of usual, transfixed by the beautiful expressiveness therein. Suddenly, he pulled his hand from her own and indicated that she should take a seat across from him. "Perhaps we ought to change the topic of our discourse or my sister shall once again be witness to another display of intimacy quite inappropriately witnessed by anyone, much less a sixteen-year-old girl."

 

"Yes," she smiled knowingly, "perhaps we ought."

 

When Darcy took up the conversation again it was in a tone of such practiced formality and calculated aloofness that Elizabeth required some effort to contain her laughter. "Mrs. Darcy, when I happened to see you walking with Georgiana earlier today she seemed to be very animatedly discussing something with you. May I inquire what inspired such enthusiastic discourse or would that violate her confidence?"

 

"You may know, but you will perhaps be displeased."

 

"Pray, explain."

 

"We were discussing Lady Catherine."

 

"Lady Catherine!" he replied with more anger then the disclosure warranted. "I trust Georgiana was not questioning my judgment in this matter. She may very well be nearly seventeen and I can clearly no longer treat her as a girl, but I am her guardian and I will not have her questioning my decisions or my judgment. I would not have you encouraging the same, Elizabeth. Certainly you can not expect me to allow her such liberties."

 

"No I do not have any such expectation nor would I encourage such behavior. I have long admired the balance you have achieved in your relations with Georgiana between discipline and indulgence, between respect and affection. You were such a young man when you became her guardian; a lesser man would have easily succumbed to simply spoiling her. Georgiana and I have grown very fond of each other and I am happy that she has begun to confide in me with ease, and I shall always, privately, give you whatever council you should desire, based on the understanding this confidence provides, but I shall never presume to interfere in your role as her guardian, Mr. Darcy. You have misapprehended the nature of our discourse completely."

 

Darcy looked discomfited as much by his error as his temper, and Elizabeth was severely tempted to tease him ruthlessly—his handsome visage swayed between annoyance and chagrin in the most endearing fashion. She declined, however, thinking this an opportune moment to address the continuing question of reconciliation with Lady Catherine.

 

"We were discussing her visit in London and she happened to mention a letter had arrived for your aunt from Miss de Bourgh, which is apparently a great rarity. That led your aunt to share a few observations with Georgiana regarding Rosings Park and Miss de Bourgh's unfortunate lack of preparation to one day be its mistress." She paused for a moment before continuing. He looked not at all desirous of continuing the conversation. "Is it true that when your father died it was Lady Catherine that gave you counsel regarding how you might best guide and educate Georgiana?"

 

"How would Georgiana know that?" Darcy replied in evident surprise at the conversation's turn.

 

"She merely surmised it from some of your aunt's observations. Mr. Darcy, how, precisely, were your relations with Lady Catherine before our engagement?"

 

Darcy began to fidget nervously with the seam of the chair's upholstered armrest, rising from the chair and pacing the room until he came to rest in front of the mantel. "You are familiar with Lady Catherine's propensity for offering unsolicited advice. I would be ungrateful, however, if I did not acknowledge that when my father died she did give me some sound advice regarding Georgiana's education. I had recently finished Cambridge and was residing primarily in Town. As a bachelor, only two and twenty myself, I hardly knew what to do with a sister who was only ten years of age and now wholly dependent on me--Colonel Fitzwilliam's role as her guardian has been more form than practice. Lady Catherine gave me counsel on many matters at the time and we were for a short time closely aligned. For all her faults she is a loyal and often astute woman, excepting, lamentably, where Anne is concerned. However, Lady Catherine soon began to insinuate, with some regularity, the scheme of my marrying Anne. I lost trust in her intentions. Although I would be unjust if I did not acknowledge that, whatever her interests, her affections for me have always been sincere."

 

"She has clearly been more to you then you have acknowledged. Why not seek a reconciliation?"

 

"Must we return to this subject? I find it unspeakably painful to discuss."

 

"May I ask one more question?" Taking a deep breath, he bowed to her will. "Is it in defense of my honor that you persist in this estrangement or is it your pride which resents her effrontery for questioning your choice?"

 

"That is an offensive characterization Elizabeth." He returned angrily. "You are my wife and I trust you would expect me to defend your honor, even against my aunt."

 

Elizabeth colored at her blunder. "Of course," she said at length. "Nevertheless, understand that I do not require this estrangement to feel my honor defended. My honor is not sullied by words expressed in heated disappointment."

 

"Do you defend her?"

 

"I do not defend her. I am merely suggesting that her words were, in part, born of disappointed hopes and can therefore perhaps be judged less implacably."

 

"Whatever her hopes may have been, that does not excuse such a gross violation of all civilities. You are my wife, Elizabeth, would you have me disregard such impropriety toward you, excuse it even?"

 

"I would not. It does not follow, however, that it cannot, in this case, be forgiven. She is your mother's sister. It can be forgiven. It ought to be."

 

"You astound me and frankly, I am not sure that is a compliment, my dear." He said this with such cold incredulity that Elizabeth was recalled to that long ago conversation at Netherfield when he had proclaimed, what she had termed, implacable resentment. But she, more then any other, knew his heart could be liberally forgiving.

 

Elizabeth rose from her seat and joined him at the mantel. She spoke softly but compellingly. "My love!" Darcy's face inevitably softened at these words. "I know you will always defend my honor and my happiness. In this case that impulse is misplaced. Lady Catherine has not the power to dishonor me, nor can she take my happiness from me. I am your wife. Why should I assume a resentment that will keep Pemberley and Rosings estranged? The only purpose I could have to encourage a persistence of this rupture would be so that I might enjoy some sort of ungracious triumph over Lady Catherine, and I hope I am better principled then that would imply. All I ask is that you consider reconciliation. I can look beyond her invective; it only remains whether or not you can as well. I am sure that her harsh words were aggravated by her disappointment and as the suffering of that disappointment abates she may become more reasonable."

 

Darcy began to pace the room again, clearly struggling. He paused by the open window for a moment before turning back toward Elizabeth and replying in a labored voice. "If I accept your reasoning then plainly I must accept some burden for that disappointment, in which case I am in some manner responsible for her behavior. Is it I then who have placed my own wife in a situation where she would be thus insulted?"

 

"I do not understand your construal. You are in no way responsible for her behavior or her insults."

 

"Is that true? If I reflect upon my behavior, in light of the disappointment you reference, it must be with dissatisfaction, because it follows that in some measure my behavior gave her grounds to insult you, the expectation that it was her right to abuse you, to abuse us both and to dishonor our union."

 

"You misapprehend my meaning. I do not mean to imply that her disappointment justifies her actions, merely that perhaps it can arouse some compassion. She certainly had no right to abuse me when I had done her no willful injury, and she just as certainly had no right to abuse you. There was no promise to honor."

 

"Absolutely not! Indeed, there was not even an understanding to be honored. I did, however, let it be supposed, and that for some time, that I was not wholly averse to the scheme. It suited my purposes as it freed me, if not from all, certainly from many unwanted attentions."

 

"Were you open to the scheme?"

 

"You who know me so intimately would ask that?" he replied, his voice and countenance expressing mortification—but whether mortification that it had been the case or that she would erroneously suppose it had been the case, Elizabeth could not discern. "I would never wish to speak ill of my cousin, but Anne is such a pale, sickly, cold creature. How could you imagine it so?"

 

Clearly uncomfortable with the topic and, to Elizabeth's mind, entirely too sensitive, Darcy turned toward the window again and looked out into the garden. Elizabeth walked across the room and stood behind him; she wrapped her arms around him, resting her cheek against his back. Darcy grasped her hands within his own as they came around his waist.

 

"My love," Elizabeth said tenderly. "Do not torment yourself in such a manner. I am not disturbed by the revelation that you may have once considered your cousin as a possible wife. It would have been considered a sound match for you, so I see no disgrace in your having once held open the possibility." She asked him to turn and face her. "Now that we are married the recollection may seem distasteful, but then this—you and I—came upon us very unexpectedly. It is fair to assume that neither you nor I were wishing for this; we could not wish for what we did not know. Our prior behavior could not be measured for such an outcome as this. The behavior of no one, strictly examined, was without fault. Perhaps then we ought to let it remain in the past and you ought to seek a reconciliation. It is not right that you should remain divided from your mother's sister, nor that Georgiana should suffer for our quarrel."

 

Seeing that he was softening to her argument, she continued. "I always claimed a right to marry only a man I could love. I would not sacrifice myself for security. Yet, I did not truly understand love any more than you did, not love like this one that we share. So you see, Lady Catherine's disapprobation has no affect upon me, William, but this breach in relations does upon you. It is unnecessary, my love. I do not require it to understand that you honor and protect me."

 

Darcy gazed at her face for a moment until he raised his hand and caressed her cheek. "When you speak to me in such soft, gentle tones I can refuse you nothing."

 

"I shall be sure to always remember that," she replied as she lay her head against his chest and felt his arms wrap tenderly about her.

 

In the evening, as Elizabeth and Georgiana sat together in the music room, Darcy sent word that he required Mrs. Darcy's presence in his study. When Elizabeth entered Darcy was seated at his desk, staring at a paper, drumming his fingers. He looked up when he heard the door close behind her. Handing her the paper, he spoke without ceremony. “Would you be so kind as to read this? If you are satisfied with its contents I will post it tomorrow.”

 

“Certainly,” she said, taking a seat across from his desk.

 

June 18__

Pemberley, Derbyshire

 

Dear Lady Catherine,

 

I am writing to you upon the particular request of Mrs. Darcy who has encouraged me to invite you to wait upon us at Pemberley. You and I are both of forthright character so I will not disguise that I am reluctant to extend this invitation, as I remain deeply offended by the letter you sent on the occasion of my marriage and the sentiments expressed therein. Mrs. Darcy has prevailed upon me, nonetheless, to seek a reconciliation. She is of the conviction that Pemberley and Rosings should not remain estranged because of words expressed in anger and disappointment, however unjustly applied. While I cannot boast the same lack of resentment as Mrs. Darcy, I must acknowledge her wisdom and her generosity. You are, as she reminds me, my mother's sister, and if only in honor of her memory I must be the one to seek a return to our formerly good relations. My hope is that you will receive this gesture with all the sincerity and expectation with which it is sent. Let us leave our past grievances behind us and restore the goodwill that has long subsisted between our houses.

 

I will conclude by asserting that should you accept this application I do expect that you shall behave toward Mrs. Darcy with all of the respect and honor that is her due, not only as my wife, but as in her own right as a woman of exceptional character. If you will not, then we shall, regrettably, remain as we are.

 

Both you and my cousin will be welcomed at Pemberley graciously and warmly at your convenience.

 

Yours, etc.

Fitzwilliam Darcy

 

Elizabeth put down the letter and looked across the desk at her husband. Darcy was watching her with an unreadable expression, his jaw slightly clenched. “Must you make it all my doing?”

 

“Yes. If you wish a reconciliation it cannot be on false pretenses. She must be mindful that if she is welcomed at Pemberley it is only because you have sanctioned it.”

 

“I do wish it.”

 

“Then I shall post it, but be forewarned that if she comes she will likely be, if not uncivil, unrepentant.”

 

“Then I shall apply that exceptional character you claim that I possess,” she replied.

 

“You are a remarkable woman, Mrs. Darcy.”

 

"I will not be so foolish as to argue the point with you," she laughed. "Now, come," she said, gesturing for him to join her as she made to exit his study. "Will you not sit with Georgiana and me? We have been practicing a delightful piece. What's more, tomorrow the Bingleys arrive and we shall not likely have such a quiet evening for many weeks."

 

"You see," he replied sullenly. "Just as I had foreseen. Every day you are lost to me a little more."

 

"Quite the contrary, my love," she replied, taking his hand and placing it against her heart. "Every day I am more yours."

 

Darcy smiled. "Perhaps, my precious wife, we might retire early this evening."

 

With an unashamed blush Elizabeth replied, "Perhaps."

A family party, interrupted

 

 

 

"Molly, I think I would prefer the pale yellow," Elizabeth said to her young maid, pointing to a simple, graceful muslin gown. "Much more appropriate for a picnic than the green one."

 

"Yes mistress," Molly replied. "There may be a breeze today, may I suggest that the yellow gown would be prettily complimented by the Spanish shawl the master recently gave you?"

 

"Oh yes it would, Molly. Please bring it."

 

"There now, how do I look?" Elizabeth inquired as Molly draped the elegant, fine shawl onto her shoulders. Before Molly could reply a deep voice came from across the room.

 

"Fetching, Mrs. Darcy."

 

"Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth cried. "How long have you been lurking there?" Darcy shrugged his shoulders, the hint of a smile on his lips. Leaning unceremoniously against the doorframe, his arms crossed, his expression warm, and his informal attire adding a certain softness to his mien, Elizabeth could not but silently observe that he himself looked rather fetching and found herself regretting the day's itinerary which would give them not a single occasion for privacy. At moments such as this she reflected that she had become quite shockingly immodest in her thoughts.

 

"Molly, that will be all, you may go now." As Molly left Mrs. Darcy's dressing room she espied Mr. Darcy approaching his wife with a roguish smile upon his face. Molly understood her responsibilities, and did in no way undervalue the trust the master and mistress displayed in her discretion by allowing her such small glimpses of their intimacy. The trust was not misplaced and Molly did not gossip; yet at moments like this her youthful sensibility could not help but discreetly observe to Mrs. Reynolds how devoted to each other were the master and mistress.

 

As the door shut behind Molly, Elizabeth turned to her husband with a generous and welcoming smile. "You really must stop making a habit of sneaking up on me unobserved so that you might watch me equally unobserved."

 

"I do not sneak, Elizabeth. If I am unobserved it is merely due to your own willful lack of attention, since you really are a remarkably observant woman. I would have to assume, consequently, that you rather enjoy that I sneak up on you in this manner. As to the matter of watching you, I simply cannot oblige you. Since our earliest acquaintance I have been unable to keep my eyes from you."

 

"So I recall," Elizabeth laughed. "All the while I thought you looked at me only to find fault."

 

"How very foolish of you." Darcy wrapped his arms around Elizabeth and smiled. "You fascinated me as Miss Bennet and you continue to fascinate me as Mrs. Darcy. Everything about you fascinates me." Lifting his hand he took hold of a curl that hung behind her ear. "Such as the manner in which this tiny curl always persists in escaping the confines of your hairpins."

 

"All this time I have thought myself fortunate to have such a sensible and clever husband. If you cannot explain why a little curl could possibly be a source of fascination I may have to reconsider."

 

"Nothing so simple. This little curl and its determination is just like your spirit." Elizabeth arched her eyebrows disbelievingly. "It cannot be contained. It will be independent, unbound, free. When I look upon it I see something so extraordinarily lovely that I must struggle to suppress my desire to touch it."

 

Darcy promptly demonstrated, kissing the curl before sinking his head down to that delectable expanse where neck and shoulder join and proceeding to kiss her warm and soft skin. "My Lizzy," he murmured. "My fetching, bewitching, fascinating Lizzy."

 

"Fitzwilliam!" She softly replied. Darcy adored it when she called him Fitzwilliam, and not William as his sister did. There was something alluring and tantalizing with promise in the manner in which she purred out the long syllables of his name, and as the only person to ever use it as such, something deliciously intimate as well. "Much as I am enjoying your attentions."

 

"Are you?" he interrupted.

 

"Very much indeed. You know I have become unspeakably immodest and do not hesitate to tell you frankly everything you make me feel."

 

He halted his attentions and looked her squarely in the eyes. "Immodest? What absurdity is this? When we are in the privacy of our chambers, when it is only you and I, society's regulations have no place. Had we not long ago agreed to that?"

 

"Yes, we had."

 

"In truth, even from our earliest acquaintance you and I have never really done anything as society would require it of us. We have been frank and open in every manner, two equal minds, two equal hearts, and, in the end, the better for it."

 

"Be that as it may," she replied with a wistful smile, "society's rule cannot be altogether forgotten. It would not do for us to leave our guests waiting upon us and I would surmise that if we do not make our way to the drawing room they will be doing precisely that."

 

"We are still just a family party, Elizabeth. We hardly need stand on such formality." She shook her head, amused by his persistence. "What is the point of being master if one must be subject to such strictures?" he remarked as she grasped his hand and pulled him toward the door.

 

"Such torments you must bear, Fitzwilliam Darcy!"

 

"Yes, torments Elizabeth," he lightheartedly responded as they stepped out into the hallway. "Delightful and delicious torments, I grant you."

 

Darcy and Elizabeth entered the drawing room to find Charles Bingley excitingly extolling the virtues of his wife to Georgiana Darcy, while said wife sat in placid reception of the same. "Poor Georgiana really must be growing tired of hearing the virtues of Jane," Elizabeth laughed. "Between you and I Charles there is no end. But I promise, Georgiana, the day will not be limited to the same. Once Miss Bingley arrives we will depart."

 

Miss Bingley's arrival was not punctual, yet it had a certain studied vigor. She swept into the drawing room in full regalia. Head high and with a general air of dominion, she considered the group briefly before declaring: "You all look absolutely charming this morning, so unaffectedly informal."

 

"We are going to picnic, after all." Darcy noted, as he considered Miss Bingley's quite inappropriate attire. But then, he reflected, for all her indisputable understanding of the fashionable, she had long shown a propensity toward an unbending formality of attire. He had never recognized before how ridiculously supercilious it could appear. Unconsciously he put his hand over Elizabeth's, where it rested neatly in the crook of his arm, and grasped it affectionately before announcing that the carriage was waiting.

 

Elizabeth had planned a picnic in a particularly picturesque spot at the edge of the estate: known as Cranston's lake, it was not really a lake, rather a large pond. The pond sat in a flat, shallow valley surrounded on the one side by a grouping of verdant trees and in the distance by the lovely Derbyshire peaks. Wild flowers in bright yellows and purples abundantly adorned the pond's circumference, and the valley itself was covered with a rich, thick carpet of grasses. When the party arrived at the site, the gentlemen on horseback and the ladies in carriage, they beheld a charming sight. A comfortable distance from the pond was laid out an enormous cotton mantle, sheltered from the sun by a billowing canopy. An impressive array of cold meats, cheeses, fruits, cakes and light wines were presented underneath with unaffected elegance. In total it had a slightly exotic air, like something from the fabled Arabian Nights.

 

Darcy dismounted from his horse and shook his head in pleasant disbelief. He had not been wholly inclined for a picnic, telling Elizabeth he much preferred taking his meals in a civilized fashion--sitting at his own table. "Man advanced from sitting on his haunches while consuming his meals quite some time ago," he had asserted. Elizabeth had only laughed at his aversion and prevailed upon him to indulge her.

 

"I say, Darcy," Bingley said as he stepped to Darcy's side. "Lizzy has outdone herself."

 

"Undeniably," he remarked. Approaching the carriage he handed the ladies out, and as Elizabeth exited he leaned in close to her and whispered, "I acknowledge my error, Elizabeth. There is nothing uncivilized about this at all. Indeed, it promises to be quite charming. May I offer my congratulations?"

 

She laughed happily. "Mr. Darcy, you really ought to learn the full capacity of Pemberley's staff. It is remarkable, given the opportunity, what imagination they possess."

 

"So I see, my dear."

 

The party sat down to a long, leisurely meal. The afternoon was magnificent, with mild temperature and an agreeable breeze. The setting and the near intimacy of the party encouraged an easy informality and the ladies, with the exception of Miss Bingley who wore one of her ubiquitous turbans, soon removed their bonnets and the two gentlemen lounged like stretched cats. Conversation was casual.

 

Miss Bingley took in the scene with interest. She had never seen Darcy so informal and relaxed, but more so, she was fascinated by the differing behavior of the two married couples before her. Both had been, undeniably, marriages of affection, and yet that affection was displayed so differently as to be worthy of note. She had long found her brother's manner with Jane overly solicitous, too obvious and inelegant. The unvarying, unguarded references to her beauty, her sweetness, to her being his very angel were tiresome to hear and seemed to somehow diminish the value of the words, if not the sentiments. It was the sort of behavior she was wont to mock with her friends when gentlemen chose their affections over their interests, leaving them all to conclude that a marriage of interests in which the parties were compatible was far more desirable. In Darcy, however, to both her relief and her consternation, she saw something different. She could not have borne to see the man she still admired show himself a fool in love; his marriage itself had been sufficiently mortifying. His manner of showing affection for his wife did not disappoint her expectations, and she saw a restrained, careful attention to his wife's needs and wants, a subtle, delicate profusion of tenderness that surprised her in a man she was long accustomed to admire for his aloof formality. And she could not deny that Mrs. Darcy returned an equally tender, equally unobtrusive regard. Their mutual affection was, to her continued vexation, as unmistakable as that between her brother and his wife, and yet it was not at all obvious and seemed therefore, to her mind, more precious. Before she had time to feel again the loss of such a man, and before her old resentment toward the former Miss Bennet could be reborn by such reflections, she did what her sister had counseled to ensure continued admittance to Pemberley—she took sanctuary in civility.

 

"Mrs. Darcy, may I offer my compliments. You have provided us with a most delightful afternoon."

 

"Thank you, Miss Bingley. I trust it has been agreeable to all."

 

"Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley continued, "all the times I have visited Pemberley you have never brought your guests to this delightful spot. It really is very quaint."

 

"I rediscovered this lake, so to speak, while touring the park with Mrs. Darcy. It has quickly become a favorite spot for us both."

 

"I believe this is also the very first time I have been on a picnic at Pemberley, is that not correct Charles? Can you recall a picnic before?"

 

"Not at the moment," he replied indifferently.

 

"A picnic is such a charming country activity." Miss Bingley had the unfortunate propensity of sounding insincere even at those moments in which she wished to be sincere. She was so concerned with her interest and her position within society that her calculation sadly diminished her not unsubstantial advantages: she was, after all, a handsome and well-educated lady, a clever and experienced hostess, capable of charm, and, not of little importance, in possession of a fortune worth twenty thousand pounds. Regrettably, her ambition was, visibly, her dominant trait, so that her arts were often obvious and in that obviousness often lay her certain failure. In this instance she had intended to compliment Elizabeth; the result had been less then successful.

 

"Yes, well, we are in the country, Miss Bingley," Elizabeth replied archly. "And on a most splendid day. Would anyone care to take a turn with me along the water's edge?"

 

Miss Bingley opted to remain under the canopy and out of the sun and encouraged Georgiana to do the same. Darcy and Bingley understood their wives might enjoy a private walk and so declined as well. As Elizabeth and Jane rose from the picnic and made their way across the field and toward the lake, Darcy observed them in thoughtful silence.

 

"Such thoughtfulness will not do at a picnic, Darcy," Bingley finally interjected. "What could possibly have you so serious now?"

 

Darcy smiled good-naturedly at his friend's mirth. "I am thinking about your future, Bingley."

 

"My future? Why I think that is all decided now, yours too, these past eight months," Bingley laughed.

 

"You are wrong. My future is certainly decided, yours, however, is not."

 

"You can be so cryptic when you choose. Whatever do you mean?"

 

Darcy turned his attention back to Elizabeth and Jane. They walked with their heads slightly inclined one toward the other; they spoke easily and an atmosphere of contentment surrounded them. "Bingley," Darcy said at last, "Why don't you give up Netherfield altogether?"

 

"Give up Netherfield? Now? When I have just resigned the lease?"

 

"Yes. Give it up entirely. Purchase a property here in the north. What better gift could you give your wife then a home close to Elizabeth?"

 

Bingley sat up in surprise, his mouth dropping open as he contemplated the suggestion. He too turned his attentions to the sisters as they continued their stroll. Just at that moment a silly giggle could be heard wading in the air. "What a splendid notion, Darcy. Why had I not thought of it myself?"

 

Miss Bingley, who, along with her sister Louisa, had long desired that her brother purchase his own estate, immediately seconded Darcy's suggestion. Directly assuming the argument, she began to enumerate the many reasons why he should leave Netherfield for the north. Wisely she emphasized Jane's certain happiness were she close to her most beloved sister and did not mention what would be her own source of personal delight, to be far from the mortifying Mrs. Bennet—she could hardly invite her acquaintances to her brother's country estate when that woman's constant presence was assured. Miss Bingley had no difficult task in truth, for Bingley was certain, now he thought on it, that given the choice, Jane would prefer to be closer to Elizabeth than to Longbourn.

 

Seeing Miss Bingley entertained in discourse, Georgiana stood and approached her own brother. "Will you walk with me?" she asked as she held out her hand.

 

"It would be my pleasure." Darcy stood, taking her hand and affectionately placing it upon his arm as they began to walk together at a leisurely pace. Darcy absently noticed that she seemed a little taller and wondered when she would stop growing. She was becoming a handsome and sensible young lady, unpretentious and elegant, and he was immensely proud of her. What pleased him most, however, was a certain lightness of bearing that he detected in her air for the first time.

 

"And how is my darling girl enjoying herself on this splendid afternoon?"

 

"Very much. I wonder we never thought before to have a picnic here."

 

"I think Elizabeth has opened our eyes to many possibilities, has she not? I suppose we were a bit of a sober pair on our own for so many years."

 

"Perhaps given our circumstances and characters it was inevitable."

 

"Perhaps," Darcy replied.

 

They continued to stroll for a time in the companionable silence that was so often their custom. "You will think me silly, brother," Georgiana suddenly remarked. "I am almost envious of Elizabeth and Mrs. Bingley."

 

"Did Mrs. Bingley not request that you call her Jane?"

 

"Very well. Elizabeth and Jane."

 

"Better. Now, tell me, why would my dear sister, who is all kindness, feel something as mean as envy?" His tone was mild, yet Georgiana knew him disappointed with the sentiment expressed.

 

"Their accord is palpable," she replied after a moment.

 

"Does not Elizabeth adore you and does not your brother dote upon you?"

 

"You must think me an ungrateful sister."

 

"I think nothing of the kind. Pray, Georgiana, explain. I would wish for you to feel you can always confide in me. You have done so in the past."

 

"Do not misapprehend. You are the dearest and best brother a sister could desire. As regards Elizabeth, I dare claim that she has been as much a source of happiness for me as she has been for you." The expression that spread across Darcy's face upon hearing this avowal clearly revealed how dubiously he viewed said assertion. "Well, perhaps not as much," Georgiana smiled sweetly. "I can affirm, however, that you, who have always given me my every wish, have also given me as a sister someone I have grown to admire and regard as sincerely as you yourself could wish me to."

 

"I am pleased. I could not be happy at your expense, Georgiana. I still do not comprehend your initial statement, however. Will you not explain?"

 

Gesturing toward the sisters as they continued their stroll, she explained: "Can you not see when they are together the deep understanding, the confidence and trust? It is something that cannot be born from a moment's acquaintance, but only from a life shared. Although I have found in Elizabeth a true friend and confidant, indeed a sister in every manner, they clearly share a bond of unusual strength. I should have liked to know such an openness and trust."

 

"With me you do not feel such openness and trust?" Darcy inquired, wounded by the possibility.

 

"William, I am afraid I am explaining myself very ill. You I trust as none other, implicitly, entirely. Although you claimed otherwise after that disgraceful Ramsgate incident, the truth is that you have never once failed me. Yet it is only natural that you and I should not have the same intimacy they so evidently share, even should we have desired it so. They are sisters and close in age; whereas I am a sister more than ten years my brother's junior. After all you have been more father to me than brother. Perhaps I use 'envious' inaccurately. I admire their unity and would wish to be fortunate enough to experience such closeness myself."

 

As Georgiana finished speaking she looked at her brother with a gentle, affectionate smile. Her soft blue eyes held the same timid, docile expression as always, and yet in her face he saw something less girlish than usual, and in her tone a new maturity. Spontaneously Darcy leaned over and kissed her on the cheek while softly squeezing the hand that rested upon his arm.

 

"To what do I owe such tenderness?" she inquired.

 

"Because you are dearer to me than words can express, Georgiana. And because you are no longer the frightened little girl who came to me seeking comfort when her father died and did not know that she was a greater comfort to me than I could ever hope to be for her. Perhaps, Georgiana, it is time I become a little less father and a little more brother and we can learn to share more confidences."

 

"I should like that very much, my dearest brother." Her eyes grew teary with emotion and she leaned her head against his shoulder just as she had when she was just such a frightened girl.

 

The display of tenderness did not go unobserved. "What a pretty picture they make," Jane remarked as she continued arm-in-arm with Elizabeth around the water's edge.

 

"They are devoted to each other, Jane. Sometimes, when I see them together, tender as they are now, I remember how horribly I once misjudged him and I feel such pangs of remorse."

 

"That is not like you at all Lizzy. Did you not tell me that in cases such as these a good memory is unpardonable?" Jane laughed.

 

"Indeed it is Jane. I suppose I love him so very dearly now that I am angry with myself for having ever caused him pain. Now when I truly understand the depth of his affections, the generosity of his heart, I am ashamed."

 

"I am very surprised at you Lizzy. You have never been one inclined toward melancholy or recrimination."

 

"Oh, do not be concerned Jane. I say this now in passing only to you. Once I told Mr. Darcy how mortified I was by my past cruelty and he grew quite angry with me, insisting that all the fault was his. He would not have me castigating myself, for while my opinions had been formed on mistaken premises, his behavior had been at fault. He would not allow me any fault at all."

 

"Naturally he would not, he loves you Lizzy. That is plain for anyone to see from the manner in which he looks at you and cares for you. He does not show his regard in any undue manner, he is discreet and proper, but it is nevertheless evident. Charles has said that he is still a little startled when he sees you and Darcy together."

 

"Startled, Jane?"

 

"Startled by the change he has seen in Mr. Darcy."

 

"In what manner?"

 

"As you are aware Charles and Mr. Darcy became acquainted with each other after the elder Mr. Darcy had died. Charles tells me that Mr. Darcy was always the cleverest man in the room, sharp and witty. He was the envy of many men—rich, handsome, his own master, and with an enviable air of command and decisiveness. But Charles was struck by a certain almost secret sadness in his eyes, something he never had the courage to discuss with Mr. Darcy himself, but which drew Charles to him. That sadness, he insists, is now gone and it gives to Mr. Darcy's countenance a different, slightly softened appearance, and it startles him as he has not yet grown accustomed to it. He is delighted for his friend."

 

Elizabeth did not respond, instead she turned her gaze upon her husband and his sister and watched them walking peacefully together across the park. She smiled and turned to Jane. "If you are half as happy as I am Jane, then we are both very fortunate women."

 

"I can not measure your happiness against my own Lizzy. Indeed, we each have our own character and so we have our own manner of happiness. Yet I suspect that we are both happier than we ever imagined we could be when we would sit together at night and share our dreams."

 

"All I would require for perfect happiness would be to have you closer. We shall always be at Pemberley, but Netherfield is no legacy for Charles. Can you not encourage him to purchase an estate in the north? Can you imagine, Jane, if, in addition to every other happiness, we were near?"

 

"That would answer my every wish. In truth, I am a little ashamed to confess that at times I feel I am too near to some and too far away from others. Am I ungenerous for such thoughts, unkind?"

 

"You have more patience then you ought. I have read your letters with your tales of daily visits from Mama and Aunt Philips and I am recalled to an odd little conversation Mr. Darcy and I once had—or at least it seemed odd at the time, now it seems so obvious that I wonder at my lack of perception. In any case, we were discussing whether it might be possible for a woman to be settled too near her family. I am now of the firm conviction that it is and you should not be ashamed to acknowledge it so. I have no scruples in acknowledging it better for all that it be you and Charles, with your easy natures, who are settled three miles from Longbourn and that Mr. Darcy and I are settled three days from Longbourn."

 

"I think you perhaps give Charles and me too much credit, and Mr. Darcy and yourself not enough."

 

"Perhaps. Yet when I was reading your letters and found myself delightfully installed far away at Pemberley I could not be but grateful. So you see, I am the one who is unkind, not you. But I have a solution. If you cannot convince Charles to give up Netherfield, you could always come and spend months upon months here at Pemberley. After all, it's so enormous we might lose you completely from sight for days."

 

"Lizzy! I have so missed you," Jane laughed. "I must acknowledge I was surprised when we first came over the hill and saw the house itself and I did find it enormous. Not a single description I have heard does merit to Pemberley's grandeur. You seemed to have settled on 'beautiful', Charles on 'impressive', and of course Caroline has long proclaimed it the embodiment of elegance. My Father, of course, was even more circumspect. All he would say when he returned from visiting Pemberley was that you had done quite well for yourself and that your Mr. Darcy appeared, in his own particular manner, very devoted."

 

"Oh Jane, many days I awaken and I cannot believe that I am the mistress of so much. I think I must have dreamt it all, the wonderful husband, the beautiful grounds, the elegant rooms. But then I turn my head and see my darling husband sleeping at my side and I am returned to the reality of my great fortune."

 

"Does he always sleep with you then?" Jane asked softly, surprising herself at the inquiry.

 

"Yes, Jane. What will you think? I would have it no other way. Are you shocked?"

 

"Not at all. Merely surprised."

 

"And why should you be surprised?"

 

"Just that he is so formal and correct in everything he does. And that appears a rather informal choice." Jane stopped and blushed. "Forgive me Lizzy. We should not be discussing this."

 

"Why ever not? It is only between you and I. It is true that Mr. Darcy is formal, correct, often reserved in company. But when we are alone, oh Jane! When we are alone he is all tenderness, affection and candor. Even playful, if you can imagine. That he behaves in such a manner only when alone with me gratifies me most foolishly." Elizabeth stopped walking and turned to face her sister. She took Jane's hands into her own, her face aglow with feeling. "Jane! Jane! Do you not feel as though you love Charles more now than when you married him? As though each day you feel your heart expanding from the love that overwhelms it, from that delicious, beguiling mixture of peacefulness and passion."

 

"Not precisely," Jane smiled sweetly, amused by Elizabeth's ardent expression. "I have always felt the same constant and deep regard for Charles; I cannot say that it has altered. But then, we are very different creatures you and I. Charlotte always said that you were the romantic one and you would laugh at her, but I begin to suspect that she may have been correct after all. We both feel deeply and faithfully, Lizzy, but you have always been more passionate and I more serene in the execution of the same."

 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, a little embarrassed by her outburst of emotion. "Before I expose myself more, perhaps we had better return to the rest of our party. The afternoon is drawing to a close." Jane smiled and the sisters embraced warmly before rejoining the others.

 

That evening the party was gathered in the yellow drawing room used during the warmer summer months. The doors were opened wide onto a terrace that overlooked the park and a gentle breeze cooled and refreshed the room. After the pleasant afternoon by Cranston's lake, they were indulging in an equally calm and informal evening. Georgiana and Jane were sitting together and quietly chatting while each worked on a piece of embroidery, whilst the remaining four played cards. Elizabeth was highly amused by Miss Bingley's persistent compliments to the excellence of Mr. Darcy's game.

 

"I am so fortunate to be partnered with you this evening, Mr. Darcy. You are consistently an astute and challenging competitor. You really must explain to me the reasoning behind some of the more daring plays you have made."

 

"Yes, my dear Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth remarked mischievously. "You really are making a mockery of our game, is that not so Charles? But I am sure, sir, that you would credit Miss Bingley for equally excellent play."

 

"Naturally," he replied indifferently. His wife was finding the spectacle far too amusing and he really loathed playing with a partner that could not remain quiet and focused on the game. The hand completed, he therefore suggested they forego another round.

 

"But this has been so delightful," Miss Bingley replied. "Shall we not play another hand? Pray, Mr. Darcy, will you not indulge me? I do so enjoy a challenging game of cards."

 

"I really must decline, Miss Bingley. However, your relish for cards will be easily satisfied soon enough. The remainder of our party will arrive in two days time and you will then have ample sources of competition." Darcy bowed and removed to another part of the room where he took up a book.

 

"Perhaps you will indulge me in another matter, Mrs. Darcy. I am curious as to who and how many make up the party that is to join us."

 

"Certainly. There will be five, possibly six. Sir Patrick MacLaighid, who as you know is the Member of Parliament for Donegal. Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ashton, Mr. and Mrs. John Thorney, who, if we are fortunate, may be accompanied by the young painter Mr. John Constable. Mr. Constable is currently working on a commission for Mr. and Mrs. Thorney, painting Alresford Hall. We would like him to paint Pemberley for us."

 

"I did not know you were a connoisseur of painting, Mrs. Darcy."

 

"I am not. However, we did see some of his works while we were in Town at the homes of some acquaintances and found them very appealing."

 

"A painter and an Irish Member, how curious." Miss Bingley remarked, unable to fathom such a motley combination and curious to see how the party would interact.

 

"Since we are no longer to play cards, Miss Bingley, would you pleasure us with a song at the pianoforte?" Elizabeth responded, imperturbable to anything Miss Bingley insinuated, intentionally or otherwise. She had certainly shown an effort to treat her with more civility than had been her habit when she was just Miss Bennet, and so she was determined to return the civility for Jane's sake, as well as Georgiana's, who seemed, if not deeply attached to her, accustomed to her. Otherwise she could not abide her tiresome snobbery. As Miss Bingley sat down to oblige Elizabeth's request, Matthews, the butler, entered the room.

 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy."

 

"Yes Matthews, what is it?"

 

"A gentleman has called and is waiting upon you in the blue drawing room."

 

"At this hour? Did he not give his name, Matthews?"

 

"Yes sir. Lord Chiltern."

 

The expression of astonishment that spread across Darcy's often inscrutable face could not be disguised. "Lord Chiltern! Are you certain he said Lord Chiltern?"

 

"Yes sir. His card, sir." Darcy took the proffered card and stared at it for a moment in silence.

 

"Tell him I shall be there directly."

 

"You are acquainted with Lord Chiltern, Darcy?" Bingley inquired excitedly.

 

"Yes, I am."

 

"Is it the Lord Chiltern?"

 

"I know of only one, Bingley," he groused.

 

"May I go with you, Darcy?"

 

"I should prefer to attend him in private." Turning to Elizabeth, he remarked, with a vague anticipation of disarray: "Mrs. Darcy, it is possible we shall have another guest. I am not certain."

 

"Lord Chiltern, well, I'll be." Bingley mumbled as Darcy exited the room.

 

"You have both reacted to this gentleman's name with great emotion, Charles. Who is Lord Chiltern?" Elizabeth asked.

 

"I know of Lord Chiltern, Lizzy, but I am not acquainted with him. Indeed, I had no notion that Darcy was. He has a reputation among the Clubs as an adventurer. That is all I know."

 

A general sense of curiosity settled about the drawing room as they awaited Darcy's return, and with it an explanation to this peculiar interruption to their family party.

 

Lords and Ladies are never shocking

 

 

 

Darcy walked slowly down the passageway toward the blue drawing room where, evidently, Lord Chiltern was awaiting his arrival. He had not been aware that Chiltern had returned to England and could not fathom why, if he had, he should present himself at Pemberley of all places, and at such an eccentric hour. As he reached his hand to the door handle he had a quickly passing recollection of Chiltern as a young man: vibrant, clever, unbridled in manner and intent, recounting, with that marked capacity for storytelling that he possessed, yet another argument with the late Earl regarding some recent misadventure. Darcy entered the blue drawing room and was presented with the back of a short and powerfully built man. Without turning at the sound of the door closing behind Darcy, the man began to speak, his voice a clear, strong, mellow baritone. "I took the liberty of pouring myself a brandy, Darcy. Would you like one as well?"

 

"No." Darcy replied unceremoniously, waiting for the gentleman to turn and face him. When he did so Darcy was astonished by the transformation he saw therein. Chiltern's face was tanned, taut skinned and withered, and he wore a full, ungainly beard. He looked, instead of a few years Darcy's senior, as he was, a full twenty years older.

 

"Why Darcy!" Chiltern intoned boisterously, his large voice easily filling the expanse of the large, high-ceilinged room. "You have grown into a marvelously strapping man. When last I saw you, you were far more, what is the word?" He paused in search of the word, flapping his hands inelegantly through the air. "Lanky, I would say. Yes. Lanky."

 

"It has been several years, Chiltern. Time enough for both of us to have altered in our appearance."

 

At Darcy's suggestive remark Chiltern smiled, a large toothy smile, and a playful gleam came into his eyes that Darcy could at last recognize. "Yes, many years. And look at me now. A veritable savage!"

 

"You have looked more kempt, certainly." Darcy remarked as he came forward with his hand outstretched.

 

"Were you always this tall?" Chiltern inquired as they shook hands. "Or has all the heat of the Amazon shrunk me?"

 

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

 

"Always pointed! On my way to Edinburgh. May I sit?" Lord Chiltern threw himself into the nearest chair with relish and took a large sip of brandy. "Excellent!" He exclaimed. "But then the Darcys always did have an uncanny aptitude for discerning the truly good over the merely fine. How refreshing that we can trust in the consistency of some people in this world." Chiltern's words were easy and confident, but Darcy was struck by the alien nervousness in his bearing, even more so than by his disheveled appearance and abrupt manners.

 

"Pemberley is not precisely in the direct route from London to Edinburgh," Darcy observed.

 

"Not precisely, no, but not too far off," Chiltern responded, offering nothing.

 

"Will you be staying then?"

 

"If you'll have me Darcy. I will most gratefully impose."

 

"Our families have a long association, Chiltern. You hardly need ask. My wife and I would welcome your company."

 

"Your wife? Why of course! I should have supposed you would be married by now. Long married, I presume."

 

"Only these eight months now."

 

"That cousin of yours they were trying to marry you off to?"

 

"No."

 

"Some Earl's daughter then. Perhaps even, with your fortune and figure, a Duke's daughter."

 

"No."

 

"Reticent as always."

 

"Curious as always."

 

"An heiress then?"

 

"My wife is the daughter of a modest gentleman from the southern counties."

 

"Well, I'll be the devil! You were one of the chaps slated for the most eligible of girls on the marriage market. The marriage of the season yours was meant to be. How you must have disappointed the denizens of our fine society."

 

"I can assure you I did not marry to satisfy anyone but myself," Darcy replied coolly.

 

"I rather admire you if you took one you actually liked. So many of our set never bother with that little point."

 

"How unfortunate for them."

 

"Am I very abrupt?" Chiltern suddenly inquired, taking another long sip of brandy. "You will have to forgive me. Too many years in the wilds I fear."

 

"So it would seem," Darcy replied dryly, to which Chiltern laughed delightedly. He had a robust and pleasing laugh.

 

"That's what I always liked about you Darcy, your dry, mordant wit. I know none other who can be so perfectly dignified and perfectly fiendish as you. Most people never did catch on though as I recall; you are so deceptively proper they miss the man you are altogether. In any case, if you'll have me, I should so like to retire for the evening. Your man said you had a few guests. Don't ask me into the drawing room. I've had a devil of a day and could not possibly be a credit to my name."

 

"I should never compel you into any society," Darcy responded sardonically. "If you are to be a guest under my roof, however, you must, at the very least, be introduced to my wife."

 

"Oh yes, very well. Bring her here then." Darcy stared at him for a moment in palpable astonishment at Chiltern's ostensible dismissal of his wife; Chiltern perceived his error. "I told you I've been in the wilds too long Darcy. I have forgotten the few manners I ever possessed. You must recall how my mother would rattle on about my distressing lack of decorum."

 

"Yes. I do seem to recall that both she and the late Earl had much cause for concern."

 

"But I am not a hopeless case, I am an Earl after all. These three years I think; I hardly remember." He bowed his head slightly. "It would be my honor to make your wife's acquaintance, but may I request that I do so here, in private?"

 

"You have grown more irreverent than ever. I should have thought it impossible!"

 

"Nothing in this world is impossible, Darcy. Nothing at all."

 

"I shall send for Mrs. Darcy."

 

The gentlemen stood as Elizabeth entered the room. Upon beholding this disheveled, untidy gentleman next to her always fastidiously attired husband her eyes were immediately alight with mirth; the comparison was stark and she struggled, with little success, to contain a cheeky smile.

 

"Mrs. Darcy, may I introduce Lord Chiltern. We have been acquainted with one another all our lives. His father and my uncle were intimate friends, as were our grandfathers before them."

 

"So you are Darcy's wife!" Chiltern roared as he bowed, rather messily, to Elizabeth. "I have always had a peculiar fondness for Darcy, although I suspect he would not pay me the same compliment. If I may say, the sight of you rather surprises me. Commanding fellow he can be I'd have thought him married to some horribly proper, frightened creature. I can see he has selected for himself a fiery little wife and so he must indeed be as independent minded as I had always hoped he would become. Too much gray matter to waste on being predictable and you, I gather, were an unpredictable choice."

 

"Lord Chiltern!" Darcy admonished, appalled at his familiarity. "You are mistaken if you believe you may address my wife in the same unguarded manner in which you are accustomed to addressing me!"

 

Elizabeth, however, found him incredibly amusing and only wished she could share this oddity of a little man with her father. Briefly touching Darcy's arm in reassurance, she responded to Chiltern in an equally bold manner. "I am not certain, Lord Chiltern, whether I am to be flattered or slighted by your commentary."

 

"I would hope you are flattered. I have not survived the wilds of the Argentine and the Amazon without learning to be a quick judge of character and you are clearly a spirited and intelligent lass. I saw it the moment you walked through that door. It's in your carriage, but mostly I can see it in the eyes. Poets are usually wrong, shoddy fellows that they are, but they were right about the eyes. Everything is always revealed in the eyes."

 

"I have not always found first impressions reliable, Lord Chiltern. I trust you have better success at it than I."

 

"My first impressions never fail me and you have just proven me right again! Now, as I was telling Darcy here before you entered, I've had a devil of a day and would be much obliged for immediate rest. I trust you will not be offended if I bypass the drawing room this evening."

 

"Not at all, sir. Let me ring for the housekeeper and she will escort you to your room."

 

As Lord Chiltern followed Mrs. Reynolds out of the room, Elizabeth turned to Darcy with an expression of absolute bewilderment. Before she could speak, Darcy threw up his hands as evidence of his own bafflement.

 

"He is gone wild Elizabeth. He was always a singular fellow; still, I hardly recognize him for the young man I knew. His appearance is quite out of the ordinary and I am not sure why he has come down upon us. He was not forthcoming. As I said earlier, we have been acquainted all our lives, but we were never uncommonly friendly. At this hour, however, I could not do other then offer him our roof."

 

"Naturally. He is a terribly peculiar gentleman, but he is also, I would conjecture, a clever one."

 

"I have rarely encountered one more clever. He can spin a tale with impressive skill. I should imagine," he added dryly, "after spending these last seven or eight years in the Argentine he has acquired, along with his peculiar manner, an abundance of material."

 

"Well, then, nothing to be bothered about, my dear. If one must have an unexpected guest, so much the better that he be interesting."

 

Darcy smiled, amused by her insouciance at having such a singular guest thrust upon her household. "Indeed, so much the better," he replied, offering his arm as they returned to the yellow drawing room where he was immediately barraged with enthusiastic inquiries from the Bingley siblings.

 

"Enough!" Darcy finally cried, "You shall judge for yourselves at breakfast."

 

By the time breakfast was over on the following morning, Miss Bingley was severely disappointed. Having spent a fair share of the night contemplating the possibilities of an unattached Earl--for she had learnt that, to the best of Darcy's knowledge, he was indeed unattached--she unhappily found the mysterious Lord Chiltern to be a full head shorter than herself and endowed with an air decidedly lacking in regulation. These failings she might have overlooked had not he also, more to her irritation, shown a swift, indisputable and obvious delight in conversing with Mrs. Darcy, almost to the exclusion of the entire gathered party. Miss Bingley resolved, however, that it would behoove her more to comprehend Mrs. Darcy than to resent her, and she would set out to do just that, watching her and analyzing her with an open, impartial, dispassionate eye. Recalling the past London season she was retrospectively intrigued by the manner in which Mrs. Darcy had been received.

 

The ladies had been diverse in their assessment of the woman who had captured the gentleman not a few had pursued with greater or lesser degrees of eagerness and fidelity. Disappointed and disinterested ladies alike could all agree that she was witty and intelligent. They could not agree, however, on the extent of her beauty, her sense of fashion, the relative merits of her independence of character, nor on the degree of talent she possessed at the pianoforte. Those most reasonable and most disinterested concluded of Mrs. Darcy as follows: she was pretty, without being unduly so; she was possessed of a simple, unpretentious elegance that probably suited Mr. Darcy who was himself known for his understated sophistication; her independence of mind, thought and carriage, while admirable, were in no way fashionable; her talent at the pianoforte charmingly unaffected, but by no means capital. She was, in short, acknowledged to be very much out of the common way, but whether that was good or bad depended entirely on the woman appraising her. Jane, in fact, had been more admired by the ladies; she was uniformly described as very pretty and very sweet, quite a suitable match for the genial Mr. Bingley.

 

In complete contrast, the gentlemen had been mixed in their appraisal of Jane—while all found her pretty, what some found a sweetness of character others found slightly insipid. The gentlemen, however, had been uniformly and unambiguously charmed by Mrs. Darcy, and evidently considered Mr. Darcy to have found himself, if not perhaps an excellent connection, which he was really not in any want of, an excellent wife, in and of herself. And here was Lord Chiltern, yet another charmed gentleman. As Miss Bingley's primary concern continued to be the satisfaction of her ambitions through a successful marriage--ideally one as exceptional in its own right as was that of the former Miss Bennet—she was more concerned with charming the gentlemen, at this juncture, and not so concerned with what the ladies might think. She determined, therefore, to understand the nature of Mrs. Darcy's charm. Her first acknowledgement, as she listened closely to the conversation as it passed between Lord Chiltern and Mrs. Darcy, was that she really was remarkably clever and quick, and this quickness of mind, devoid of any acerbity, seemed to be what his lordship, and certainly Darcy before him, found so appealing.

 

Lord Chiltern's admiration had not gone unnoticed by Darcy either. Indeed, while his vanity had been secretly flattered by the admiration Elizabeth had garnered while they were in London and while he had felt an uncharacteristic sense of triumph with each honest expression of congratulations where his aunt had envisaged scorn, Lord Chiltern's slightly savage and yet curiously appealing manner grated on his serenity, and he felt not a secretly flattered vanity but an unfamiliar discomfort. Before he could brood upon the manifest pleasure with which his wife attended upon Lord Chiltern's soliloquy of adventures, Matthews entered the breakfast room and handed Darcy a small silver tray upon which sat a just arrived express.

 

Although Elizabeth was indeed finding his lordship's adventures diverting and his capacity for oratory even more so, the expression on Darcy's face as he read the express did not go unnoticed by her. Like a curtain drawn, his expression was abruptly impenetrable and dark; his face was still, with the telling exception of slightly flaring nostrils.

 

"Nothing serious I hope, Darcy?" Bingley inquired innocently as he cut his ham.

 

"No." He replied tersely. "This is not an unanticipated communication." Darcy calmly folded the letter and placed it into his breast pocket. He looked meaningfully to Elizabeth and continued with his breakfast, remaining quiet and sullen for the duration. Once finished, he spoke in a voice Elizabeth now recognized as one of controlled displeasure. He happily had not used this voice often since they wed, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. "Bingley, I will need to attend to this express," he remarked pulling the correspondence from his pocket and flashing it as explanation. "Will you oblige me and show Lord Chiltern to the stables. It is a fine morning for a ride. I am sure, Lord Chiltern, you would appreciate the exercise."

 

"Oh I am in no want of exercise, Darcy." Lord Chiltern responded. "After so many years traversing jungles and mountains I'd rather take a more indolent approach if I might. I have had about enough of vigorous exercise, I dare say. Society is another matter altogether and I do not recall being in more pleasing and enchanting society in ever so much time than I have been this morning," he added, looking frankly and openly at Elizabeth. "Mrs. Darcy, would you care for a lazy stroll about the gardens?"

 

Sitting, as was her custom during the breakfast hour, at Darcy's side, she was vaguely aware of his clenching jaw in response to Chiltern's casual invitation. "Thank you, but no, Lord Chiltern. Might I encourage you to join Mr. Bingley? While I am finding your stories compelling, I do have some business with my housekeeper this morning that can not be delayed and so must forego the pleasure."

 

"You will promise me your company later this afternoon then? I have only just begun the telling."

 

Elizabeth blushed mildly and felt an uncomfortable inclination to indulge the manner of his address, despite the unguarded familiarity of it, and felt as though she were, against her better judgment, once again too quickly susceptible to the powers of an open countenance and easy repartee. "I am sure we would all be delighted to be regaled with more tales over tea."

 

"Let us go then, Lord Chiltern, while the morning is young," Bingley cried, sensing the discomfort of both Elizabeth and Darcy. Darcy immediately followed the gentlemen out of the room and retired to his study.

 

"So that is Lord Chiltern!" Miss Bingley declared as the ladies were left to themselves, her secret hopes for a desirable match completely washed away with the morning tea.

 

"So it would seem," Elizabeth replied. "And a more loquacious gentleman I defy you to find, Miss Bingley. Regardless of our relative enthusiasm on the subject, I fear we shall all be experts on the Argentine ere long." To which the two old rivals shared an honest, amused laugh.

 

"He is an enthusiastic gentleman," Jane remarked. "Yet he is certainly in possession of a certain charm, I think."

 

"I found him rather shocking in his manner and appearance," Georgiana offered timidly.

 

"Earls, my dear Georgiana, lords and ladies in general, for that matter, are never shocking," Elizabeth responded archly. "They are, instead, charmingly exceptional."

 

"The immunity of title," Miss Bingley added scathingly, as much to her own surprise as that of her companions.

 

The four ladies shared another cup of tea together, quietly discussing concerns wholly unconnected to adventures in the Argentine, until Elizabeth excused herself claiming the need to attend to some household matters.

 

She went directly to Darcy's study, eager to confirm her suspicion that Lady Catherine had responded, and that not very favorably, to Darcy's invitation. She entered without knocking on the door. Elizabeth found Darcy seated at his desk, chair turned toward the window, legs crossed, his elbow resting on the armrest, his hand nervously rubbing his lower lip. Staring fixedly out the window, he looked peculiarly friendless and decidedly displeased. Elizabeth walked over to the window and observed him for a moment without speaking.

 

As though he had been awaiting her arrival, Darcy took the correspondence from his pocket and handed it to her. "I imagine she sent it express to underscore the urgency of her continued disapprobation. After you read this perhaps you would be so kind as to remind me why I am attempting to reconcile with this woman." His tone was even, but the mingled resentment and disillusionment he felt was evident enough to Elizabeth.

 

July 18__

Rosings Park, Kent

 

Dear Nephew,

 

I am relieved to see you sufficiently restored to your sense of obligation and duty as to seek reconciliation with your mother's sister. It cannot go unnoted, however, that had you never taken leave of such sense as would always have ensured fidelity to said duty this breach could have never occurred. Your resentment is therefore hardly one I can credit. You should have anticipated what occurred and humbly accepted such recriminations as were my duty to provide at such an unfortunate moment, a duty I possess not only as one of your nearest relations but in this particular case also as an offended party. That said; I am not ashamed to acknowledge the pleasure of receiving such a gesture as that which you have offered. What a disappointment that it should be expressed with such impertinence. I see you have learned something from your wife after all! Nevertheless, I trust you remain sensible enough to what is good to ensure that Georgiana will not fall under such an impression that said attitude is at all permissible in a young lady of her rank. That you have so obviously embraced such manners is something I will simply be required to accept as a tragic singularity of character in an otherwise excellent man, your recent defiance of all that was expected of you notwithstanding. All this being understood, I only add that I will not be reproached for my behavior by any person, much less will I allow such anticipatory reproach as you have offered. That is an impudence of such shocking proportions as I am most certainly not accustomed to tolerating; I have no intention of establishing such a standard. Therefore, I cannot, at this time, give a favorable response to the tendered offer.

 

Yours etc.,

Lady Catherine de Bourgh

 

Elizabeth folded the letter and wished only to remark on the absurdity of such a dispatch. Before she could speak, however, Darcy said, in the same restrained tone as earlier: "Pray, Elizabeth, how should you have me respond? I am for leaving relations as they are, but I assume you will attempt to persuade me otherwise, despite the fact that she continues to insult you."

 

"She did not really insult me in this letter," Elizabeth replied. "I think it was more of a direct attack on you, my dear. Nevertheless, she has softened. Why not make another effort?"

 

"Let us not waste time and words on the same argument we have had these many weeks now. I concede preemptively. What would you have me say?"

 

Elizabeth looked at Darcy for a moment before responding; his features were set in disapprobation, distaste and disappointment. She was not averse to foregoing the entire effort. Although she believed a reconciliation was right in principal, she was growing weary of the inharmonious moments the realization of that principal seemed to require they suffer, and she, after all, had no personal wish to ever again see the exalted Lady Catherine. Nevertheless, she sallied forth. "Perhaps you might simply offer that, as you each clearly comprehend the other's opinion on this matter, you will not continue to argue where the greater share of blame lies, that you renew your invitation for her and your cousin to visit Pemberley and that they will be welcomed, at their convenience, with all the civility that is their due as near relations. Perhaps you need say nothing more and nothing less. She clearly wishes to relent, just as you do."

 

As he made no reply but remained in stoic silence, she added impatiently, "You are family, after all, as evidenced by your common obstinacy!"

 

At this remark, Darcy brusquely stood, turned the chair back toward his desk, sat down again and pulled out a piece of paper. While he reached for his pen and opened his ink well, Elizabeth inquired, "Shall I leave you?"

 

"No!" he replied curtly.

 

Irritated, Elizabeth walked over to his desk and threw the letter down. "You are very cross this morning, Mr. Darcy. If I may be so bold, I hardly think her letter merits such a display of temper. There is, after all, nothing at all astonishing about her response. It is quite in keeping with her character."

 

Darcy did not respond, instead he very quickly wrote a reply and handed it to her; it said no more and no less then she had suggested. "Satisfactory?" he inquired roughly when she had finished reading it.

 

Exasperated, she dropped his reply onto his desk where it landed aside Lady Catherine's equally intractable letter. "You behave as though you are granting me a favor, Mr. Darcy, and I will not have it. You seem to have forgotten that I was the insulted party. Nevertheless I have acknowledged the importance of restoring good-relations between the two houses and have acted accordingly. This is for your sake and for Georgiana's; for the sake of our children. It accomplishes nothing and satisfies no one to continue in this ridiculous fashion. That two educated and generally sensible relations will not rise above their implacable resentment for common cause is pitiable. I hardly think you need to act as a spoilt child being forced to do his lessons. If you think it a satisfactory response, send it. Henceforth I will offer no more counsel on this matter."

 

She turned to leave the room but Darcy leapt from his chair and grasped her by the wrist, halting her before she could depart. "Is there something you have not yet told me?" He inquired breathlessly, to Elizabeth's confusion.

 

"As regards?"

 

"You have offered a new argument today. You have said 'for the sake of our children'. Is there something you have not yet told me regarding children?"

 

His face was so awash with joyful expectation that Elizabeth answered reluctantly, almost sadly. "There is nothing I have not told you."

 

"Oh." Elizabeth's earlier anger dissipated as quickly as the disappointment of her answer reached his eyes. He sat down again and lifted the letter she had thrown onto his desk. He read it, considering it and Elizabeth's reproof. "I suppose I ought to write a less unfriendly response."

 

"That might be a wise course, sir. Now, if you will excuse me, I will join our sisters and Miss Bingley in the garden."

 

She walked to the door and as she made to exit, Darcy called out, "Elizabeth?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Forgive me for my ill temper. It was uncalled for."

 

"You are forgiven. Will you join us in the garden when you have finished?"

 

"It would be my pleasure," he said. Elizabeth smiled sweetly and departed his study.

 

"You are forgiven," Darcy repeated.

 

He picked up his aunt's correspondence and reflected for a moment on how he had nearly lost the opportunity to win Elizabeth's heart and hand for holding fast to the same mistaken notions that were the cause--as much as were his aunt's disappointed hopes--of Lady Catherine's continued disapprobation of their union. It had only been when faced, at the time of his misbegotten proposal at Hunsford, with Elizabeth's unimpeachable principals and firm sense of worth, her dignity and grace under assault, that he had begun to understand the foolishness of those notions, how they did not serve to measure character, to measure worth. He did not doubt that if Lady Catherine could only see Elizabeth as mistress of Pemberley, see her poise and charm and capacity, she would with time, however reluctantly, come to respect Elizabeth. He had unqualified faith in Elizabeth's ability and he had not yet lost all belief in his aunt's sincere concern for his welfare.

 

What, truly, had Lady Catherine said to him that he himself had not said to Elizabeth on that fateful evening at the parsonage? And yet Elizabeth had forgiven him with such completeness as to allow him the opportunity to reveal himself to her as he wished to be seen and heard by her, and in so doing she had come to love him. In all the discussions they had held regarding Lady Catherine, Elizabeth--out of consideration for his feelings he was sure--had never used the most simple argument of all, one question which he asked of himself now. How could he not grant forgiveness to Lady Catherine for the very same faults Elizabeth had forgiven in him? Without that forgiveness he would not have his present happiness.

 

Squaring his shoulders a moment as if to prepare for a necessarily heavy task, he took another sheet of paper and composed a new letter. This letter took considerably more time to order. It was loyal to his wife without being belligerent toward his aunt; it was formal without being unfeeling, conciliatory without being weak, and welcoming without being maudlin. Satisfied, he sealed the letter, dropped it on the silver tray for retrieval by Matthews, and went to join his wife and their guests in the garden.

 

He felt a burden lifted.

 

To capture her imagination

 

 

 

If, after two full days of Lord Chiltern's presence, the party residing at Pemberley House had gathered to form common consent regarding said gentleman's temperament, it would have been thus: Lord Chiltern was like a charging bull. He was, as Georgiana in particular insisted, alarming and disquieting; and yet, his bearing was so arresting, in a savage, vigorous, powerful manner as to be quite captivating. All agreed that wholly without regulation as this gentleman might be, he was indisputably in possession of an unruly charm, no small part of which was his great gift of expression. Bingley, perhaps more than any other, was as taken as if Chiltern had been, instead of a short, broad shouldered, unkempt adventurer, the most handsome girl at a ball. He was impressed with Lord Chiltern in the manner a boy of ten is with a man of one and twenty--thinking him the embodiment of a mythical manhood. On the evening after Chiltern's appearance, Bingley had been coerced by his lordship, with little difficulty, into a game of billiards until very late in the night. In the gentlemen's dominion of the billiards room Chiltern told stories earthy and audacious, although so elegant in the telling as to be almost poetic; he possessed a Shakespearean bawdiness. Chiltern possessed, also, a worldliness and exoticism, wrapped in the protectorate of position and fortune, that left Bingley blinded with enthusiasm—he was, after all, a not especially experienced young man only just four and twenty, whose imagination could not but be seduced by well crafted tales of adventure in far lands. After the long and drink-soaked night at billiards, Jane, for her part, unwilling to think ill of anyone without just cause, was, nevertheless, somewhat undecided about the virtues of Lord Chiltern's boisterous charm.

 

As the party sat down to dinner on the following evening, the conversation fell into a similar pattern as throughout the preceding two days. It began in a general manner, with all participating more or less as was their wont. Before long, however, Chiltern, with his manifest ability for discourse, had dominion over the table. He had a way of dictating the conversation and the themes without seeming greedy or desirous of attention, and in his telling, whether it be a story about the Argentine or an insignificant mishap in London, he managed to draw color and light so effectively and interestingly so as to completely absorb the attention and imagination of those around him. As had also been the pattern, Chiltern's collaborator was Elizabeth, who interrupted his stories with astute questions or witty asides that pushed along the tales to new, exciting situations.

 

Throughout these exchanges Miss Bingley, in her new quest to understand the elusive charms of Mrs. Darcy, regretfully acknowledged to herself that Mrs. Darcy's eyes perhaps were not shrewish after all, but did have a certain powerful expressiveness, particularly when she was pleased, which, on this evening appeared to be quite continuously.

 

Between Lord Chiltern and Elizabeth, the table was well entertained, with the exception of Darcy. He had two sources of unease: the reason behind Chiltern's ill-defined presence, and his attentions toward Mrs. Darcy. On the former concern he spent considerably less time than on the latter, yet he did wonder if Chiltern were not involved in some intrigue and if he were, what consequences that might bring on his house. If Darcy could not believe Chiltern involved in anything dishonorable, he could believe him involved in something perilous. As to the other, more important matter, Darcy had observed with some wariness Chiltern's enthusiastic effort at courting his wife's good opinion. Chiltern's attentions were obvious, if not at all his intentions. All Chiltern's tales, expertly and magically crafted as they were, he told for Elizabeth's pleasure and amusement, and when she was not immediately present he fell into a peculiar placidity; he insinuated himself into her walks and found himself always standing or sitting at her side. Darcy examined his own reaction to these attentions and concluded it was not jealousy of Elizabeth that tormented his sense of ease— he was not of a jealous nature, nor had he such a lack of confidence in Elizabeth, nor such faithlessness in her affections. Nevertheless, something in Chiltern's manner toward Elizabeth gnawed at his tranquility.

 

As the evening's dinner progressed and Darcy listened to the flow of conversation, the source of his uneasiness clarified during a particularly unexpected moment of the discourse. Chiltern, Darcy suddenly realized, seemed to believe that he had found in Elizabeth a fellow spirit, and he sought to claim her as such, as if he wished to preside over her imagination. While Chiltern's character was, in the end, opaque, and Elizabeth's all forthrightness and clarity, Darcy acknowledged, to his profound discomfort, in fact there was a certain fellowship of spirit, if not of character: an effortless, frank, bountiful pleasure in life; an instinct toward happiness and joy that he himself did not posses. Chiltern's unaffected, gregarious manner had an affinity in Elizabeth's, and this, in conjunction with his skilled oratory, seemed to suggest to Darcy that perhaps Chiltern could capture her imagination in a manner he was incapable of doing. That there might be a part of her spirit, of her imagination, that another man could affect and he could not drove him into a state of sullen misery.

 

This clarity had come as the result of one innocuous question. Elizabeth had simply asked Lord Chiltern: "Whatever possessed you to go to the Argentine in the first place?"

 

Chiltern took a large sip of wine and smiled. "An excellent question. I offer you, in return, a sort of riddle. Not a very difficult riddle, I grant you, but a riddle nevertheless. The first conquistadores said they went to the new world in the name of God, gold and glory. Those are the three motivations. Which do you think then, Mrs. Darcy, would be mine?"

 

Elizabeth laughed softly and replied, "I trust you will not be unduly offended if I insist that I doubt it was for God. You do not appear to me much of an enthusiast."

 

"I will not be unduly offended—you would need to do more than speak frankly to offend a fellow as imperturbable as I. What is more, brutes such as I never do anything in the name of God and one should never be offended by the truth. That leaves gold and glory."

 

"You have a perfectly charming estate here at home, I trust?"

 

"I sometimes forget altogether what is mine, but I seem to recall it was all perfectly charming when last I saw it. I gather my steward has cared for it well enough, for I have not seen it these eight years now, and the late Earl was hardly in health enough to care for it the last years of his life. It could be a ruin for all I know."

 

"There you have it, it cannot be gold. A man who covets gold would not be so indifferent at the thought of such ruin."

 

"Logical surmise, given what I have said."

 

"Not a very complex riddle, sir. Returning to your trio of motivations, that leaves only glory. Did you find glory?"

 

"That is for you to decide. Am I glorified in the telling of my tales?"

 

"Glorification is a rather unspecific concept, sir. I suppose it depends upon your definition."

 

"Clearly I have failed—glorification defines itself. I remain a mere mortal to you, then, Mrs. Darcy?"

 

"I suspect, sir, you remain a mere mortal to us all," she replied, suddenly uncomfortable at being so singled out.

 

"Pity," he remarked. "So then," he continued, "why go to the Argentine or any of those parts if not for the silver or the gold, if not to convert the heathens or to glory in conquest? I shall tell you why, Mrs. Darcy. These are places teeming with revolution, with greed and ambition, with virtuous savages and heathenish men of God, and the contrary as well I do not hesitate to add. The land itself is like nothing you can imagine; nothing at all like England. Jungles so thick they are black at noon, with flora and fauna you would claim mythological if not in front of your own eyes and being touched by your own hands; mountains so high you are in God's very hands. You go to the Argentine, to the Amazon, to that entire vast, magnificent continent, for the sheer exhilaration of the soul. You will find there an untamed society trying to form itself; bravely endeavoring to create a new society, although it is a futile, hopeless struggle to attempt to make something new and fresh from a place so old, so covered in blood and deception. In that chaos there is a certain kind of freedom to be had, however, the freedom to be simply a man."

 

"Freedom in chaos? I am not sure what you describe is necessarily the most agreeable manner in which to live," she replied skeptically.

 

"You are correct. It is not agreeable at all. Instead it is stirring and passionate; profoundly satisfying." Chiltern's voice was suddenly heaving with fervor, and his tone became disturbingly intimate and suggestive. He leaned toward her as he spoke. "Do you never intuit, Mrs. Darcy, that society's regulations will suffocate your very soul? Have you never felt your thoughts compressed by the strictures of the establishment, your opinion too large for those paltry few words sanctioned as those by which a gentleman or a lady may rightly express themselves? Your very mind is liberated in such a place as the Argentine. You are judged by your actions, not your words."

 

Elizabeth felt the conversation had grown vaguely inappropriate, as though he were attempting to seduce, not her person, but her imagination. Disconcerted, she replied unsympathetically, "This is all very dramatic in the telling, sir. I would argue, however, that whether in chaos or order, people are always judged by their actions. Indeed, words themselves are a form of action. As to the rest, I cannot be tempted by such sophistry. A mind not to be chang'd by place or time; the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven."

 

"So the lady parries with Milton." Chiltern turned to Darcy and smiled. "Darcy, where did you say you found this captivating lady?"

 

"I do not believe I told you anything in that regard," Darcy replied frostily.

 

"Oh I can answer that, Lord Chiltern," Elizabeth laughed, eager to lighten the tone of the discourse. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but Mr. Darcy found me where most eligible gentlemen find eligible young ladies: at a ball. So you see, there are no fierce denunciators of society at this table."

 

"Excepting perhaps myself?" Chiltern inquired.

 

"Lord Chiltern," Darcy answered, thoroughly troubled by the peculiar exchange, "you know very well a hostess never contradicts her guests. You have declared yourself a savage and a scalawag; so it must be then."

 

"You are a fiend, Darcy," Chiltern replied with a robust laugh. He was impervious to the censure and found Darcy's acerbic slur amusing.

 

The rest of the party, however, was not so impervious and a lull fell over the table, at which opportunity Jane turned the conversation to more neutral concerns, for which demonstration of grace and understanding Darcy was silently grateful. The ladies soon left for the drawing room and as the door closed behind them and the gentlemen were served port, Chiltern began speaking in cheerful, affable tones. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stomach in unqualified delight.

 

"It is fine to be back in England! What an assortment of English roses sit around your table Darcy. Makes me want to give up on the savage beauties altogether. Both of you gentlemen have such handsome, elegant sisters; and your wives equally so. I must say-- no offense Bingley--Darcy has the queen. How he won her I'll never know; severe fellow he can be and to have won himself such a wife. What fire in those brilliant eyes and what a smile. Such a quick mind too, and all in such a pretty face and pleasing manner."

 

"Yes, Lizzy is incomparable," Bingley offered seeking to suspend Chiltern's effusion of admiration, seeing that his friend was not taking at all kindly to his lordship's praise of his wife.

 

"Lizzy is it?" Lord Chiltern inquired. "Yes, I suppose I had heard that over the past day. Lizzy! Lizzy!" He repeated in his musical baritone. "That suits her very well."

 

"As does Mrs. Darcy," Darcy responded.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

Darcy directed the footman to leave the room before answering in a taut voice: "Chiltern, I have welcomed you without question into my home. In honor of the long association shared by our families I have respected your privacy. I have inquired neither to your unusual arrival nor to the intended duration of your stay, regardless of the fact that I am quite convinced your presence can be explained only by your involvement in some intrigue; it is as though you wish to be concealed. However, neither consideration nor hospitality will persist should you again refer to my wife in such informal terms as are used only by her family and most intimate friends. You are no longer in the Argentine and you will treat my wife and every other lady in this household with the propriety that is required in this society."

 

"Really, Darcy!" Chiltern scoffed in response. "Such a temper you have!" Seeing his attitude was not appreciated, he altered course. "I never intended to be disrespectful toward your wife--who I openly acknowledge I have quickly come to admire--nor to any other person in your household. I am unspeakably grateful for your hospitality and the discretion and forbearance with which you have received me. I merely repeated her name when Bingley here said it; that is all. I meant no offense, no liberty."

 

"Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Bingley are sisters, Chiltern. Bingley is, therefore, my wife's brother and has in consequence privileges which you most certainly do not, and I would have you act accordingly."

 

"I had no notion they were sisters. They seem so different in character, even in person." He paused for a moment, and smiled merrily. "So it is a family party I have imposed upon. I should have thought I would have noticed; how uncharacteristically dull of me."

 

"Other guests will be arriving tomorrow," Darcy replied, finding himself suddenly highly desirous of said arrival. The last days had reminded him of all the reasons he had never become uncommonly friendly with Chiltern, regardless of the frequency with which they had been thrown together as boys and young men. He was, while indisputably clever and charming, likewise brusque, presumptuous and in the end, little to be admired; Darcy wished more than believed that Chiltern was still worthy of trust.

 

"Before we join the ladies," Darcy remarked calmly, "I would have a word with you in private Chiltern. Bingley, would you please excuse us?"

 

"Certainly, Darcy," Bingley replied, thinking himself a little dull as well for having missed Darcy's growing animosity towards this unexpected guest. Still more than a little deferential of Darcy's opinions, Bingley wondered if perhaps he had been taken in by the fellow and concluded he would attempt to judge him more critically when next they conversed.

 

"Please advise Mrs. Darcy that we will join her shortly," Darcy added as his friend stood to depart.

 

"Of course," Bingley mumbled as he left the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

Chiltern poured himself more port and moved to a chair closer to where Darcy sat at the head of the table. "What has you so remarkably displeased Darcy, that I should have the audacity to admire your wife? Well, grow accustomed to it quickly, my friend, any man worthy of the appellation will find her admirable. I suppose she might be too inimitable for some gentlemen of fashion, but I speak of men, not fops disguised as men. Not many ladies have her combination of spirit, wit and sweetness, and all in such a pretty face and figure. I would congratulate you on your choice but she strikes me as the kind of lady who would not condescend to simply be chosen."

 

"I believe I made it quite clear that I will not have you speaking of my wife in such terms; that applies equally when we are unaccompanied by others."

 

"I must say, while you are your father's precise likeness, he had more verve. No, you are beginning to remind me of your uncle, Darcy. Always so blastedly proper."

 

"I will take the comparison as a compliment, although I am sure you have not offered it as such. My uncle is in all ways a man of integrity and honor, as was your father."

 

"Oh yes, my revered father!" Chiltern sneered, rolling his eyes in agitation. "Even in death his perfection hounds me."

 

"Let us make this brief, Chiltern. Regardless of your refusal to respect your father's memory, I will, to your significant advantage, do just that. In your father's name and in deference to the long association of the Fitzwilliam and Chiltern families you will remain a welcome guest in this house for the time that you require a haven, providing that you refrain from the presumptuous informality you have so continuously displayed since your arrival and which has no place in my house."

 

"Back to your wife again? I meant no disrespect, Darcy; you must know that my manners abscond from my control at times."

 

"Very well, you meant no disrespect. You would do well, nevertheless, to find sufficient discipline to bring your manners under proper regulation; I will not permit any further undue familiarity toward my wife or any other guest in this house. What is more, although I will not inquire into your business I must have your word of honor that you are involved in no activity which will bring, even by association, disrepute or scandal upon my house."

 

"The Darcys always were particularly careful about maintaining the brilliant reputation of their name—attributing great honor and significance to being in possession of a name universally celebrated for being so completely unsullied."

 

"I have no interest in your ruminations. Do I have your word?"

 

Chiltern stared at Darcy for a moment before answering. When Chiltern had last seen him, Darcy had been just a young man firmly restrained by the authority of a daunting father and exercising a rectitude of behavior which Chiltern, always mutinous against his own father's authority, had scorned as weak. Now he saw before him a gentleman in every way man and master, a man, indeed, not to be trifled with, and Chiltern was impressed with what he had become. "For whatever it may be worth, you have my word."

 

"May you prove worthy of your father's good name," Darcy replied harshly, as he rose from the table. "Now that we understand each other, shall we join the others?"

 

"As you wish, Darcy. You are master here," Chiltern replied sarcastically.

 

"A fact I would not have you forget."

 

Darcy's ill humor did not abate along with the evening. While Chiltern respected Darcy's admonition and addressed Elizabeth with an increase in formality, his attentions were no less marked. Unable to maintain his temper, Darcy walked out onto the terrace; Jane soon joined him. She stood next to him for a moment, while the sounds of conversation filtered out into the night air.

 

"Such a delightful evening, is it not, Mr. Darcy?" Jane inquired after a time.

 

"The night sky is certainly lovely, at any rate."

 

Jane observed Darcy's face as he fixedly looked out into the night. He remained very much a mystery to her, yet, as her sister's husband and her husband's steady friend, she could not but think well of him, indeed dearly. She knew him to be honorable, generous and loyal and did not need to delve deeper to appreciate him for who he was. He appeared displeased and she suspected the cause. Wondering at her sister's lack of perception of the same she justified her instead by crediting her responsibilities as hostess. Nevertheless, she did suspect that Lizzy was simply indulging, perhaps unwisely and too excess, as their father was wont to do, in the amusement she found in studying original characters.

 

"Lizzy tells me the remainder of your guests arrive tomorrow."

 

"Yes." Darcy responded neutrally. "There will be only five. I do not believe the Thorneys will be bringing that young painter after all. I am sure you will find them agreeable. You have of course made the acquaintance of the Ashtons and Sir Patrick MacLaighid while staying with us in London this past winter."

 

"Yes, of course," she replied. They continued for a moment in silence, until Jane added in her customarily serene voice, "It has been an agreeably intimate party. I suppose come tomorrow you and my sister will have little time for such marked attentions as have been our pleasure these last days."

 

Darcy turned to Jane to attempt to gauge her meaning, but the moon was not out and the terrace had only two torches lit, so he could not see her face. "I suppose not," he responded.

 

"Sometimes a multitude of distractions is for the best, Mr. Darcy." Darcy smiled, her meaning now clear. Feeling foolish at Jane's tactfully expressed assurance that certain unwanted attentions would necessarily abate with the expansion of their party, he could, nevertheless, do nothing to conquer the feeling of displeasure that was gnawing at his calm. "It is growing chilly," she remarked at last, "I think I shall return indoors."

 

As she did so Darcy considered what a perfect lady she was. When he had first known her, and even right through the period of courtship and the day of their double wedding, he had not understood either Elizabeth's devotion or Bingley's love. Privately, she had seemed to him entirely uninteresting, not too clever, overly obliging and impossibly good. While he continued to find her overly obliging, she was every day increasing in his admiration and regard, and he detected now the strength within her serenity and the wisdom within her goodness. He was as amazed that she should be the daughter of Mrs. Bennet as he was that his own Elizabeth should be. He still often wondered how two such excellent ladies could come from that household of madness and indolence.

 

He recalled one evening, a few days before the wedding, he and Bingley were returning to Netherfield after a particularly awkward dinner party at Longbourn, when Darcy had made a similar observation to Bingley: "How two such women come from that family I shall never comprehend."

 

Bingley had simply replied: "Did it never occur to you, Darcy, that perhaps they are as they are precisely because they come from such a family?"

 

"Are you suggesting that I ought to be thankful that we are to have for a mother-in-law an undeniably preposterous creature and for sisters-in-law 'three of the silliest girls in England', as our very singular father-in-law himself so unabashedly proclaims?"

 

"Perhaps."

 

"Perhaps? Perhaps, Bingley, you have had too much wine this evening." Bingley had only laughed in response.

 

Upon Darcy's returning to the drawing room, Bingley suggested that the three gentlemen play some billiards. With no particular desire to play, but happy to have the opportunity to remove Chiltern from Elizabeth's company, Darcy agreed. They played for some time, and when Darcy retired to their rooms he assumed Elizabeth to be sleeping. Restless, he did not immediately retire.

 

Elizabeth, having heard his return, rose from bed, donned a robe and walked through their rooms to find Darcy standing at the large window in the master's chamber. In a light summer robe of deep blue, his arm raised above his head and resting against the window frame, he gazed absently into the night. As she quietly approached him she noticed how his robe fell against his figure and contoured his muscular and long frame, a now familiar admiration of his form warmed her senses. Elizabeth recalled the first time she had seen him thus attired and her subsequent embarrassed, blushing admission. His unexpected splendor had enthralled her and as he had approached her across the room, she had fallen silent, captivated by the graceful strength of his barely covered figure. Coaxing her with gentle words and tender attentions he had won from her a confession; unable to express all she was feeling and thinking, she had finally blurted out, inelegantly, that she had not anticipated finding him so 'very appealing'. He had been delighted by her confession, and charmed by the slightly ironic and shy expression of the same. Now she knew that figure intimately and could see from his bearing that it was infused with tension.

 

She walked to the window and leaned against the opposite side of the frame and looked up at him. His features were set in an expression easily mistaken for aloofness, but which she had come to recognize as that which settled upon him when he was battling some unwelcome emotion or thought. She was overcome with a desire to see him smile; he had such a beautiful smile.

 

"You did not enjoy yourself this evening," she remarked.

 

"Unlike you."

 

"I suppose it was a diverting evening, on the whole. Lord Chiltern can be amusing."

 

"You have always enjoyed the company of men who are easy in society." Darcy's tone was slightly hostile.

 

Responding more to his tone than his words, Elizabeth replied, "I do not think I like the insinuation you have made."

 

"I have made no insinuation. I am not surprised you should enjoy Chiltern's company. You have always enjoyed the company of men like that."

 

"Men like that?" She inquired incredulously.

 

"Yes. Men who can spin tales with ease; you delight in the dexterity of their charm," he answered caustically.

 

"What has you so out of sorts? Have I in some way angered you?"

 

"Not at all."

 

"You are acting very strange this evening, very cold and I do not understand." He did not reply, and continued to look out into the night in silence; indeed, she reflected that he had been unusually sullen the entire day. Elizabeth stepped near him and placed her hand against his chest. "My love, what is it? I grow uneasy now." Her voice was soft and beseeching.

 

Darcy turned from the window and looked at her: she wore a diaphanous summer robe under which he could see the gentle slope of her shoulders and the sensuous rise of her bosom; her hair was loose and its dark abundance framed her lovely face; her eyes, always filled with light and mirth, were pools of unease. He thought it impossible to love her any more than he did, but she need only look at him as she did now—with tenderness, devotion, concern--and he found some new font of emotion bursting forth within his heart. She simply filled his soul in a manner he never knew was possible, and he felt for her emotions of an intensity and richness he had once thought existing solely in poets' imaginations. Yet here he was, passionately, powerlessly hers. As he looked into her eyes he understood that regardless of how intimate they were—confiding, sharing, touching, loving always with unrestrained candor, with abandon, even--a part of her remained always elusive to his reach. He comprehended he was indeed overcome with a fearsome jealousy at the idea that Chiltern—that short, unkempt, singular creature of the wild--could reach her thoughts in some way he could not. He placed his hand over hers and wrapped his fingers around her hand—finding immense pleasure simply in the soft, coolness of her skin. Beneath his own, she turned her hand over and returned the grasp.

 

"You will think me ridiculous."

 

"I would rather think you ridiculous than angry."

 

"I do not like the manner in which Chiltern behaves with you."

 

"He is unguarded, to be sure, but he has done nothing improper."

 

"He is too focused on you. Charming you with his ease and his elegantly crafted stories. Each smile he wins from you only redoubles his efforts. I do not like it and I do not trust him."

 

"Well then let us settle this, shall we?" she replied, relieved by his apparent confession of jealousy. She had not expected it from him at all. "I too have learned lessons from the past. Earlier you said I enjoy the company of men who are easy in company."

 

"I did not mean what you think. I meant gentlemen like Bingley or my cousin. You must know I meant no injury against your character."

 

"May I finish?" Darcy nodded. "While Bingley and the Colonel are similar men, I would categorize Lord Chiltern more in the making of others."

 

"Others?"

 

"Men who are undeniably skilled in captivating strangers, easy in company and often welcome for no other reason than the 'dexterity of their charm', but who use that charm for purposes other than pure amiability. Men--for they are rarely gentlemen--who, in the end, are little to be trusted. Lord Chiltern is, nevertheless, a guest in our home, and I will not be rude or unwelcoming. However, I will tell you frankly, I do not trust him. He has an insinuating familiarity which I learned some time ago to mistrust. Whether I trust him or not, however, as our guest I can attend to him in the only manner I am able, as myself. My nature is what it is, and you cannot expect it to be otherwise. I will laugh at well-wrought stories and delight in intelligent discourse. I will be amiable when I have no cause to be otherwise. Surely, this is no reason to castigate me or make unjust insinuations."

 

"You do find my concern ridiculous, then?" Elizabeth did not respond, she merely tilted her head and smiled skeptically. "Sir Patrick arrives tomorrow," Darcy added disjointedly. "Perhaps he can enlighten us further as to Chiltern's recent adventures. He has connections in the foreign office. I never knew Chiltern to be dishonorable, but know not what to think now. Perhaps I shall ask him to depart."

 

"That is entirely up to you."

 

"You are not satisfied with my explanation, I see."

 

"I did not think you had so little trust in my judgment."

 

"It is not your judgment I do not trust, it is Chiltern's intentions." She made no response. "You are displeased with me?"

 

"A little." Darcy laughed softly at her words. "Why do you laugh, when I tell you I am displeased?" she inquired.

 

"I never cared before in the slightest if anyone was displeased with me. If I acted with honor I thought any consequent displeasure was simply to be borne. But with you, I cannot have it so. I cannot bear to have your beautiful eyes look to me with anything but love and happiness and pleasure." Feeling suddenly the foolishness of his jealousy, he continued in a tone filled with contrition. "I have been such an ill-tempered boor since Chiltern arrived. I had this silly notion, Elizabeth, that he recognized in you some fellow spirit, that he could please you in a manner I cannot."

 

Elizabeth lifted her hand and pressed a finger against his lips. "Not a word more," she said. She then simply watched him watching her and she was, as was her wont, overcome by the manner in which he looked at her; the devotion, the tenderness and passion she saw therein set her aglow, and sensations she had never imagined as a maiden, these wondrous, private, secret, intimate feelings they shared, washed over her.

 

"Why do you look at me so?" he asked.

 

"Do you recall the day we went on a picnic to Cranston's lake?" Darcy nodded, a little confused by the direction of her thoughts. "That morning you told me that I fascinated you. Do you think you are alone? Fitzwilliam Darcy, you have captured my imagination in ways I never dreamt possible."

 

"You could not have chosen another word to give greater balm to my foolish heart."

 

Darcy smiled and as she beheld his smile, the desire, the need to touch him engulfed her. Bold, frank, unashamed as was the manner in which she loved him, she reached her arms around his neck and pressed against him; in a soft, tender tone, she said, "Take me to your bed, Fitzwilliam."

 

"My precious wife!" he whispered. "No wish could be more easily granted."

 

All manner of happiness

 

 

 

When Darcy awoke in the morning he was more than a little unhappy to find himself alone. After his clumsy confession of jealousy, which now in the morning light seemed to him so foolishly, abhorrently adolescent, he had made love to his wife with a delicious, delicate intensity. As Elizabeth had fallen asleep in his embrace he had laid awake relishing in the splendid union begun when she had become his wife. He was not at all inclined to start the day--which in the afternoon was to bring another surfeit of guests to Pemberley--without sharing with his wife a few more tender moments. Provoked by her absence, he rose from bed, found his robe, wrapped it hastily around himself and strode into her dressing room, only to find, instead of Elizabeth, her maid, and quite by herself.

 

"Oh! Mr. Darcy!" Molly cried, with an awkward curtsey. Even after eight months she was not at all accustomed to some of the particulars of waiting on a lady whose husband was so very attentive. More than once he had walked into his wife's dressing room, not yet properly dressed himself, evidently thinking to find only his wife, and finding her with her maid. This was, however, the first time he had found only Molly.

 

"And Mrs. Darcy?" he inquired, insensible to Molly's embarrassment at his state of dress.

 

"She is with Mrs. Bingley, sir."

 

"With Mrs. Bingley? At this hour? Why it is not yet half past seven."

 

"Yes, sir, she was called to Mrs. Bingley's room earlier this morning; no more than an hour ago. Mrs. Bingley had an indisposition, sir, but I believe nothing of consequence."

 

"Thank you, Molly," Darcy replied, turning and walking away. He preferred not to reflect upon who had come to fetch his wife from their bed, nor the state in which they would have been found. Why is not Bingley with his wife, he wondered, and then thought the better of speculating in such a direction. He would simply be required to await Elizabeth's explanation. With hopes for an indulgence of tenderness to begin the day thus frustrated, he called for his bath and set to thinking on what business required his attention this morning before the afternoon brought their anticipated guests. He had asked his steward, Mr. Fairfax, to arrive at the earliest possible hour.

 

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was sitting on Jane's bed and holding her hand in the manner they had been wont to do as unmarried sisters. Jane looked a little wane and toyed nervously with the rings on Elizabeth's finger as they conversed.

 

"They really ought not to have called you and disturbed your slumber."

 

"You must have appeared very unwell or they would not have presumed to call me, Jane."

 

"It is nothing Lizzy. You know how it has always been with me."

 

"Yes. And I had always been there to hold your hand, so why should I not now that I have the opportunity?" Elizabeth lifted her hand and lightly ran her thumb under Jane's eyes. "There is something else, is there not? You have been crying. Dearest Jane, will you not tell me?"

 

Jane looked into her sister's face, her clear, open countenance revealing to Elizabeth a kind of sheltered pain. "It is nothing Lizzy. I only so wish to be with child."

 

"As do I. That will come with time. We should not fret. I am quite sure we will prove as capable of bearing children as Mama." Elizabeth smiled but she saw that Jane was plainly attempting to stifle some powerful emotion. "Jane?" Elizabeth insisted.

 

"There is something I have not told you, Lizzy." Jane's eyes were brimming with tears and sadness. "I was with child for ever so brief a time."

 

"My dearest Jane!" Elizabeth cried as she pulled her sister into an embrace. "Why did you not tell me? When was this?"

 

"Immediately prior to our staying with you in London."

 

"I should scold you for not sharing this with me and not allowing me to comfort you, but I suppose we shall always turn first to our husbands for comfort now. So I will not be cross. And you came to town when you should have been resting, because I had insisted that you must be with us. But let me comfort you now," Elizabeth said sweetly. Lifting Jane's down-turned face by the chin as you would a recalcitrant child's, Elizabeth saw that her tears were unceasing.

 

"Jane, Jane. Why do you still cry so? It is not uncommon; you will be with child again."

 

"It is not that Lizzy. You will think it so strange, I hardly comprehend it myself," she said, falling silent, an expression somewhere between sorrow and shame overtaking her pretty countenance.

 

"Confide in me," Elizabeth urged.

 

"You said we would turn to our husbands for comfort and yet, I did not allow Charles to comfort me."

 

"I do not understand."

 

Jane's voice was small and frail. "He does not know."

 

Elizabeth looked at Jane disbelievingly. "He does not know? Did you not tell him you were with child?"

 

"It all occurred so rapidly; learning I was with child and loosing it. I did not have the opportunity to tell him. The Hursts and Caroline were at Netherfield, and then we had so many visits to make with our kind neighbors and Mama, and, oh Lizzy, I simply could not find a moment that seemed appropriate. And then, it was over."

 

"My dear Jane!" Elizabeth cried as she cradled her sister in her arms.

 

"With each passing day it seemed more difficult, more unnecessary to pain him. Charles is always so anxious for my well being, so attentive to my needs. I did not wish to sadden him, to burden him with my own disappointment. I did endeavor to tell him one evening, but the words would not come."

 

"Charles must have seen you were unwell."

 

"Indeed he did, and yet his inquiries were not difficult to deflect, Lizzy. He was so very apprehensive for my well being, so tender in his care. I told him it was an indisposition, nothing out of the ordinary for a woman to suffer. I believe he was embarrassed and let it remain vague. I simply did not suppose we need both be saddened, when all else was so well with us, when Charles was otherwise so happy."

 

"Oh Jane!" Elizabeth spoke in gentle, but reproachful tones. "Perhaps he ought to have known. Although you have often sought to keep your own counsel you must now trust to Charles. You must allow him the opportunity to be your comfort; he would welcome the opportunity to care for you."

 

As Elizabeth spoke the clocks throughout Pemberley House chimed the hour; the clock in Jane's room had a soft, dainty timbre. "Oh my goodness, listen!" Jane cried deliberately. "The hour. It is eight o'clock already. You must have much to prepare before your guests arrive this afternoon and I have you sitting with me in your dressing gown."

 

"Jane! You cannot deflect me so easily. My part is well completed and the remainder is for Mrs. Reynolds and the staff."

 

"But it would not due for the mistress of Pemberley to be seen roaming the hallways in her dressing gown!"

 

"When we were girls, was it not you always admonishing me to be serious? Well then, Jane, it shall be my privilege now. Do be serious, Jane!"

 

With a sweet smile Jane replied with more composure. "You may leave me with peace. I am well. Perhaps I am mistaken, but I saw no cause to tell Charles we had lost what he did not know we had, and less cause to inform him now these few months past. When you came to me this morning I was thinking on how much I long to give Charles the happy news that I am with child. I expect with you here I allowed myself to indulge in the emotion of my disappointed hopes, that is all. But I am well, Lizzy. Indeed, very well."

 

"If you will not confide such disappointments in Charles, promise me you will at least look to me, Jane."

 

"I promise I shall."

 

Resigned to Jane's wish, Elizabeth returned to her rooms, saddened by her sister's confession. It was not the revelation of having been with child that affected her—such early losses, unhappy as they were, did occur, yet children would undoubtedly come. Rather, Jane's hesitation to confide in her husband struck Elizabeth as altogether more troubling. Realizing, however, that it was indeed growing late and as she did, in truth, have some matters to attend to with Mrs. Reynolds, she endeavored to put the conversation with her sister aside. Arriving in her dressing room, she was told by Molly that Mr. Darcy had been in search of her earlier; knowing he had an early appointment with Mr. Fairfax, she surmised he had quit their chambers and already gone down to breakfast. She hurried Molly along in her bathing and dressing that she might join him before his appointment.

 

As she was about to quit the rooms herself, she suddenly turned on her heel and walked into her bedchamber. She crossed the room, stopping in front of a table at the side of her bed. Reaching forward she lifted the music box Darcy had given her some weeks earlier. She smiled as she recalled his words: I would wish that every time you open this box and hear its music you would recall these weeks when we have had this time alone, during which we have had the opportunity to establish the foundations of our happiness. She brushed her finger over the beautiful inlaid mother-of-pearl design, opened the box and listened; she recalled, perhaps due to the nature of her discourse with Jane, one particular walk in which Darcy had spoken of his mother's death and portrayed for her his boyhood loss.

 

As she stood thus, she felt Darcy's arms wrap around her waist. "I thought you with Mr. Fairfax," she said.

 

Resting his chin on her shoulder he spoke teasingly. "I have awaited your return, just so that you might tell me why you so cruelly abandoned me this morning."

 

Elizabeth inhaled deeply and felt the delightful sensation of his scent filtering through her; he smelled of citrus and moss, lemon and bergamot oil. Turning in his arms, she exclaimed, a little breathlessly: "My dearest husband, promise me you shall never keep anything from me to spare me pain! Swear to me you shall always permit me to share your suffering, you shall always allow me to unburden you of a little of it, as best I can."

 

"Elizabeth?" Darcy inquired, alarmed by the strange pleading in her voice. "Why ever are you so overwrought? Is Jane not well? Your maid said it was nothing of consequence. Was she mistaken?"

 

"She is well. Oh, but I cannot tell you what is not mine to tell."

 

"You must enlighten me regarding what has you so troubled or I shall be uneasy. Come," he said, taking her hand and leading her to the sofa. He sat down with her, clasping her to his breast; kissing the top of her head, he coaxed her with tender words and soft caresses.

 

"You must not tell Charles."

 

"As you wish, Elizabeth."

 

"I have been distressed by something Jane has confided in me, something she has not confided in Charles."

 

"Is it something Bingley ought to know? You are certain she is not unwell?"

 

"She is well." Elizabeth paused for a moment, unsure of the prudence of revealing her sister's secret to Darcy and thereby requiring that he in turn keep it from Bingley, but she could not be other than open with him. "She confessed to me that before they came to stay with us in London she suffered a loss."

 

Darcy replied compassionately. "Is it this which distresses you? If I understand what you intimate, while it is unhappy, it is not unusual that such should occur."

 

"It is not that which has me distressed." Elizabeth stood up and began to pace in front of the sofa. "She did not, she has not told Charles. He ought to have known; he ought to have been free to comfort her. I simply do not understand why she would not turn to him for comfort, and it distresses me that perhaps she thinks she cannot."

 

Darcy deliberated a moment before responding. Although he felt Bingley ought to have been informed--under like circumstances he certainly would have wished to have known-- he concluded it was hardly his place to reveal such delicate information, and certainly not at the sacrifice of his own wife's trust in his discretion. Grasping her hand and halting her nervous gait, he asked her to look at him. With measured words, he replied: "I will most emphatically implore that you should never keep a matter of such import from me." He paused, holding her gaze steady as he said these words, searching for her concurrence. Confident she understood, he continued. "However, I cannot pass judgment on Jane. It is not for us to question in what manner they will choose to confide one in the other, or to seek comfort the one from the other." Seeing that she remained less than collected, he added, "They are happy together, Elizabeth, as you had always wished. That is plain enough."

 

"She should not have suffered this alone!" Elizabeth reiterated. Darcy was forced to restrain a smile; Elizabeth's tone was so very protective.

 

"You know her better than I and so it is better for you to conjecture but I would offer that it is possible your sister simply wishes to avoid bringing such unhappiness into their felicity, and chooses to bear the burden for them both. Would that not be consistent with her character?"

 

Elizabeth contemplated his words for a moment. "She has often chosen to keep her suffering guarded from others, even from me at times. Indeed, when we were all together at Longbourn we both did, not wishing, I suppose, to be required to expose ourselves to Mama's indiscretion. But I had so hoped with Charles, who loves her so dearly and whom she cherishes, she might learn to share her burdens."

 

Elizabeth looked utterly distraught on her sister's behalf. Darcy adored this in her, the steadfast devotion, the considerable sympathy for those she loved, and he was gratified that his own sister was amongst those Elizabeth loved and so under her faithful protection as well.

 

"Sit with me," he said. Once seated, he took her hand into his own. Seeking to alleviate her empathetic discontent, he offered her a different perspective.

 

"I am confident, knowing their characters, between them there have been only words of felicity and compliance. Others had once separated them; whereas their own words and actions have been always solicitous, I am sure. Our courtship was not at all the easy romance that was their courtship; ours was not the kind of sweet story that young girls find so enjoyable to read in novels. Consequently, perhaps they have not had the opportunity to learn the lessons that you and I so painfully learnt—that love and understanding are not only pretty words and sweet affections. From our experience we have learnt not only forgiveness and forbearance, but also a kind of honesty and candor that they perhaps have not had the opportunity or the need to learn. Perchance, given their characters, such wisdom is not even necessary for their mutual understanding and happiness. After all, knowing them as you do, can you imagine that a discordant word has ever past between them?"

 

"No, not at all," she smiled.

 

"Then do not concern yourself overmuch, my dear. Just as we have found the manner in which we choose to live our happiness, we must respect that they have as well."

 

"I am very silly to feel it so, am I not?"

 

"Not at all. You are simply devoted to your sister and wish her, I flatter myself, happiness as great as your own."

 

Elizabeth looked at Darcy and a pert little smile graced her lips. Playing with his neatly tied cravat, she teasingly affirmed: "You did not speak with such surety last evening."

 

"Perhaps not," Darcy blushed. "But I believe you have successfully righted me of such foolish notions as those I yesterday expressed."

 

Elizabeth laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I should hope so, because my happiness is great, Fitzwilliam!" Joyfully, she kissed him. "I should not distract you," she murmured, all the while letting her fingers tangle through his hair and placing sweet, teasing kisses upon his face. "Had you not some business to attend to with your steward this morning?"

 

"Distract me, my little minx, all you desire," he replied, pulling her closer into his embrace. "Let me tarry with you a while longer. Mr. Fairfax can wait."

 

Mr. Fairfax was indeed made to wait, but not unduly so. When the carriages began to arrive in the afternoon Darcy had accomplished all the required estate business and Elizabeth had attended to those housekeeping matters in which her personal attention was essential. The couple was therefore well prepared to greet their guests when Mr. and Mrs. Edward Ashton's carriage was spotted entering the park.

 

Mr. Edward Ashton was the eldest son of a clergyman, himself the third son of a Baron of modest means. His marriage to the former Miss Iphigenia Watson was a perfect blending of interest and compatibility. The former Miss Watson being the only child of a comparatively wealthy landowner from Lincolnshire, she offered him superior means allowing for an independent living, he offered her superior connections, and they offered each other a sincere compatibility of temperament, if not ardent affections. They were both of an easy temper, amiable and reasonably clever; neither was particularly handsome or plain, both were fashionable without excess, and both, to the great pleasure of hosts wherever they were greeted, were possessed of exceptional musical ability. Married two years, they were universally liked and welcomed about town. Darcy and Ashton first became acquainted at university, where they discovered a shared admiration of Dante Alighieri's works and a common passion for the fine sport of fencing. Darcy was not overly intimate with Mrs. Ashton, but she and Elizabeth had got on well from their earliest acquaintance in town. Mrs. Ashton was in possession of a certain lucid, practicality that reminded Elizabeth a little of her friend Charlotte.

 

Another of Darcy's university friends, Sir Patrick MacLaighid, soon followed the Ashtons. Sir Patrick was a Member of Parliament, an Irishman, tall, with a head of soft, strawberry blond hair and intelligent blue eyes that marked an altogether pleasant countenance. Sir Patrick spent the majority of his time among the political circles of town, but he and Darcy, nevertheless, had a strong friendship based on mutual regard and respect. If Darcy rarely sought counsel from others, Sir Patrick was one of the few to whom he would turn, valuing as he did his clear thinking and his unbending integrity. Sir Patrick, for his part, was certain he knew no gentleman upon whose honor, fairness and liberality he could more readily depend. Unlike with Bingley, this friendship was, for Darcy, one devoid of the deference which still tinged their intimacy, and was, instead, a friendship wholly between equals.

 

The John Thorneys were the last to arrive. Mr. John Thorney, like Darcy, was the eldest son of a landowner, whose estate was worth some seven thousand pounds a year. Unlike Darcy, he was not yet his own master, his father being of excellent constitution and daily promising to live at the least another five and twenty years. The elder Mr. Thorney also, unfortunately, displayed little talent for management, so that the younger Mr. Thorney lived in constant battle with his father regarding the proper management of his legacy and that of his infant son. Mrs. Anne Thorney, an heiress in her own right, could not be bothered much to opine on matters regarding Alresford Hall. An avid horsewoman and skilled archer, she had an indolent, careless manner about her. She was, in short, wealthy, handsome and spoilt. Darcy had never much cared for her, Elizabeth was undecided, and Georgiana intimidated, but Darcy and Thorney had been friendly since their days as schoolboys. The Thorneys were not to stay beyond a week before continuing on further North.

 

The guests arrived without incident. Rested and dressed, the enlarged party gathered together and enjoyed an easy and elegant evening. Most were acquainted, to some degree or another, and those who were not quickly found common sources of enjoyment and discourse. It was a well-matched party, setting aside, perhaps, Lord Chiltern's perplexing presence. He was, possibly in reaction to Darcy's prior admonition, on this first evening at least, restrained—almost all that could be expected of the Earl that he after all was. There had been, however, general surprise on the part of the gentlemen to find installed at Pemberley a man whose exploits and adventures were so frequently chronicled around the clubs in town. To Darcy's satisfaction and Elizabeth's respite, the Thorneys showed great interest in his tales and so occupied his attentions in a corner of the drawing room for much of the evening.

 

While Elizabeth was attending to the Ashtons and encouraging Georgiana, in light of their shared fondness of music, to expand her acquaintance with them, Sir Patrick approached Darcy.

 

"Darcy," he said in his lazy Irish brogue. "Walk with me out on the terrace for a moment."

 

The two gentlemen exited onto the terrace. It was a humid and not altogether pleasant evening. As they spoke, they walked up and down the length of the terrace in leisurely camaraderie. "I am all curiosity," Sir Patrick began. "What in the devil is Lord Chiltern doing at Pemberley? I do not seem to recall that he was any great friend of yours."

 

"To be sure, he is no great friend of mine. As to what he is doing here I can offer no particulars, other than paying an undue amount of attention to my wife. Although this evening he appears happily distracted with his fresh audience."

 

"Ah, Darcy!" Sir Patrick laughed. "The green-eyed monster! I should have never expected it of you."

 

"You quite mistake the matter," Darcy insisted with an indifference he might not have mustered on the previous evening. "Mrs. Darcy finds him as little worthy of trust as do I."

 

"And yet you have invited him to Pemberley?"

 

"Not precisely,” Darcy remarked.

 

"Pray, explain."

 

"Not four nights ago he appeared in my drawing room, at a most unusual hour, looking, if you can possibly imagine, more unkempt then he does now and obviously seeking shelter. Considering the long association of our families I felt I had no alternative but to offer him my roof. He made then no indication of the length of his stay but has given me his word that he is involved in nothing which will dishonor my house."

 

"And do you have confidence in his word?"

 

"I rather wish to more than not. Which is why I would be obliged if you could assist me."

 

"You need only ask. In what manner?"

 

"You have connections in the Foreign Office. Could you not discover what he has been involved in of late?"

 

"I shall make some inquiries, but he is come from the Argentine and as you are well aware that is not our part of the world. If there is any information to be had, I should imagine it shall be deficient of details."

 

"Any information would be welcome. Earlier today he indicated to Mrs. Darcy and myself that, while he had not initially intended to stay more than a night or two, he was now requesting that we allow him to stay for another week. With nothing to actually accuse him of we could not but acquiesce."

 

"I should not be overly concerned Darcy, these adventurers are often more legend than not, and perhaps your idiosyncratic Earl will prove the same."

 

"Let us hope."

 

"Now may we speak of something more interesting, Darcy?"

 

"What could you possibly consider more interesting then that self proclaimed savage?" Darcy chuckled cynically.

 

"Miss Bingley." Darcy raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Tell me about this Miss Bingley. She is a handsome woman. Much more modest than I anticipated."

 

"Why should you have anticipated anything at all?"

 

"Come now Darcy," Sir Patrick laughed openly. "All of London knew she had set her cap at you and executed her chase in a most persistent manner."

 

Darcy stopped walking and adjusted his coat irritably. "If that was what the chattering sycophants were affirming, it is hardly gentlemanly of you to bring it up now."

 

"Very well than, what would a gentleman say?"

 

"Miss Bingley is the sister of my friend, who happens to be married to my sister-in-law, do you expect I shall say anything but that she is charming?"

 

"Not in your salon, but between ourselves I certainly expect the truth. We have always spoken forthrightly. After all, there must have been some reason she could not win you; her persistence predates your acquaintance with your lovely wife by some time."

 

"Do you wish to court her?"

 

"It could be a possibility. You are well acquainted with my ambitions, Darcy, and I cannot go much longer without a wife and hostess if I am to achieve them. Miss Bingley seems promising upon first sight. She has a certain air of shrewdness about her, which is always an advantage when one is in my line. I suppose a man could do worse."

 

"Certainly."

 

"Well then?"

 

Darcy sighed impatiently. "A gentleman should keep his own counsel on such matters. You know how I abhor this sort of thing."

 

"Yes I do. I would argue, however, that you ought not take such umbrage as you were wont to do. After all, you are no longer being chased like the fox by the hounds."

 

"No, I am not. But my sister very soon will be and I should not like to imagine other gentlemen discussing her in the manner you wish me to discuss Miss Bingley."

 

"There is hardly anything improper in this Darcy. Oblige me. I have always respected your opinion. What about her was so distasteful to you?"

 

Grudgingly, Darcy responded. "Distasteful is too strong a word."

 

"I should imagine so, she is handsome and fashionable after all."

 

"She is. She is also clever enough, although she can be indiscriminate in the execution of her wit. She is well educated, accomplished and has a fortune of some twenty thousand pounds."

 

"You are not telling me anything of consequence."

 

Darcy took a deep breath and threw his head back in agitation, not wishing to speak ill of his friend's sister. "By all appearances she would be, in all manners, a good match for many gentlemen of our set; she fulfils many of the standard requirements, I suppose."

 

"Come Darcy, you are playing coy with me. I want an honest answer. As a friend I am asking that 'Mr. Darcy of Pemberley' not answer me; I am asking for an answer from the man who did not hesitate to act in a manner which would ensure his own happiness." Darcy nearly grunted at the inadvertent irony of his friend's supposition.

 

Sir Patrick turned to his friend and placed his hand on Darcy's shoulder for a moment. "Come, man, be a sport."

 

"Very well, but only in the strictest confidence," Darcy replied. "Let us walk," he added, preferring that such a conversation be held farther from the drawing room doors. "She has the ability to be quite amusing, certainly, and yet, she is artful. I do not know what you wish for in a wife, but I, even before making the acquaintance of Mrs. Darcy, never considered Miss Bingley. Her character is ambiguous. I do not mean to imply that she is willfully duplicitous or ill-intentioned, but that, beyond her ambitions, I am not certain of her intentions, of the quality of her temperament or the depth of her mind."

 

"A harsh assessment to be sure, unless one is equally guided by ambition. And her family?"

 

"You are acquainted with Bingley, of course."

 

"Yes, and might I say that before he wed he was a far more engaging chap, now he spends all his time hovering about his pretty little wife like a bee to his honeycomb. Thank goodness you and your wife are not so profuse in your regard, it would have done me no good to see you, of all men, fallen a caricature of manliness for the love of a woman. If a man will yield to love it should have quite the opposite effect; a worthy woman should elevate a man's character. But I digress. Tell me, do his parents still live, does he have other sisters or brothers?"

 

"His parents do not live and he has one other sister. The elder sister is married to a Mr. Hurst—a man of more fashion than sense. I would happily do without him. Drinks too much. Gambles, but not overmuch."

 

"Their politics?"

 

"Certainly not as liberal as yours," Darcy laughed.

 

"That tells me nothing, no member of the English landed gentry or any aspirants to it are ever as liberal as I. We Irish are secret revolutionaries you know, we want to throw off the royal yoke as surely as the old colonies did."

 

"You are a hypocrite! Your mother was the daughter of an English Baron. And you, Sir Patrick, inherited your title and your property from her childless brother."

 

"All very true, but my father, God rest his soul, was a solid Irish papist. Sons always belong to their fathers."

 

"Many mothers might beg to differ."

 

"Very noble gesture on your part Darcy, in defense of motherhood and all, but I am quite certain that when your first son is born he shall be no more and no less than a Darcy, and I challenge you to argue the point." Darcy only smiled.

 

The subject of Miss Bingley was thus ended for the time, and they continued to converse on other, less domestic topics with the ease and the amiability of trusted equals until Georgiana appeared on the terrace.

 

"We are to have some music," she offered.

 

"We can hear it from here, my dear," Darcy replied.

 

Blushing, Georgiana insisted. "Brother, would you not come inside?"

 

"Is something the matter, Georgiana?"

 

"Not at all," she replied timidly. "Lizzy has encouraged me to play this evening and I would so wish for you to be in the room when I do."

 

"Of course, my dear girl," he smiled, amazed and pleased she had agreed to play with so many guests present. "Shall we return indoors then?"

 

As the three entered the drawing room from the terrace, all within were rising to move to the music room. Elizabeth turned toward the terrace and upon setting her eyes on Darcy she unexpectedly experienced a rush of adoration. She smiled—a sort of smile she bestowed only rarely and that illuminated, not just her eyes or her visage, but her entire person, surrounding her with a kind of exquisite gauziness. She appeared especially lovely this evening, in a plum toned silk dress that set off the creaminess of her complexion and the lightness of her figure; a simple, delicate amethyst pendant dangled around her neck, and a gossamer cream shawl was suspended delicately from her elbows. She was a picture of unaffected beauty.

 

"Darcy," Sir Patrick observed quietly, "Would you be very offended if I remarked on what a splendid wife you have acquired?"

 

"I have not acquired her," he replied scrupulously, before adding in a subdued, almost intimate tone: "But yes, she is splendid."

 

Sir Patrick looked at his friend, who was of course looking at his wife, and saw a softness of mien not at all typical, and could not help reflecting, as he often had since making the acquaintance of Mrs. Darcy, how very surprising it remained to see his famously reserved friend so affected. While Darcy never simpered and fawned with indelicate and embarrassing attentions upon his wife, he could not restrain the expression of ardent affection that suffused his eyes whenever he looked at her.

 

"You need not mind me, you besotted fool, I can find my own way to the music room. I'll just follow the sound."

 

"Such a clever fellow!" Darcy replied derisively.

 

"Indisputably," he laughed. "Miss Darcy," he said turning to Georgina, "Perhaps you might show me to the music room? I hardly recall where it is and your brother appears a touch distracted."

 

She giggled diffidently. "This way, Sir."

 

Darcy, paying no heed to either, approached Elizabeth and smiled. "Shall we, Mrs. Darcy?" he inquired, offering her his arm. Silently she took it and as they walked into the music room for what promised to be a most satisfying series of performances, each felt a quiet, profound contentment born simply from the reality of their united lives.

 

Parlor pursuits

 

 

 

Miss Bingley marched into the sitting room in a huff of irritation, "Will this rain never cease? Three days!" she cried as she sat down impatiently. Elizabeth and Georgiana stared at her, mildly amused by her demonstration.

 

"Fortunately," Elizabeth responded, "there are ample means of diversion indoors. Such as the library," she said, indicating the volume she herself was perusing. "Mrs. Ashton, as you can hear, is occupying herself practicing on the harp and the gentlemen are well entertained in the billiards room. So you see, while we await the return of dryer days we shall need to indulge in more sedentary schemes."

 

Miss Bingley, bored and irritable, was in a less than decorous mood and shrugged her shoulders discontentedly. The last three days, with the rain keeping all guests indoors and in generally close confederacy, had made patent for Miss Bingley her status as adjunct in Mr. Darcy's sphere more than anything else since his actual wedding. With the exception of Sir Patrick's erratic attentions, she found herself reduced to secondary, nay, tertiary importance, and she was, as a result, at turns unusually quiet and withdrawn, at turns mildly caustic. There was no manner in which she could garner prominence in the salon: Mrs. Thorney was incontrovertibly the most handsome woman in the party and Mrs. Ashton the most skilled musician; Jane and Georgiana were pleasingly dulcet; and Elizabeth, to Miss Bingley's entirely loath acknowledgment, prolifically witty. Miss Bingley recalled with painful, ironic frustration with what confidence she had once dismissed the self-sufficient Eliza Bennet. Now she watched her surrounded by devoted family and admiring friends, and for the first time Miss Bingley accepted completely, in the privacy of her thoughts, Elizabeth as mistress of Pemberley, recognizing her authority and her success. A success which seemed to depend as much as anything else on her lack of concern for the same, and rooted in that very independence of mind Miss Bingley had once belittled as wholly without fashion, and therefore, to her reasoning, without merit.

 

After a few moments of sulky silence, she continued her lament. "I am surprised at your patience, Mrs. Darcy, you, who so enjoy a vigorous walk."

 

"We must sometimes suspend our pleasures, Miss Bingley. In any case, if you would like to take a turn there is always the orangery. I believe Jane and your brother are now indulging in that pleasure."

 

"And Mrs. Thorney?"

 

"In her rooms with a headache."

 

Indifferent, Miss Bingley turned to Georgiana. "My dear Georgiana, pray, what is that you are working on?"

 

"A design for a screen," she replied quietly. Miss Bingley rose from her seat and examined the pretty floral pattern, taking immediately to rapturous praise of her friend's invention. Suddenly recalled to the calendar, she exclaimed: "How shall we be celebrating your birthday tomorrow Georgiana? I still recall last summer what a delightful, intimate fete your brother organized for your sixteenth. I wonder what he shall be giving you this year? After last year's gift he cannot possibly improve. The pianoforte was quite a striking touch."

 

"My brother is always generous and kind."

 

"But the celebration, dear Georgiana, how shall we celebrate?"

 

"There is nothing planned."

 

"What?" she replied inelegantly. Turning to Elizabeth she spoke in tones of allegation and dismay, her recent displeasure making her sporadically return to the incivility so readily displayed during the early days of their acquaintance. "Mrs. Darcy, can that be so? No celebration? I can hardly accept that Miss Darcy of Pemberley will not have her day properly recognized."

 

"I have thus requested," Georgiana offered, astonished by the tone of voice Miss Bingley employed.

 

Miss Bingley, unmindful of her young friend's discomfort, set off into a dissertation on the many benefits of celebrations and the certain necessity that Georgiana insist upon her due. "Simply because your brother has married does not mean that you should consider yourself as second in your own home," she concluded. Georgiana paled at Miss Bingley's words. She did not know how to respond to such an impolitic declaration, and stammered clumsily in answer.

 

Miss Bingley's habit of trying to presume herself into a role of effective authority over Georgiana, if not over Pemberley House itself, by turns amused and irritated Elizabeth. Much as she tried to abide her for Jane's sake, and recognizing as she did Miss Bingley's generally improved manners toward herself, she found her, nonetheless, at times insufferably presumptuous. Elizabeth could not understand how her husband, who valued forthrightness, abhorred disguise, and suffered foolishness not at all well, could tolerate her with such equanimity.

 

"Miss Bingley," Elizabeth finally interrupted, "Georgiana is old enough to know her own mind in this matter and her brother and I, whatever our predilections may have been, will most certainly respect her decision." Excluding any further commentary, Elizabeth rang for the servant and ordered that tea be served in the yellow drawing room and that Mrs. Ashton and the gentlemen be advised of the same.

 

"And Charles and Jane?" Miss Bingley inquired, irritated by the ostensible dismissal. "Shall we not advise them as well?"

 

"When they have finished their walk in the orangery they will join us. There is no need to disturb them, Miss Bingley," she replied curtly, as she rose to adjourn to the other room.

 

The sound of Lord Chiltern's boisterous baritone racing down the passageway with all the vitality of a willful stallion heralded the imminent arrival of the gentlemen to the drawing room.

 

"I have avenged myself upon your husband, Mrs. Darcy," Lord Chiltern boasted as the gentlemen entered and took up spots about the room.

 

"Avenged yourself, sir? I am afraid I am quite at a loss to your meaning."

 

"While Darcy has made a mockery of me at the chessboard these last days, I have just returned the compliment at the billiards table. Was it not a masterful victory, gentlemen? Why just look at him, scowling with indignation. But then he is not the sort of man who likes to lose, I take it. He was a bit more tractable as a young man, I dare say."

 

"I sincerely doubt, sir, that Mr. Darcy was ever particularly tractable," Elizabeth replied wryly. "As for the rest, I gather you might have a difficult time locating any vigorous gentleman who actually likes losing, whether at billiards or cards or any other fine sport."

 

"Or life," he added happily, as he made his way to the table where Georgiana was employed in the office of serving the tea. "I suppose at the end of the day we all like to have our own way." With a cup of tea procured, Lord Chiltern took a seat across from Elizabeth.

 

"What do you think of a book, Mrs. Darcy?"

 

"A book, sir?"

 

"Yes. Thorney here," Chiltern responded, gesturing towards Mr. Thorney who stood at his side, "he and his wife think I ought to chronicle my exploits for posterity. What think you?"

 

"You are such an active gentleman. Are you sure you have the patience for such an arduous endeavor? I confess to some skepticism," she affirmed with a sweet smile, causing both Thorney and Chiltern to laugh at her pretty insolence.

 

"You have little faith in me, I see. I am a half clever fellow, Mrs. Darcy. What is more, if that Lord Byron fop can become fashionable with his silly Childe Harold why could I not do the same with a real adventure tale?"

 

"Ah, Lord Byron!" Thorney interjected disdainfully. "All the talk of town since he published his dreadful Cantos last year. Am I the only person to find all that decadence he portrays ridiculously fanciful? Spent gods, ruined temples and other such nonsense. I confess my wife quite disagrees with me, and I should imagine it is her enthusiasm for the work that caused her to make her suggestion Lord Chiltern."

 

"I must accede to the challenge!"

 

"Would you compose such extravagant verse as well, Lord Chiltern?" Elizabeth inquired. "Or should you like a less spectacular style? Perhaps something more like the chronicles of the peninsular war gentlemen take such pleasure in reading?"

 

"I should imagine neither."

 

"A style all your own?"

 

"Not precisely. When I was in the Argentine quite a few Spaniards convinced me their adventure tale is the greatest one of all, so I thought I might emulate that book. I find the intelligent application of humor so much more gratifying than grandiose histrionics."

 

"Oh dear me," Elizabeth laughed. "Now I am disenchanted, sir. Do not tell me you spoke of books while in the Argentine. You have destroyed my image of you altogether."

 

"She has you there, Lord Chiltern," Thorney added. "It does no good to hear of a famed adventurer talking books in the wilds. Hardly something I can take back to White's with me, now is it?"

 

"Perhaps it is not so very wild in the Argentine after all," Elizabeth said impishly. "What say you, Mr. Darcy?" she continued, as Darcy approached the group, positioning himself across from her that he might take pleasure in the manner in which her amusement brightened her eyes. "Lord Chiltern has just confessed to Mr. Thorney and myself that he spent a prodigious amount of time in the Argentine discussing books. I was quite confident he would have had no time for such a conventional parlor pursuit. Does it not force one to doubt the veracity of such intricate tales as those he has woven for us these days he has been with us?"

 

Darcy listened to his wife with a slight smile; he never ceased to marvel at her unique ability to state the most impertinent opinions without offending a soul. "I should never be so perverse as to ever question the accuracy of your conclusions, Mrs. Darcy," he replied.

 

"I will question your conclusions, even if your husband will not," Lord Chiltern cried. "My honor depends upon it. Do you truly doubt me, Mrs. Darcy?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in silence. "Well then," Chiltern continued, "I shall be required to write my chronicles so that others less discerning might be more acquiescent to my powers."

 

"And therein you will, at last, have your glory," she retorted with a smile.

 

"Acknowledged, madam." Chiltern bowed his head in mock defeat.

 

"What book was this, Lord Chiltern, for which you have altogether destroyed Mrs. Darcy's notion of you?"

 

"Don Quixote de la Mancha," he replied. Turning again to Elizabeth he inquired whether she was familiar with it.

 

"Oh yes, it is a great favorite of my father, who loves nothing so much as studying the follies, whims and inconsistencies of humanity and there is perhaps no greater single expression of the same than the adventures of that errant knight, although in totality our own Shakespeare certainly is unsurpassable."

 

"Is it from your father then, Mrs. Darcy, that your quick mind originates?" Mr. Thorney asked.

 

"While my father-in-law is an indubitably clever gentleman," Darcy offered, "my wife's lively mind is all her own."

 

"And so much the better that it be that way," she responded gaily. "Let me only divulge, Mr. Thorney, that my father did not censure my curiosity. Whether to my eventual advantage or not is for others to decide, but if a book was in his library I was welcome to it."

 

"Oh, most certainly to your advantage, Mrs. Darcy," her husband replied. "And I might add, to the advantage of those of us admitted to the privilege of hearing you." Elizabeth smiled and raised her eyebrows ever so slightly, in a confidential recognition of Darcy's allusion; she saw him standing at the pianoforte at Rosings and wondered, for the hundredth time at least, how she had ever been so lacking in perception.

 

Mr. Thorney listened to Darcy's mildly flirtatious reply to his wife and observed the furtive communication that passed between them. A notion regarding connubial felicity--something he himself could make no great claims upon--which had been forming in his mind over the preceding three days, clarified: the concept of a wife offering true companionship suddenly dawned on him as a very attractive alternative. Concerned always with the impact of his father's negligent management of Alresford Hall and the attendant lands, Thorney had married the former Miss Anne Woodcrest more for her fine fortune than her fine figure; Darcy, however, had obviously married for no other reason than to please himself. Bringing him neither fortune nor connections, Darcy's marriage had been considered a rather risky affair among his acquaintances. That was as far as censure went, for the most part, as Darcy's patronage and connections were too important to discard over such a matter. It was generally agreed that if the gentleman was inclined to take as his bride the daughter of an obscure, comparatively poor gentleman, well, he certainly had the freedom to be capricious where others perhaps did not. Yet risky it was indisputably seen to be—a marriage purely of inclination and quite lacking in more substantive advantages could not be viewed otherwise. As Thorney observed Darcy with his wife he began to believe the risk had been very much worth the taking. While Thorney had, in common with most, found Mrs. Darcy charming and amiable when she was first introduced about town, it was only over these last few days, in which a greater intimacy with her ways could be learnt, that Thorney came to fully respect Darcy's choice. While Mrs. Thorney was more handsome, he found Mrs. Darcy offered to his friend qualities his own wife, indolent and spoilt as she was, lacked; qualities which ensured a pleasure in domestic life completely wanting in his own case. She had intelligence and good-humor, unaffected grace, and an engaging, warm disposition that seemed to promise daily enjoyment of her companionship. At heart, Thorney desired nothing more than a peaceful, contented existence at Alresford Hall, and he sensed that his friend was to have just that at Pemberley.

 

Mr. Thorney was not alone in his observations. Miss Bingley, who sat with Sir Patrick across the room, also found her eyes frequently turned to the group at whose center sat Elizabeth. Sir Patrick, for his part, had not yet determined whether to court Miss Bingley. He had concluded it was time to secure a suitable wife who might assist him in furthering his political ambitions and he was by no means in search of love; nevertheless, he was man enough to require that when he did marry he would not be second to any man in his wife's eyes. Miss Bingley's continued admiration for his friend and apparent high curiosity about his friend's wife had not gone unnoticed. What is more, while he found her more than satisfactorily handsome and in possession of the most fashionable of manners, he could not altogether neglect Darcy's words. As he had conversed with her over the preceding days he had found that, indeed, her essential character was difficult to discern.

 

"Should I be offended, Miss Bingley, that my conversation cannot engage you enough to tear your attention away from the other side of the room?" He spoke mildly, smilingly, and sipped his tea. Mortified to have been captured in such observation, she replied, in a voice heavy with pretentious indifference, something about the bad weather giving her a headache and thus her apparent distraction. Amused by her embarrassment, Sir Patrick thought he might as well investigate the true nature of her lingering attachment to his friend.

 

"Perhaps, Miss Bingley, it is neither my lack of conversation nor your headache which has you distracted. Perhaps you find it as interesting as do I to watch Darcy--reserved, dignified, proper Darcy--attempting to contain the obviously powerful feelings he harbors for his wife?"

 

Sir Patrick noted a passing wince upon Miss Bingley's face, but her tone when she responded was composed and even lighthearted. "Whatever do you mean, Sir Patrick? Mr. Darcy appears quite as he ever has to my eyes."

 

"I do not imagine everyone would notice, he is so subtle about it, but you strike me as a keen observer, Miss Bingley. Why, look at him now. Do you not observe how he attempts to hide his smile behind his teacup when she speaks; has it not gone noted by you that he always stands or sits across from her that he might watch her, and when he does how his eyes veritably caress her features. Oh, it is not at all obvious, quite delicate in its manner to be sure, but perhaps the more moving for its very reserve."

 

"I am afraid I do not make it a habit to study other people's feelings, Sir Patrick, as you seem to have done with our friend. It seems none of my concern at all."

 

She sounded a bit too defiantly unconcerned to Sir Patrick, who had, if nothing else, determined that she was a bit of a gossip who found amusement doing precisely what she had just forsworn. Before he could respond his attention was drawn to the doorway of the room. "Your studied indifference aside, Miss Bingley, I challenge you to not be curious about those feelings. They do not look quite their usual turtle doves."

 

Turning her attention to where he indicated, a look of puzzlement settled on her face. "No indeed," she replied. "How very odd. I have rarely seen my brother appear so glum."

 

To be sure, the entire gathered party had observed the entrance of the Bingleys and universally noted the uncharacteristic scowl on Bingley's commonly cheery visage; Jane, for her part, looked composed but pallid. Detecting that the attention of the room was upon them with prying curiosity, Elizabeth attempted a distraction by calling on the Ashtons, who were not directly in her group, to offer an opinion on some recently arrived musical scores. Mr. Ashton readily acquiesced, always eager to discuss his favorite Austrian composer. As he spoke, Elizabeth gestured for Darcy to find what was the matter with Bingley. The room's attention successfully diverted, Darcy approached the mantle were Bingley drank his tea with resolute surliness.

 

"Bingley," Darcy said. "Come to the library with me, you must collect yourself. Your countenance is an unqualified pronouncement of censure."

 

Closing the door of the library behind them, Darcy took a seat while Bingley paced the room nervously. "Bingley," Darcy said. "I did not bring you here to force a confession, but if you should like to unburden yourself, I trust you know you can count on my discretion."

 

"Yes, of course," Bingley replied absently.

 

"Would you like something a little stronger than tea? A brandy perhaps?"

 

Bingley silently shook his head in refusal. For ten minutes complete they remained thus: Darcy seated in silence and Bingley pacing the room in agitation.

 

"Jane and I were walking in the orangery and we had a terrible quarrel," Bingley said at last. Darcy made no answer and waited for Bingley to choose on his own what he would wish to reveal. "We have never had a quarrel before."

 

"That takes no effort to believe," Darcy observed.

 

"Have you and Lizzy?"

 

"Bingley, I am sure that was a rhetorical question."

 

Bingley did not appear to be listening for an answer at any rate. "Apparently," he continued after more silence, "a few days ago Jane confided something in Lizzy, and Lizzy thought it rather peculiar that Jane had not told me." Bingley turned to Darcy, who only raised an eyebrow in response.

 

"By God!" Bingley cried angrily. "You know!" To Darcy's persistent silence, Bingley finally affirmed with cynicism, "Well of course you do, your wife confides in you, unlike my own."

 

"Are you perhaps responding to this a bit too severely?"

 

"Are you mad, Darcy? A bit too severely? I think not!" He began to pace the room again, his arms in constant, agitated motion. "How could she not tell me that she had been with child? How in heavens could she keep something like this from me?" His voice was now plaintive and pained.

 

"If I may be so bold, in cases such as this it is not unusual for a wife to keep such information from her husband. Until such time as there is surety it is quite common to keep a husband in ignorance."

 

"Blast it Darcy! I do not much care what is usual or not in cases 'such as this'."

 

"Perhaps she meant only to spare you. It would be consistent with Jane's generous nature to wish to bear the burden for you both."

 

Bingley sighed and threw himself into the chair across from Darcy before responding with impatient ire: "I am quite weary of being taken for such a feeble fellow, always in need of protection and guidance."

 

"That is hardly the case, Bingley."

 

"Is it not? I think that is quite the crux of the matter Darcy. You and my sisters have long taken me for a hapless gentleman, as though I am unable to know my own mind, as though I ought not to be trusted to bear my own burdens, to endure the consequences of my actions."

 

"I have certainly breached the boundaries of your sovereignty in the past, but I trust I have since learnt to be respectful of your own authority."

 

"Oh you have Darcy, to be sure, but I never expected that Jane considered me as so very weak, so needing of her protection. It is meant to be quite the opposite Darcy."

 

"I think you misapprehend her actions."

 

"I am not so sure that I do. Do you imagine your wife would ever fail to confide something like this to you?"

 

"No. And I should not tolerate it if she did."

 

"And yet I should? That is transparently ridiculous."

 

"Bingley, neither Jane's silence nor her intentions were so very shocking, so very mistaken."

 

"I do not doubt that. Jane is too good to ever do anything ill intentioned, even inadvertently. It is not that which has me so distraught. I feel a little betrayed by her lack of confidence and I am not sure how to forgive her this silence."

 

Darcy stood up and approached Bingley, placing his hand on his shoulder in a brotherly fashion. "Faults, blunders far greater than this have been forgiven, trust me my friend. Speak with her and forgive her, you will only be the better for it."

 

Bingley responded in a quiet, depressed voice. "She has displayed such a lack of confidence in me, Darcy."

 

"Perhaps she has not displayed as much as you would wish, but she has enough confidence in you that she has told you now when nothing could come of it but your resentment. Jane may now believe that she was mistaken in keeping this from you and is seeking to rectify that error. That requires a certain degree of courage, Bingley, and if I may be presumptuous enough to offer you guidance, you ought not ignore her endeavor to gain greater understanding."

 

"Do you think I am exaggerating and she does in fact confide in me as I would wish her to?" Bingley replied hopefully.

 

"That is a question I cannot answer. All I can offer is my opinion, Bingley. I am of the conviction that the degree of confidence of which you speak must be earned. If you feel she does not confide in you as you would wish, all that remains is for you to demonstrate to her that you can be relied upon in all circumstances and she will."

 

"I love her! How can she not know that I can be relied upon?"

 

"Love and understanding are not equivalent, Bingley, although each will be the richer for the other."

 

Bingley stared at his friend, an expression of something like wonderment set upon his face. "And how come you upon so much wisdom, Darcy?"

 

Darcy smiled. "Painfully, Bingley, quite painfully. But the rewards are great indeed."

 

"Do you know Darcy, you never do cease to confound me."

 

Bowing his head in acknowledgment, he replied, "Are you more composed now? Shall we return to the drawing room?"

 

"Some day," Bingley said as they exited the library, "I hope to be of equal service to you, Darcy, as you have long been to me."

 

"Your steadfast friendship is more than recompense for any paltry service I may have provided, Bingley."

 

Later that evening, when all the household had retired to their rooms, Jane heard a gentle knock at the door which adjoined her own room to Bingley's. At her quietly spoken response Bingley entered his wife's chambers, taking a seat in the chair near the window. They did not speak; rather they shared hesitant, almost bashful glances. He saw her blush and believed her the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. He wished nothing more than a return to their easy, sweet relations, and yet he could not yet abandon hold of his disappointment.

 

"Charles?" she said at last. Her voice was yielding and honeyed with shy affection.

 

He looked at her with a long, steady gaze and saw such sadness in her face that he felt himself a scoundrel. "Darcy says I am responding to this a bit too severely."

 

"You told Mr. Darcy of our troubles?"

 

"And why should I not?" he inquired defensively. "He is my most trusted friend. You have confided in your sister. Certainly I have a right to such confidences as well."

 

"I did not mean to suggest otherwise." She wished to speak more but felt such profound unease at this unprecedented severity between them that tears, quiet and soft, overcame her. Bingley was powerless in the face of such distress.

 

"Oh my dearest Jane!" he cried and took to his knees in front of the settee where she sat. Her hands secured within his own, he kissed them remorsefully. "My dearest angel, please forgive me. I have been harsh and unfeeling. I have thought only of myself, when you thought only of my pain, my suffering. I have not thought of your suffering at all. I am such a brute, such an unworthy beast! My dearest, loveliest angel, will you not forgive me?"

 

"Oh Charles," she replied fervently, "it is I, only I that have been at fault."

 

"No, no, never my angel! You thought only of me, I see that now. Oh, my sweetest angel! How you must have suffered!"

 

Raising himself to the settee, Bingley embraced his wife as she reiterated her fault. And in such tender atonement they continued for a time, each taking the blame from the other as they savored the painful, bittersweet pleasure of a first reconciliation. In their eagerness to acquit the other of fault they quite forgot the dispute that had caused them to find themselves thus prostrate one to the other. But they were contented and when Bingley gently kissed his wife's lips they felt all was again well. Certainly, as they entered the breakfast room on the following morning, it seemed so to the rest and as the meal progressed, Bingley was, if anything, more than habitually attentive and solicitous.

 

Seeing it thus, Sir Patrick leaned over to Miss Bingley, "Now that is more like it. What think you of such unguarded adoration?"

 

Miss Bingley, who really did abhor her brother's manner with his wife, finding it inelegant and undignified, answered in a tone of amused censure. "I begin to see the point you were making last evening, Sir Patrick. Reserve is both more decorous and more potent. It has the not inconsequential added advantage of sparing us all such silly displays." Sir Patrick smiled. There was something about Miss Bingley's intermittently revealed dissatisfaction with nearly everyone and everything which he found peculiarly amusing. How long he might find it so was a question he had not yet confronted.

 

Mrs. Ashton abruptly addressed the table: "I have had a whim and I am hoping some of you will indulge me. It appears we have a fourth day of rain upon us. I do not believe I should like another game of backgammon and I have written all my outstanding correspondence. Will any of you join me in the orangery later this morning? I have a whim to take out the charcoal and create a mythical tableau. Juno's garden, perhaps. What say you all? It would be amusement for a while at least." A general conversation ensued wherein it was universally declared that Jane ought to sit for Juno and Lord Chiltern for Jupiter and the scheme was resolved.

 

"Mrs. Ashton has proposed an excellent diversion," Darcy replied. "I hope you will all indulge in the pleasure of the orangery. I am afraid that Mrs. Darcy, Miss Darcy and I will be unable to join you until you are well into the exercise. We have some family business which must be attended to this morning."

 

Securing their excuses, he then led his wife and sister to the library where the three had a brief, private recognition of Georgiana's birthday, in precisely the subdued manner she had requested. Darcy made a pretty little speech expressing his affection, and then presented her with a number of modest, thoughtful gifts.

 

"There is one more item," Darcy remarked, as he handed Georgiana a small, flat box. She looked at him inquisitively. "This was left to you in my father's will. It was to be given to you on your eighteenth birthday, but as we have agreed that you shall debut in the season prior to that occasion, I thought it appropriate that you receive it now. This belonged to your mother and now it is yours."

 

Georgiana opened the box gingerly and her eyes grew wide in astonishment. Nestled on black velvet was a graceful diamond and sapphire necklace. "Brother," Georgiana said as she ran her fingers delicately over the stones, "is this not the same necklace my mother wears in the portrait of her that hangs in our uncle's home?"

 

"Yes, Georgiana, it is the same. I understand that she wore this when she made her own debut and that portrait was painted thereabouts, when she was herself but seventeen."

 

Tears filled Georgiana's eyes and she looked up to her brother with a melancholy expression. "Am I at all like her?"

 

Darcy walked to where his sister sat, cupped her delicate chin in his large, cool hand and lifted her face to his gaze. Elizabeth was moved by the gaze of profound tenderness they exchanged.

 

"In some ways, you are. You have the same eyes, the same docile manner. But I must confess, Georgiana, sometimes I have difficulty recalling and I wonder if the images that dwell in my mind are in fact memories or perhaps unreliable dreams. But yes, in some ways you remind me of her. Our parents would be very proud of the young lady you have become, Georgiana, as am I."

 

"Oh my dear brother," she cried eagerly. "If I am a young lady worthy of such admiration it is only because I have striven to be as good and noble as you. You have been such a kind and forbearing brother; I should not be as I am had I not your guidance, had I not your character to pattern."

 

"I hope I have always and will always conduct myself in such a manner that you can judge me a worthy model of honor and propriety, of loyalty and discretion. But do not mistake the matter. Your gentleness, your kind and affectionate heart, that is all your own, my darling girl. Now come, give your brother and sister an embrace. We ought not leave our guests unattended any longer."

 

Warmly embracing Darcy and Elizabeth, Georgiana reflected on how much she had changed in two years. Two years past, a casualty to sentimental notions and too the inevitable loneliness of a shy girl of fifteen who had no parents, only a much elder brother who must necessarily make his own life, she had nearly eloped with a scoundrel who wanted nothing but her fortune, and as she now understood, perhaps a little revenge upon her beloved brother as well. She had made great efforts to conquer her mortification, her shame, and her broken heart; she had accepted with resolute, willing charity that her brother's happiness depended upon establishing a relationship of the nearest kind with that same scoundrel. Now, two years since, she was filled with a happiness and surety once unfamiliar to her. Her home was at last, as she had long desired, at her brother's side, and in his wife she had found a sister who gave her the warm and tender sisterly attentions for which her affectionate heart had continually yearned. She looked from her mother's necklace to her brother and sister. Georgiana felt, for the first time she thought, every bit a Darcy, every bit a young lady of worth.

Too potent a force

 

 

Elizabeth sealed her correspondence to Longbourn, leaned back in her chair and looked out the window with a sigh of contentment. The good weather had returned and she felt herself overflowing with energy. She had not indulged in a long walk in many days and thought the moment propitious. The majority of the party had been inclined to enjoy the good weather by indulging in an extensive ride across Pemberley's lands. Only Mrs. Ashton, Miss Bingley and herself, none being particularly avid horsewomen, had rejected the scheme. She had therefore spent a quiet morning composing a long delayed response to her father's last letter. She reported to her father the events and amusements of their summer party with her customary candor: The successive days of rain had failed to dampen the general enthusiasm and the party could not have proven more compatible; even Lord Chiltern, with his amusing and irreverent stories, was an affable, if not wholly trusted, addition. She had been pleased to see Georgiana more expansive than was her wont and Miss Bingley less overbearing than she had anticipated; likewise, she felt her own acquaintance with her husband's friends of long standing increasing easily and naturally. She could not recall a summer which had been spent more enjoyably, unless she were to return to the carefree wildness of girlhood.

 

Indeed, Elizabeth could not but be pleased with her new life. She found herself now part of a circle which, while in every manner superior to that which she had known, felt as well as though it had always been her own. This sense of place was due, unquestionably, to the devotion of her husband, and indeed she felt eight months insufficient to discover all within his character and heart worthy of admiration and adoration; daily she felt privileged to call him 'husband'. That she knew with certainty that she brought him equal felicity was a source of great satisfaction. It all would still, nevertheless, register as unreal, this deep and stirring happiness; for, withal her enthusiasm for amusement and laughter she was, at core, a skeptic who had never believed in such manifold happiness, having rarely seen its full manifestation in her environs. And yet, it was hers now.

 

She rose from her chair and walked to the open window. "Ah, my dearest Mr. Darcy," she whispered to herself, as she placed her hand upon her abdomen and smiled furtively. "If I am not very much mistaken, I shall soon give you news of your heart's desire and we will have only to add to our felicity."

 

Such happy reflections were interrupted when Mrs. Ashton knocked at her sitting room door. "Do I disturb you, Mrs. Darcy? You seemed quite lost in contemplation."

 

"No, not at all," Elizabeth replied with a slight blush. "I was thinking it a lovely morning for a walk. Would you care to join me? I should imagine the others shall not return for some time yet."

 

"We are of like mind. I came to request your company in the garden."

 

Parasols collected, the two ladies walked toward the cutting gardens, where the canopied walk offered a pleasant protection from the warming sun. After a time spent in observation of the gardens, Mrs. Ashton inquired whether she might speak of Miss Darcy.

 

"Of Miss Darcy?" Elizabeth inquired uneasily.

 

"Yes." Mrs. Ashton's voice had a mellow, rich timbre that Elizabeth found soothing and immensely agreeable. With an indication from her hostess that she might, Mrs. Ashton continued. "As you are certainly aware Miss Darcy has been gracious enough to attend to Mr. Ashton and I quite diligently since our arrival and we are delighted to discover her such a very graceful young lady. We had been rarely in her company prior to this visit. But it is her musical ability which has excited our particular interest."

 

"She is very proficient and practices most constantly."

 

"Mr. Ashton and I are of the belief that she is more than proficient, indeed that she is uniquely talented. In a few years time she will quite exceed my own skill, as well as that of most, if she is given ample opportunity."

 

"I am afraid I do not understand your implication, Mrs. Ashton. Mr. Darcy has never spared expense or attentions in regards to Miss Darcy's London masters or her instruments."

 

"Please do not misapprehend my meaning or my intent. She would not be as proficient as she is today if not for the obvious support and encouragement she has received. However, I believe she requires more exposure than just an excellent London master to truly achieve her potential. I do not speak now of technical proficiency, but of musical understanding."

 

"Pray explain, Mrs. Ashton. What are you suggesting?"

 

"I am requesting rather than suggesting, Mrs. Darcy. I would like to know if, when you have all returned to Town in the autumn, I might have the honor of inviting Miss Darcy to one of our musical evenings?" Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Ashton inquisitively. "When we are in town Mr. Ashton and I host a musical evening most every Thursday. It is an evening dedicated solely to the discussion and performance of music and those invited are all of particularly strong inclination and skill."

 

"You seem hesitant to make this request. May I inquire why?"

 

"Certainly. Firstly, I understand that Miss Darcy has not made her debut, and so I do not know if you allow her to make such evening calls. Perhaps of more significance, it is commonly held that Mr. Darcy exercises great caution in his care of Miss Darcy and there are some who attend these evenings who might be considered unacceptable acquaintances for his sister."

 

"I cannot imagine that he would find fault with any evening in your home."

 

"I thank you for the compliment, but indeed as it is an evening dedicated to music there are some who attend who are in fact musicians by trade, performers who by rights are not at all at the level of Miss Darcy's notice."

 

"I see."

 

"They are all, I assure you, of the utmost respectability. I believe she would benefit greatly from such evenings. She has not just technical proficiency, but she senses the music profoundly and understands it with a depth and instinct I have rarely seen. She can learn much from others who have more years of knowledge, more practice and more discerning comprehension."

 

"May I ask if you have discussed this with Miss Darcy?"

 

"That I should wish to invite her, no; I would not venture such a liberty. But I have described the evenings to her and she appeared quite interested."

 

"Mrs. Ashton, coming from one so particularly proficient, I certainly appreciate your concern regarding Miss Darcy's musical development. I will happily discuss your kind invitation with Mr. Darcy. However, I do not presume to interfere in his guardianship of his sister and whether she will be permitted to attend such evenings will be entirely Mr. Darcy's decision and his alone."

 

Mrs. Ashton nodded her head in acknowledgment, before responding mildly; "I am pleased I have not shocked you by revealing that we entertain musicians and performers."

 

"Why should I be shocked? I have never believed that a person's situation in life can be shocking or degrading, only their conduct and character can be such and neither has anything at all to do with situation."

 

Mrs. Ashton smiled at Elizabeth's response. "May I be so bold, Mrs. Darcy, as to forecast that you and I shall, with time, become great friends? The more I speak with you the more I find to admire. Mr. Darcy is a fortunate man in his choice of wife."

 

Elizabeth blushed prettily. "Mrs. Ashton," she responded archly, "I believe the world at large comprehends all the good fortune to be on my side."

 

"Perhaps. But I find the world at large generally deficient in discernment."

 

Their walk had them now approaching the pathway that led round to the stables. From here emerged the party of riders, fatigued, to be sure, but in high spirits. Mrs. Thorney, who, while generally indolent when indoors, was incongruently energetic when pursuing outdoor activities, led the group. She had been bored and impatient during the four days of rain but now that she could ride again, her best disposition was opened. She was an indisputably handsome woman, marvelously well formed and with a perfection of complexion and features not to be gainsaid; she had a mane of dark, wavy blond hair, and large, round green eyes that dominated her face.

 

"Derbyshire truly is beautiful country. I feel quite invigorated after so many days of rain. Can you imagine what it must be like to reside in one of those sun-drenched countries on the Mediterranean? Someday you must take me John. Rain is quite oppressive, but the return of sun and dry weather has quite replenished me," Mrs. Thorney intoned, letting her deep alto voice trail behind her and catch her companions as they followed her. "Mr. Darcy, I must compliment your stable. My horse was strong and quick, but tractable and modest."

 

Seeing Mrs. Darcy and Mrs. Ashton on the path ahead of them, Mrs. Thorney immediately rushed to Elizabeth's side and placed her arm within her own. "Mrs. Darcy! I am determined! You who love the outdoors as much as I, you really must reconsider and become a more avid horsewoman. When you visit Alresford Hall I shall not be able to show you even the half of the countryside if we are on foot and the park itself is of no consequence."

 

Mrs. Thorney was such a contradiction that Elizabeth could not determine whether she admired her or not, and yet at moments like this, when she was radiant with energy after a vigorous ride, Elizabeth found herself drawn to her. "Mr. Darcy will certainly be pleased if you can succeed in changing my opinion in this regard."

 

"Walk with me into the house and I shall begin the effort! Mr. Darcy has promised us refreshments." Leading Elizabeth forward, she suddenly began an extemporaneous detailing of her nature, an inclination which Elizabeth found rather singular. "You think you should not learn to ride for Alresford Hall's sake only because I have been so idle here that you cannot trust my participation. I am really not such a weary creature by nature as I have certainly appeared to you these last days; rather I am terribly bored by everything a lady ought to do. I think I should have been born a man. Do I frighten you with such a conjecture? Of course not, you do not frighten easily. I am so grateful, given that John and Mr. Darcy do spend a fair amount of time together, that you are not some insipid creature. But I think I have told you that already. So yes, I think I ought to have been born a man. Then I might have been as wild as I liked and I would have never been found lounging uselessly upon a settee as I am so often to be found now. Why, I could have gone to savage parts of the world just as Lord Chiltern has done."

 

Mrs. Thorney's observation was exceptional enough, but it attained an additional incongruence being expressed by such a striking woman; Elizabeth had never heard anything so remarkable and knew not how to respond. She was saved from such a task, however, when Mr. Thorney came to their side and took possession of his wife's arm.

 

"Come Anne," Thorney said. "She shall think you mad."

 

"If my husband already thinks me mad, why ever should I be bothered if my friends should think likewise?" she replied petulantly.

 

"Be not alarmed, my dear," Elizabeth heard Darcy whisper into her ear as Thorney escorted his wife indoors. "She is famous for making such outrageous proclamations after a vigorous ride." Elizabeth merely raised an eyebrow in response.

 

Mrs. Ashton, for her part, having witnessed the singular exchange, could not help reflecting that Mrs. Darcy's words of only moments ago were effectively proven--only a person's conduct or character could be shocking—and she resolved to make every effort to become better acquainted with this intelligent and warm woman. It was a friendship which could be only beneficial, both for its inherent pleasure and for strengthening the amicable ties already existing between her own husband and Mr. Darcy.

 

After refreshments the party did not remain long indoors. They changed out of there riding attire, enjoyed an early meal and were all again walking about the gardens together and taking pleasure in the return of the delicious summer weather. Darcy, who wished to speak to Elizabeth in relative privacy, took her by the arm and led her towards the wisteria-covered trellis, apart from the others.

 

"Shall we walk this way? I have something to share with you. May I first observe, however, that you seem remarkably content today," Darcy said.

 

"Oh, I am. And you?"

 

"Also. Indeed, I do not recall the last time there was so much good cheer here at Pemberley. You have quite altered it, Elizabeth. We were a bit of a dour lot before you came, I think now."

 

"Undoubtedly," she replied archly, to which he merely smiled indulgently. "I think our first summer party is proving quite successful," she continued. "Even with the rain and Lord Chiltern's mysterious and determined presence. All our guests appear quite satisfied, Miss Bingley included."

 

There was something particularly joyful in Elizabeth's disposition, and Darcy sensed an added vivacity in her bearing, causing him to inquire again regarding her remarkably contented humor. With every intention of saying nothing at all, Elizabeth found herself replying thus: "No it is not the success of our little party which has me in good spirits. You see, my dearest sir, for all the happiness we have enjoyed I begin to suspect that we will have another cause for still greater joy."

 

Darcy halted their promenade and stared intently at Elizabeth. Her eyes were brilliant with anticipation and Darcy felt his breath catch in his breast. "Are you intimating that you? That we?" Elizabeth's smile widened and she looked at Darcy with an expression of perfect joy. He stared at her a moment longer, his own face becoming awash with disbelieving hope. "But you made no suggestion at all when we spoke of Jane's situation. What is more, not a fortnight ago I inquired of just such an event and you said nothing at all."

 

Sheepishly, Elizabeth responded, "A fortnight ago I was only beginning to suspect."

 

"And now are you quite sure?"

 

"I highly suspect."

 

"Than it shall be!" he quickly affirmed, as he squeezed her hand where it rested upon his arm. "But you are a teasing woman by way of a wife."

 

"Whatever do you mean?" she replied with a laugh.

 

"How come you to tell me such news while we walk in the garden accompanied by at least a half dozen people? How am I to properly demonstrate what joy this gives me when we are thus attended?"

 

"I am not teasing, my love, only precipitous. For I had not intended to tell you at all until I was quite sure. I found the impulse to share my hope greater than my restraint could bear. But do not fear, at this moment your eyes are quite eloquently demonstrating your joy."

 

"Teasing, teasing woman!" He replied emotionally. "We best walk on and discuss something entirely different or I shall make a spectacle of us both here in our very garden!" He began walking and speaking at a hurried pace, all the while stealing glances at her lovely, smiling visage. "Oh, what I would not give to be alone with you at this instant! Would it be so very singular if we went inside and left our guests? How can we speak of anything else! But you say it is not certain? It must be! It must! How long have you suspected? Elizabeth!" he finally declared in a fervent whisper, as though within the expression of her name all his formidable feelings could be contained.

 

Elizabeth laughed happily. "Shall we discuss the success of our little party then? Shall that be a good distraction?"

 

Her playful comment returned him to the moment and he responded in a tone that surprised Elizabeth for its anxiety. "It would indeed. The success of our party may not yet be assured."

 

"Why ever not?"

 

"I had wanted to inform you—oh, but you have quite happily distracted me-- that another, far less delightful wish, your wish, in fact, will soon come to pass, my persistent little wife. I received a letter earlier today informing me that Lady Catherine and her daughter will arrive at Pemberley tomorrow week and will remain a sennight."

 

Elizabeth would have rejoiced at the success of his last exertion, if not for the grimace that set upon his features, so markedly different from his joy a moment earlier. "Why such displeasure, such apparent angst?" Darcy did not respond, rather he made a sort of frustrated sigh. "Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth inquired uneasily. "Do you doubt my ability to act as hostess to Lady Catherine?"

 

"What a ridiculous suggestion Elizabeth. From where comes such nonsense on your part?" he retorted disbelievingly.

 

"Then pray, why such consternation on yours?" she replied, equally put out.

 

"I have absolute faith in your abilities, Elizabeth, but I can no longer say the same regarding my faith in my aunt's good breeding."

 

Elizabeth blushed at her mistake. "But surely she will do nothing to injure us. If she has agreed to come it can only be with just intent. I can believe her many things, but willfully ill-intentioned I cannot."

 

"There is something you are not aware of." She looked at him curiously. "I had arranged a surprise visit: the Gardiners are to come as originally planed."

 

"Oh!" Elizabeth's tone was tinged with misgiving.

 

"Pray, do not come to one of your ill-formed conclusions regarding the motives of my concern. You know full well that I hold the Gardiners in the highest regard. Indeed your uncle and I, in particular, are on excellent terms. I have no qualms regarding the Gardiners; it is, again, Lady Catherine's reaction I can not vouch for."

 

"Then pray, do not concern yourself unnecessarily. She will undoubtedly treat them with her customary condescension; however, my aunt and uncle, I am quite sure, are too sensible to take offense. They are not, after all, completely ignorant as to the particulars of the situation."

 

"Perhaps you are correct and I am anxious for nothing."

 

"Why such secrecy? Why did you not simply inform me that they had agreed to come after all?"

 

"I wished it to be a surprise as they arrive on Monday."

 

"Monday?"

 

Darcy laughed openly. "I did say once that I find your complete lack of sentimentality charming, but this is perhaps too much!"

 

"Pray, enlighten me."

 

He stopped them in mid path and turned to face her; he took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips. He did not release it once the kiss was offered, but encircled it tenderly within his own and nestled it to his waist. Although they could not be heard, the others in the garden noted their tender position and they became an object of universal observation. Standing in front of the wisteria-covered trellis, their expressions earnest and warm, their hands joined, they were perhaps too engaged to consider they looked the very portrait of distracted lovers.

 

"One year ago Monday I walked around from the stables in a very foul mood only to find a most delightful apparition in my garden. I think it only right to make some celebration of that fortuitous day. It seemed to me that could not be done without the Gardiners in company and so I have prevailed upon them to come to us, if even for just a short visit. I have a surprise for you and I wished the Gardiners to be a part of it as well. You will undoubtedly find this all a bit mawkish on my part, but I felt that the day must be marked." He paused, an expression of seriousness infusing his face as he increased the pressure on her gathered hands. He was overcome with emotion as he reflected on what could have been and what was now to be. When he spoke, quietly, intimately, his voice was rich with ardor. "I shall be eternally grateful to the Gardiners, Elizabeth, for bringing you into Derbyshire. After all I had said and done, I do not believe that I should have ever found the courage to seek you out myself."

 

"You have never told me that before."

 

"I confess it now: I was quite resigned to remaining a bachelor, to loving you faithfully, if hopelessly, in the secrecy of my heart. And now, you are my precious wife and we are to be, that is we may very well be…" He stopped in mid phrase, his voice immovable in his throat.

 

"Then indeed we must be immensely grateful!" Elizabeth's tone was playful, but the expression of her countenance was quite earnest: she was verily glowing with love and Darcy was so moved--by her expression, by her earlier disclosure--that there, in the middle of the garden, with more than one pair of eyes upon them, he nearly kissed her. He bent his face toward Elizabeth's as she heedlessly raised her own to meet his, and with eyes arrested and lips slightly parted, they paused and lingered, hovering a step away from abandon. They would have been made quite uneasy to know how revelatory was that halted impulse, more indecorous, even, than had they abided its compelling force. The forsaken kiss floated between them and exposed such tenderness, such boundless desire as to proffer a quite inappropriate glimpse of their intimacy. It was only a moment, a seemingly long, stretched moment before Darcy collected himself and they began to promenade again, but it had not been missed by any.

 

"Oh my!" was Mrs. Ashton's succinct and discreet response, but farther up the garden path, Sir Patrick, honestly fascinated by his friend's enthusiasm, was not so circumspect.

 

"I must say," Sir Patrick offered with a chuckle as he escorted Miss Bingley around the bed of blue-hyacinths. "Darcy is remarkably besotted with his wife. Will you keep it a secret Miss Bingley if I confess that I never expected it of him? I suppose I shall grow accustomed, but at this time it still most entirely surprises me."

 

"Your secret need hardly be kept safe, sir. I do not believe there is a one among Mr. Darcy's many acquaintances who anticipated witnessing him victim of such a fervent attachment."

 

"Victim? You believe we ought to pity him?"

 

"Well, at any rate, we must all be surprised."

 

"I suppose you are correct." They continued to walk in silence for a time until Sir Patrick remarked: "I thought I understood that Darcy was staying at your brother's home when he made the acquaintance of Mrs. Darcy. Is that so?"

 

"So it was," she replied with barely disguised displeasure.

 

"Then you must not have been so very surprised."

 

"Quite the contrary," she responded in a tone of effected sincerity. "Now you must promise to keep my secret, Sir Patrick."

 

"It is done."

 

"Mr. Darcy was not at all taken with her when he first made her acquaintance. He was quite dismissive, in fact. Now, are you surprised?"

 

"Not at all."

 

Thinking his reply a slight to Mrs. Darcy's charms, Miss Bingley urged him to continue. "Pray, why not? Such infatuations are not commonly immediate?"

 

"It appears to me you have asked two separate questions and so I shall answer them as such. I will take your second question regarding infatuations first. I concur that infatuations are generally quite immediate; what's more, they are commonly not of long duration. I would argue, however, that Darcy is not at all infatuated with his wife. I have seen too many gentlemen infatuated to miss the singular signs of dementia."

 

"That is very cruel, Sir Patrick," Miss Bingley laughed.

 

"Not really, I cannot abide a man infatuated. But Darcy clearly feels something far more significant. In short, love, of a most profound and absolute nature. And love is never to be scoffed at; it is too potent a force to take lightly." He looked at her face to see her reaction and thought he noticed a passing flinch of resentment.

 

"And my other question?" she replied collectedly.

 

"Ah yes. Why was he not taken with her when he first made her acquaintance? That was the question, correct?"

 

"Correct. I am all curiosity." Her tone was sarcastic, but Miss Bingley felt as though she had a true opportunity to finally understand wherein lay the foundation of Darcy's bewitchment.

 

"You will need to allow me some liberty of expression."

 

"Pray, continue. I am not diffident by nature."

 

"No, I do not imagine you are. Now, as to the rest. There are, in my estimation, essentially two types of women. The first group consists of women whose charms and worth can be fully comprehended and estimated over an afternoon tea; the second group requires intimacy, time and intercourse. Mrs. Darcy most definitely belongs to the second group."

 

"I feel I require more specificity."

 

"Over an afternoon of tea a gentleman can easily pass judgment on whether a particular lady is unusually handsome or well-figured; her degree of elegance is obvious, as is her demeanor in the drawing room and thus her relative merits as a potential hostess, and a general understanding of her recognized accomplishments is also easily garnered. He can walk away from the afternoon with an opinion firmly established. However, women in the second group may not be so summarily judged because their greatest charm, their greatest worth, irrespective of their relative beauty or accomplishment, is their character. And I am not limiting said to the common definition, such as integrity and morality; in my view, character encompasses also the capacity for feeling, strength of resolve, a sincerity in ones method of living, independence of mind."

 

"So you believe that Mr. Darcy was captivated by his wife's character alone?"

 

"Oh no!" He laughed. "If I may be very indiscreet, were she a plain girl she would not now be his wife. He is, as we were all just a moment ago most surprisingly witness to, besotted in every manner in which a man can be besotted with a woman. Her more obvious charms—her pretty face and figure, her particularly lovely eyes and her infectious, captivating playfulness—were, I surmise, insufficient to excite such extraordinary admiration. However, over time, as he discovered that this pretty young lady was in fact as well a woman of impressive character and intellect, that she is forthright and principled, I think then he found himself besotted with admiration."

 

"So gentlemen such as Mr. Darcy are tempted primarily by character? I find this very hard to believe!"

 

"Any gentleman will be impressed with a lady who is in possession of both beauty and excellence of character; I should also add sincerity. Never underestimate the power of sincerity, Miss Bingley. But a gentleman of Darcy's caliber will never be won only by beauty."

 

"Beauty, character and sincerity than."

 

"Yes. Mrs. Darcy, for her part, is indisputably in possession of all three. To return to where we began, while character and sincerity can obviously not be determined over an afternoon of tea, I would even argue that the perception of beauty will, with intimacy, be affected by the presence of the former two, as much as it will, I should add, from the absence. So I am not at all surprised that Darcy was not immediately taken with his wife. That he is now, is, I suppose, all that really matters to either."

 

"One would suppose," Miss Bingley replied flatly. "And how have you come to understand her so thoroughly might I inquire? You seem to have spent a fair amount of time contemplating her yourself. Do you admire your friend's wife more than you ought?"

 

"You willfully mistake the matter. Darcy and I are quite good friends, Miss Bingley, and I had the pleasure of dining in family on more than one occasion this past season in London. I was not always available for some of their larger gatherings, but was, as I said, welcomed at their table on numerous occasions. I had opportunity, therefore, to converse with Mrs. Darcy in situations more conducive to real understanding than a large dinner party might offer. As for the rest, I would venture that there are very few who understand Darcy, the man, particularly well. I believe that I am one of those who does, and therefore I am perhaps better able to understand the nature of his attachment."

 

He let her ponder his assumptions for a time, before adding, "I could be quite wrong. Perhaps it was all as simple as the sound of her laughter or the light in her eyes. After all, a man can never know the secrets of any heart but his own."

 

Miss Bingley, somehow displeased with this notion, changed the course of the conversation: "How odd, sir, that you being such a dear friend of Mr. Darcy and my own brother being so as well, your paths should have never seemed to intersect before."

 

"Not true, I have the pleasure of your brother's acquaintance these few years now. What is perhaps more striking is that you and I have not before had the pleasure of acquaintance. But then, I am not often to the theater, for all I adore it, and perhaps not as often as I ought to be in the drawing rooms of fashionable ladies."

 

"And why would that be, sir?"

 

"I am generally in Ireland or at Blackfall Manor half the year, Miss Bingley, and when in Town often occupied with Parliamentary business, which naturally includes evening soirees more focused on the business of politics than most people strictly of fashion would be interested in bearing. I fear my life does not allow for excessive indulgences."

 

"And yet you are here now."

 

"I thought it right to honor my friend's new wife by accepting their invitation. Commonly I would now be at Blackfall Manor. And I am quite pleased that I did consent; I cannot recall when I last had such a pleasant sojourn, Miss Bingley. Perhaps in the future I ought to think the better of disallowing such indulgences."

 

"Perhaps you ought," Miss Bingley replied, uncertain of whether she wished for the hinted continuance of attentions or not.

 

They here turned a corner of the garden walk where they joined the others and their t?te-à-t?te was concluded.

 

After so many days relegated to the drawing rooms due to the rain, the party remained out of doors for a goodly time, retreating indoors again only in time to dress for dinner. The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. The doors to the music room were opened wide and the sounds of voices and instruments drifted into the night air, where, in the darkness, a number of servants sat and enjoyed the performances of the mistress and her guests. Mr. Ashton requested that Elizabeth sing a duet with him—a pretty little Scottish air. As Elizabeth sang in her customarily unaffected and captivating manner, the corners of Darcy's mouth quivered in an effort to retain the smile that struggled to have its moment and Sir Patrick found he could not resist the temptation to tease his friend. Throughout the evening Darcy had been almost entirely silent, speaking no more than a dozen words, but with a look of such palpable contentment gracing his mien as to confound conjecture regarding the cause of such silence.

 

Sir Patrick approached him and whispered: "Darcy, what I would not give to know what passes through your mind and gives you such a singular air of arrogant bliss." Darcy made no reply and simply took a sip of his port. "It must be the fair performer. You have become so very predictable, my friend, if not yet quite as tedious as Apollo in pursuit of Daphne."

 

Darcy turned and looked at his friend. "Sir Patrick, I seem to recall you had significantly more wit than this. When did you become such an absurd, unsophisticated fellow? Mind your own interests and leave me to my own," he replied haughtily, waving his hand dismissively.

 

Sir Patrick was profoundly delighted to see that love had not made his friend too forbearing; such a change would have been perhaps too much to comprehend.

A Place of Safe Respite

 

 

Darcy drew open the curtain and let the half-moon's light permeate the room. Its silvery hue reached into the deep recesses of the candlelight's shadow and each light reflected off the crisp white linens where Elizabeth lay, giving to the bedchamber an air of resolute intimacy. Silently he came to the bed, sat down and indulged in the sight of Elizabeth in repose: her eyes closed, her hair free from manipulation and spread upon the pillow, her gown gossamer, her bosom rising and falling in a peaceful, even tempo. The first time he had seen her thus he thought her perfection and he had laid awake watching how her lips slightly parted in her sleep and how every hint of her waking playful impertinence gave way to a kind of ethereal softness. Now she might be with child she seemed to him somehow lovelier still. He let his gaze wander from her face down her body until it came to rest upon her abdomen. Lifting his hand he placed it gently thereupon and spread his fingers wide as though to detect some new tautness or increase that might verify his child was within, as though to bestow protection upon the same.

 

Thus captivated he did not see Elizabeth open her eyes. She watched him in silence. In the silvery light she could see the corners of his mouth slightly, hesitatingly lifted, as though not wishing to believe, but hoping to know. She had never seen upon his mien such an expression of soft innocence. It was incongruent with the strong and vigorous figure so barely covered before her. As she surreptitiously watched him that wondrous desire to touch him and to be touched by him that still, after so many months, surprised her for its intensity, spread through her with the efficacy of a well-fed flame. She placed her hand atop his, where it still moved gingerly upon her abdomen, and she saw his small hesitant smile grown into that full and beautiful expression of contentment he so rarely allowed the world to see, but which, in the privacy of their rooms, was given to her freely and consistently.

 

"I ought to have waited until I was completely sure," she said quietly. "I see such tender anticipation in you and I would not wish you to suffer a disappointment if it is not to be."

 

Darcy lifted his eyes to her own. Looking into those orbs, black as coal and of infinite depth, Elizabeth felt as though his entire soul was given over to her care, and the beauty of what she saw left her rapt.

 

"Whatever it should be, I am grateful for your impatience, Elizabeth. I wish to share with you this anticipation and hope." Elizabeth found she could only smile at his words. "In any case," he continued, "I have no doubts that our wish has been granted."

 

"No doubts? I believe, my love, this is one situation which you cannot command," she replied playfully.

 

Laughing softly, Darcy removed from his sitting position and lay himself at her side. Resting upon his elbow, he lifted his hand and traced the contours of her face with his fingertips, letting them linger upon the softness of her lips. "You misapprehend my meaning. I am not so conceited as to believe I could command such a blessing, but I can observe. Is it not said that when a woman is with child she grows more lovely, that with the life she carries she glows with added beauty? Then it must be as we wish, for at this moment you are more beautiful than I have ever seen you."

 

Elizabeth colored as deeply as if it were the first time she had heard such words and in such intimacy. Taking his hand into her own she insisted delicately: "We must not allow ourselves to be so confident. It may yet not be." He made no response, but continued to gaze upon her face with the captivated and warm expression that never failed to stir her senses. "Fitzwilliam," whispered she.

 

Hearing his name in that delicious purr that was so uniquely hers, he felt a slow moving wave of desire. Tenderly he brought her into his arms, brought his lips close to her own and spoke softly. "Elizabeth, my precious. Do you not sometimes find words absolutely inadequate?" She quietly nodded her head in agreement. "If I were a poet I could perhaps compose a pretty verse to tell you all that is in my heart. But in truth, it is better that I am not. For I cannot love you as a poet would, with the forlorn passivity of the mind; I can only love you as a man, with the entirety of my soul and with all the passions of my body."

 

Yet some few words did come, treading lightly as a midnight wanderer, and with each word his voice grew softer and deeper; their lips caressed as they spoke and their breaths united; their eyes fell shut and they could feel desire wrapping around them like a blanket in winter.

 

"You understand me."

 

"I do."

 

"Let me lay myself bare before you then, let me show you all that you are to me, all that I feel."

 

"Show me, Fitzwilliam, yes, that I might do the same."

 

"Elizabeth, my own, dearest Elizabeth."

 

Their lips came together and he drew her tightly against his body taking heartily of her mouth and they sighed and trembled with unguarded delight; feeling her soft and warm and welcoming he sank into her embrace finding within it again the sanctuary he had not known he required until the first time he had been in the generous custody of her arms. Making love with patient and liberal devotion, they did not perceive the coming of dawn and as they fell into a deep sleep it would be perhaps futile to question whose heart kept the greater share of pleasure: Darcy's for the gratifying weight of his wife's head upon his shoulder, or hers for such a place of safe respite.

 

In such peaceful slumber they rested, but it was not to be long enjoyed. Heavy pounding at Darcy's dressing room door abruptly awakened them not long after they had fallen into sleep.

 

"What the devil?" Darcy cursed groggily. "I shall return momentarily," he whispered to Elizabeth as he rose from the bed, wrapped his robe about himself and exited into his dressing room.

 

Elizabeth could hear only the murmuring of Darcy's voice and that of his valet, as well as some ill defined shuffling sounds. Presently, Darcy returned to the bedchamber fully if hastily clothed, his gray coat indicating that he intended on going out of doors.

 

"Fitzwilliam, whatever has occurred?"

 

"An estate matter of some urgency has arisen, Elizabeth. Do not concern yourself, all is in hand and will be well, but I must see to this." With a hurried kiss upon her forehead she was witness to the flow of his gray coat as he walked briskly and purposefully out of their chambers.

 

Unable to sleep, Elizabeth rose and dressed at first light. She could not find that the servants knew any more than she. "The master's men came in a veritable rush, madam, and left the house with Mr. Darcy as quickly as they entered. I do not know to where they went," Mrs. Reynolds had explained.

 

"And there is no fire on the grounds or at one of the cottages?"

 

"Not that I am aware of, Mrs. Darcy."

 

"Thank you, Mrs. Reynolds. Should you learn something before Mr. Darcy returns advise me immediately."

 

"Yes madam, immediately."

 

With no information to be had, Elizabeth went to the breakfast room where soon the party of guests began to gather together at table. Schemes for the forthcoming day were discussed and as Mrs. Thorney, always the last to join the table, took her seat, Darcy's absence became a topic of curiosity.

 

"Mrs. Darcy," Mr. Ashton inquired, "Will not your husband be joining us this morning?"

 

"It is unlikely, Mr. Ashton. He was called quite early this morning on some estate business."

 

"Was it very early?" Thorney inquired.

 

"Yes, I am afraid so."

 

"That does not bode well. It is never anything good when the master is awakened from his slumber. I hope it is nothing too serious," he added.

 

"Let us hope," Elizabeth responded calmly. But with Jane she rapidly shared an expression of uneasiness, as there remained no word from Darcy or any of his men.

 

Not thirty minutes later, however, Darcy himself came into the breakfast room, unshaven, his attire not entirely in its usual impeccable state and with a look of such absolute fury upon his face as to leave the table fixed in astonishment. Bingley began to inquire what was the matter, but Darcy waved his hand authoritatively and silenced Bingley before he could say much beyond Darcy's name. With measured words Darcy gave a perfunctory good morning to the room and apologized for his absence. The requisite civility satisfied, he turned to Chiltern. "Lord Chiltern, I must see you in the library."

 

Seemingly unmoved by Darcy's demeanor, Chiltern took a sip of his coffee before responding. "Now, Darcy? I have not yet finished my breakfast, surely it can wait."

 

In a voice bristling with barely contained anger, he replied: "It most certainly cannot wait, Chiltern. I will see you in the library immediately!" With that he turned on his heel, exiting the room as swiftly as he had entered.

 

After Darcy's less than common display of temper the table incredulously watched Chiltern jab his fork into his eggs with no evident design to follow Darcy. The room remained silent until Sir Patrick cleared his throat suggestively, at which sound Chiltern raised his eyes from his plate and noted the degree of curiosity his diligent consumption of eggs inspired. With an impatient sigh, Chiltern dropped his fork and the clatter of silver on china echoed through the silenced room. "I suppose I ought to see what Darcy requires," he remarked. Standing, he threw his linen napkin on the table and departed, leaving an astonished room in his wake. In Elizabeth's presence no one could discuss the only thing they wished: what could Lord Chiltern possibly have done to provoke the always collected and restrained Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy into such an unprecedented state of undisguised ire?

 

As Chiltern walked down the hallway toward the library his only thought was how he might best ameliorate Darcy's mood. Any thought of such success was quickly discarded, however, when he entered the library. Chiltern opened the door, closing it silently behind himself and observed Darcy for a moment before speaking. Darcy was standing with his back to the door, erect as a tree, hands clenched behind his back, evidently staring unswervingly at the clock that sat upon the mantel. He looked, Chiltern observed, rather forbidding.

 

"Here I am at your service, Darcy," he said casually. "What could not wait until I finished my breakfast, which I might add, I was finding quite delicious. You have such an accomplished staff."

 

Darcy turned around and Chiltern suspected that he had never seen a face set in such implacable severity. He was struck again by Darcy's physical presence and this, in conjunction with his demeanor, made Chiltern feel rather inadequate, which only served to inspire Chiltern's defiance.

 

When Darcy spoke his voice was even, calm and obdurate. "You are to leave Pemberley immediately. Collect your things and depart. Your carriage is being readied as we speak and servants are in your room awaiting your direction."

 

"Where is this coming from Darcy?" Chiltern cried in real surprise. "Why just last evening we gentlemen had a fine round of cards and were enjoying ourselves prodigiously."

 

"Just as I had anticipated you have proven yourself unworthy of your father's good name." Antipathy was manifest in Darcy's every feature.

 

"What nonsense is this? I paid my gambling loses," he continued mordantly. "I incurred no debts of honor at your table."

 

"Do not dare make light of this!" Darcy snapped.

 

"Darcy, you have me at quite a loss," Chiltern responded in real bafflement, although no less sarcastically. "I have been at my most correct and modest behavior since you last scolded me, you cannot fault me there."

 

"Do not try my patience. You will not pretend ignorance."

 

"If you are to dismiss me from your house do I not deserve some explanation?"

 

"This morning my men prevented three very well armed intruders from entering Pemberley House."

 

"Thieves? What has that to do with me?" demanded Chiltern.

 

"Everything, apparently."

 

"Come Darcy, if I have overstayed my welcome be a man and only say so forthrightly, but do not blame me for common thieves."

 

"What do you know about being a man?" Darcy scoffed dismissively.

 

"Enough to not blame common thievery on one of my guests and a family connection of long standing at that!"

 

"You have trespassed on the association of our families long enough!" Darcy retorted angrily. "What is more, they are not common thieves." Pausing for a moment, Darcy continued in a flat voice. "You may be interested to know that they are foreigners."

 

"Foreigners?" Chiltern quizzed, suddenly aroused.

 

"I believe you are acquainted with them. Or so they have claimed."

 

"You have spoken with them?"

 

"I have."

 

Darcy had not moved from his position in front of the mantel, he remained still, his hands clasped behind his back, the only movement the rising and falling of his chest and his eyes as they watched Chiltern's now nervous pacing about the room.

 

"And what have they charged me with?" Chiltern inquired defiantly. "Will I not be given the courtesy of such information?"

 

"You deserve no courtesies from me. Nevertheless I will oblige you: you have something they want, indeed which they claim as their own, and they have been tracking you across England for weeks. But I am confident none of this is fresh intelligence to you."

 

Chiltern began demanding knowledge of the intruders' whereabouts and details of their conversation, but Darcy quickly silenced him. "How dare you make any demands of me?" he said in a voice as cold and unbending as any Chiltern had ever heard. "You enjoy crafting tales that extol your own manliness, and yet you know nothing of it; you have no comprehension what it is to be a man of honor. You have willfully abused your family's honor and reputation, you have sunk so low as to place your own amusement and safety above that of your hostess, you have knowingly broken your word, nay, what is worse still, offered it fraudulently."

 

"Darcy!" Chiltern interjected in his own defense. "You must believe me. I never intended to stay this long. I did not wish to abuse your hospitality or trust."

 

"You did not wish to but did not hesitate in doing so! I am not inclined to listen to your excuses. You were fully cognizant that well armed and dangerous men were searching you out and yet you had the ignominious temerity to put my wife and my sister in peril." His voice having risen in anger throughout this explication, Darcy paused to collect himself, before lowering his voice and adding without disguising his disgust: "You are contemptible."

 

"Were they very well armed?" was Chiltern's feeble response.

 

"Yes. Fortunately my men displayed more sagacity than your pursuers, although that did not prevent one of my men from being injured in the furor." Impatiently, he added, "I have had enough of this, Chiltern. You are to leave immediately and you will not be welcomed to Pemberley again."

 

"I suppose you shall recommend to your uncle similar banishment," he replied, a little too sarcastically for Darcy's liking.

 

"I would never presume to speak in my uncle's name, but he will certainly be informed of the manner in which you have abused both your father's good name and my good faith, all the while knowingly placing my family and my household at risk. Now, get out of my sight!" The last words were verily spit out of Darcy's mouth in utter abhorrence.

 

Chiltern gave Darcy's impenetrable mien one long parting look before leaving the library in silence. He was a little surprised at his own reaction to the situation; he was, ashamed. When he had reached Derbyshire and needed to find a place where he knew he would be welcomed without question, he had thought first of Darcy. Darcy had not failed him and had proven himself the loyal and discreet man he had always been, even as a youth. An unfamiliar sense of shame, in no small measure inspired by his admiration for Mrs. Darcy, threatened to overwhelm him. He had known that dangerous, avaricious men were tracking him and yet he had remained, without heed for any consequence but his own pleasure.

 

Chiltern entered his room, walked to the foot of the bed and stared at the large trunk that had sat there unopened since his arrival. He felt he must attempt to make amends, or at least explain himself, before departing; to be worthy, for a moment, of the heritage and name he had long dismissed as useless and tiresome and yet, which had been just what had assured him that Darcy would provide the place of respite he had required. Chiltern quickly gave the servants instructions for packing his personal effects and then returned to the library. He heard voices within but knocked regardless. Instructed to enter, he found Darcy was no longer alone, but was now accompanied by Elizabeth.

 

"I am happy to find you both here," he stated in an almost timid voice.

 

Darcy was more annoyed than surprised at Chiltern's audacity in seeking another audience. "Chiltern I made myself quite clear in our earlier interview."

 

"Yes, you did and I will be on my way within a half-hour at most." He paused before continuing in a more confident and challenging voice. "Have you no interest in what the intruders were searching for?"

 

"None whatsoever," Darcy replied dryly.

 

"Well, I will show you nonetheless. Perhaps it will restore in some small measure your good opinion. As I told your wife when I first arrived, I have always been peculiarly fond of you Darcy and it unsettles me in a most peculiar manner that you and your wife might not realize the grandeur of my fall from grace."

 

"Chiltern," Darcy began, but Chiltern held up his hand to stop the rebuke.

 

"Indulge me this last time. You have nothing to lose. The servants are packing and loading my trunks, but one, and I cannot be on my way until they have completed the task." He walked back to the library door, stepped into the hallway and motioned for the servants to enter with the trunk which moments ago sat at the foot of his bed. They placed it in the middle of the room and exited, softly closing the door behind them. Darcy and Elizabeth stood together at the mantel and watched the entire sequence in silence--the former impatiently and the latter with traitorous curiosity.

 

"Since I returned to England I have been followed, to lesser or better effect, by thieves trying to get their hands on, among other items, but more particularly, what is in this trunk. Mrs. Darcy, you certainly recall our discussion on the three motivations a man might have for going to the new world: God, glory and gold. You are an intelligent and perceptive lady, but in this case too trusting of my words. You were mistaken. I am perfectly indifferent to glory. Gold is the answer."

 

Opening the trunk, Chiltern removed an object wrapped in thick blankets. Walking over to the table, he laid it down with tender care and unwrapped it. The sun was streaming in through the large window and as Chiltern turned toward Elizabeth and Darcy and lifted the object in his hands, the sun's rays reflected off the gold—for of pure gold it was made—and endowed the object with an unearthly quality. A spontaneous gasp passed Elizabeth's lips as she beheld in Lord Chiltern's hands a mask so unusual and exotic as to be unimaginable. Darcy was no less astonished. In what appeared a single piece of gold was carved a face of such strange proportions—great round eyes that seemed as though they could contain the very sun and moon, a fleshy, straight mouth, large ears and a prominent, flattened nose—and yet of such perfect symmetry as to be quite spellbinding. Involuntarily, Elizabeth heard herself whispering a single word: "Magnificent!"

 

"Yes, magnificent!" Chiltern replied in any equally quiet, almost reverential tone, as though she had spoken confidentially to him and not inadvertently to herself. "I knew you would find it so Mrs. Darcy." He approached her, with the mask still in hand and presented it to her for examination. "This glorious head of gold is only the beginning. Although the form is necessarily unfamiliar to your experience, I venture you have never seen anything so sublime." Chiltern's eyes were glowing with a kind of possessed intensity and his rich baritone voice emulated that possession as he added--"Touch it!"--in a tone so suggestive of intimacy that Darcy instinctively stepped between Elizabeth and Chiltern.

 

"For this singular creation," Darcy interjected, breaking the strange hypnotic force that seemed to emanate from the mask in Chiltern's grasp, "you put my family in peril and have forsaken generations of your own family's honor? For a piece of crafted gold?"

 

Lord Chiltern turned to Darcy with an expression of unreserved satisfaction. "For a trunk full of crafted gold, Darcy. Oh, all the pieces are not in this one trunk. I would not be so foolish nor would it be particularly practical for transport, the weight, you see. But this most magnificent of all the pieces I keep close at hand."

 

To both Elizabeth's and Chiltern's astonishment, Darcy began to laugh: a cynical, disparaging laugh. "This is it then? Oh, the legends and myths that abound throughout London's clubs regarding your adventures and this is it? You are taken for some kind of heroic spy dedicated to advancing the cause of our empire, a leader among savages and Spaniards. This will be the grand disillusionment if ever there was one! To think, after all your excellently crafted stories in which you have so beautifully and energetically described yourself as the great and wild adventurer of a new and daring society, and you, an Earl no less, are in the end no more and no less than a ordinary, acquisitive treasure hunter, no better than any seafaring pirate or common thief. Are not you the one who was extolling to Mrs. Darcy the virtues of the Argentine because there a man is judged solely by his actions? Well, Chiltern, as she so rightly argued, a man is judged by his actions in all societies, and having judged you now by yours I am ashamed on behalf of your father's memory. That such an excellent man should have such a worthless son is pitiable indeed. We have no interest in your stolen gold, for stolen it most surely was, so pack your trunk and be gone."

 

Sincerely indignant, Chiltern replied to Darcy's indictment in a manner calculated to injure Darcy's equanimity. "I believe, Darcy, your wife may beg to differ. She understands!"

 

Shocked that Chiltern would assume such an argument, Elizabeth quickly interjected: "You misapprehend me completely, Lord Chiltern. One cannot help but be momentarily astonished at the first sight of such an object as you have here demonstrated. Do not dare suppose, however, that you can speak for my interests or understanding. Only Mr. Darcy is so privileged."

 

Chiltern looked from one to the other in silence, struck by the potency of their accord and he momentarily pitied any who would attempt to come between them. Resigned, he turned back to the table and began to wrap the golden mask while inquiring what had been done with the intruders in a tone as calm and indifferent as if no dispute had taken place.

 

"Perhaps I ought to set them free," Darcy responded contemptuously, "that they may continue their effort to recuperate their golden treasure. It might be just recompense for your having so unconscionably put my family at risk. What say you Chiltern, would your audacity provide sufficient defense should these men find you upon a lonely road?"

 

"I say that even in your justified anger you are too great a gentleman to do any such thing," Chiltern responded evenly as he closed the trunk, having secured the mask within. "You are Fitzwilliam Darcy, after all, and have too much respect for the duty and honor of your two names, which are as much your legacy as are your lands, to indulge any such barbarous inclinations. Not for my sake, but for that of generations of good will between our families, you shall keep me safe from their reach. Why do you suppose I came to Pemberley, Darcy, of all places? I requested a haven here because you have always been and will always remain, unfailingly, a man of honor and duty." He walked to the door, called for the servants to collect his trunk and then turned into the room again. "Mrs. Darcy, I am most grateful for your charming hospitality. The world will hear nothing but generous and sincere compliments from my lips," he bowed to her, almost elegantly. "Darcy," he added. And with that final clipped pronunciation he was gone from Pemberley as rapidly and unexpectedly as he had appeared.

 

As soon as the door was closed behind him, Elizabeth clasped her hands around Darcy's arm. "Well, that is over then."

 

He made no reply, but released his arm from her hold and sat down in a chair with a heavy sigh. Elizabeth observed him in some confusion. He did not look angry, rather discontented. She walked to where he sat and lifted his chin that he would look at her. "The matter is resolved. Lord Chiltern is gone and Paul's injury is minor. What has you so troubled?"

 

Darcy grasped her hand and held it for a moment in silence, before releasing it. Looking her in the face he spoke evenly. "I have failed you."

 

"Failed me? Whatever do you mean?"

 

"I ought to have ensured that such a situation as occurred this morning could not have come to fruition."

 

"There is no blame to be laid at your feet in this circumstance."

 

"Is there not?" He inquired, standing and pacing the room nervously. "My first duty is to you and Georgiana, and yet I put duty to the Fitzwilliam name first and let a scoundrel lay under your roof when I knew he was not to be trusted, while fully anticipating that no good would come of his presence."

 

"You could not know that armed men would come in his wake. That is ridiculous."

 

"I knew he was a danger! I even insisted on his giving me his word of honor that he would not bring scandal upon my house. I did not trust his word when it was given and yet I let him remain at his own discretion simply because of the association of our families. It was irresponsible! Reckless!"

 

"But, my love," Elizabeth cried, "nothing of consequence has occurred."

 

"By sheer happenstance, Elizabeth. Anything might have occurred had my men not come upon the intruders."

 

"But they did!" she replied concisely. Seeing, however, that his distress was unabated, she attempted a different line of reasoning. "You take on too much yourself. I did not trust him either and yet I did not ask you to have him leave."

 

"It is hardly the same. It is not your duty to keep this family and this household secure, it is mine."

 

Darcy dropped himself into the corner of the sofa and began to rub his forehead in agitation, unable or unwilling to look at Elizabeth. She knew not how to respond. She believed him to be exaggerating the import of what had occurred, and yet she instinctively felt that she must not disrespect his concern for his role as protector. Something she must say, however, or he would believe her acquiescent to his censure. She seated herself next to him and set to his defense.

 

"You are correct, of course; it is your responsibility to keep our family and all of Pemberley's household secure. This does not require, however, that you single-handedly man the ramparts and battle all such dragons as may appear; it only requires that you ensure that all contingencies are provided for. And that has been the case here. You took into your home a man whom every circumstance required you to welcome openly and without reservation. When his presence brought with it a precarious situation, you had provided already a staff that was alert, willing and prepared to act in defense of our home. Your wife, your sister, your guests and your household are secure. The only failing of honor and duty that I see is that of Lord Chiltern. Shame and censure are his and his alone. I will not have you berate yourself in this inflated manner when nothing at all is amiss."

 

Darcy watched Elizabeth as she spoke. Neither her tone nor her air revealed emotion or anxiety, and yet in her every expression he felt, unquestionably, her love and devotion and he was grateful. "You are too generous with me, too forbearing," he replied, as he reached for her hand.

 

"I am neither one nor the other. You confuse me for Jane, I am sure."

 

"I could never confuse you for anyone," he replied as he lifted her hand and kissed it tenderly. "You are incomparable."

 

"Very pretty, my love. But now you have wisely agreed with me and realized you are, in this case at least, quite faultless, we ought to return to our guests. You must first attend to yourself, however, for you are quite a sight, my dear sir, and then you shall join us in the gardens. The Thorneys will be departing tomorrow in the afternoon and it would not due for us to ignore them altogether on the last day of their visit."

 

"A quarter of an hour more will make no difference. Stay with me."

 

"Stay with you?"

 

"Yes," he answered. "Grant me just a quarter of an hour. You and I alone: no distractions, no music, no conversation, no civilities. Just you, resting in my arms."

 

"I believe I could oblige you," she responded, as she leaned into his embrace and placed her head securely beneath his chin. "I believe I could most happily oblige you."

 

"Thank you," was all the reply he made as he closed his eyes and let his cheek rest against the softness of her hair.

 

Come Away with Me

 

 

"That was the last outstanding item, sir," said Mr. Fairfax to Darcy. "I would suspect that, barring any emergencies or unforeseen complications, the following month's activities should be quite regular and I will have little reason to consult with you. Your instructions are quite clear, as is customary."

 

"Good, good," Darcy replied more abstractedly than was his want as he rose from the desk and walked toward the window. He looked out toward the trout stream for a moment, thinking nothing at all about what his steward had just reported. He was in an ill-temper—he had been thus since the unpleasant business with Lord Chiltern a few days back--and he could not escape it. He felt restless, out of balance, agitated and impatient.

 

"Will that be all then, sir?" Mr. Fairfax inquired as Darcy turned his attention back to his steward. He was accustomed to Darcy's thoughtful silences and took neither offence nor exception. Indeed, it was one of the things Mr. Fairfax most admired in his still young master: he was as judicious in his words as he was in his administration.

 

"Yes, that will be all Mr. Fairfax. Thank you most particularly for your excellent counsel on the Swifton matter." As Mr. Fairfax bowed and made to exit, Darcy stopped him a moment. "Mrs. Darcy would have you inform Mrs. Fairfax that she intends to pay a call tomorrow; she would like to see for herself how your boy is coming along. Miss Darcy may accompany her as well. "

 

"We shall be, as always, greatly honored sir by her consideration. The boy does continue to improve, but I will confess that Mrs. Darcy can make him smile more readily than any other. She is always compassionate and generous to my poor boy."

 

"Yes, well, very well then." Darcy remarked, pleased with the compliment to his wife but unable to pull himself from his terribly ill temper. As Mr. Fairfax made to speak again, Darcy waved his hand, a clear sign that the subject was closed and no further comment required; Mr. Fairfax appreciated Darcy's dislike of the trivial and rejection of obsequiousness. He had the management of the Pemberley estates going on six years now and he often remarked to his wife that it had been a true pleasure and privilege to behold Mr. Darcy's evolution: when he arrived at Pemberley he had found a young man who, though well educated and prepared, strained under the enormity of Pemberley's management finding himself so soon after his father's death without the counsel and knowledge of the estate's long-time steward; he had matured now into a confident, sensible and liberal master. Mr. Fairfax had often pondered, with some trepidation, upon the likelihood of Mr. Darcy wedding a fine lady from town with little taste for the munificence that the mistress of such an estate can proffer upon the community. Mr. Darcy had certainly surprised the neighborhood in a most delightful fashion. It did not take long for his handsome and lively wife to win the affection of nearly all and sundry with her warmth and her unaffectedness; and it took not much longer for her intelligence and sensibility to be equally well regarded. For Mr. Fairfax, that he should have chosen such a wife, a clear value to the Pemberley estates, merely added greater admiration for Darcy's person. As Mr. Fairfax exited the room he felt the keen satisfaction of knowing that all was well at Pemberley and that with each passing year Mr. Darcy was verily exceeding the acknowledged excellence of his late father.

 

Darcy's mind, however, was not similarly at ease and as Fairfax closed the door quietly behind him, he began to pace the vast expanse of his elegantly appointed study. Pausing in the middle of the room, he threw back his head and sighed. He was in no manner enthusiastic about Lady Catherine's imminent arrival. On the morrow the Gardiners were to arrive and the following day his aunt. His every muscle tensed as he imagined Lady Catherine's indignation to find across from her at table a tradesman; and he found he doubted her ability to see the quality of said tradesman's character. As he anticipated Lady Catherine's arrival, every abusive and scathing protestation in her letter resounded in his ears and he felt perhaps a greater rage than when he had first received her perverse missive—now that his knowledge of Elizabeth was of such greater profundity he found Lady Catherine's invective still more painful, and his indignation not at all spent. At this instant he rued that Elizabeth had persuaded him to seek reconciliation. Nonetheless, he had recognized that he must allow her an opportunity, just as Elizabeth had done with him, and so welcome her to Pemberley he must. With another sigh he pulled out his watch and saw that the hour was still early and that the household would still be at table.

 

Darcy walked into the breakfast room and scanned it with frustration. The table was far too occupied for his liking and in the center of the boisterous mess was his wife. He felt his earlier irritation rising anew. The Thorneys had resolved to prolong there stay another se'nnight; the following days were to bring more guests and the house would not be empty again until well nigh September. With barely a 'good morning', he sat at his place and listened to the group making plans for the day: Ashton and Bingley were set on fishing and were urging all the gentlemen to join them, while Mrs. Thorney was determined to be less indolent and proposed all the ladies take an excursion into Lampton to see the village shops and have a cup of tea at the Inn; Mrs. Ashton, for her part, was begging off the excursion and soliciting the ever modest and compliant Jane to sit for another drawing; whereas Miss Bingley and Sir Patrick seemed to share indifference to each offered scheme. Before he could hear any more suggestions for another group excursion, Darcy decided he'd had quite enough of so much amiability and companionship.

 

"You are all of course welcome to whatever may be required for your enjoyment," Darcy remarked, at which proclamation he, as was habitual, quieted the table. The party observed him in silence and waited for him to continue. Elizabeth still found remarkable the authority his every word or action commanded over his circle of friends and acquaintances. "Mrs. Darcy and I will be unable to accompany you during any excursions you should choose to make today. Georgiana," he continued as he turned to his sister, "I know you will ensure that our guests have whatever they desire for their comfort."

 

"Pity!" Bingley offered. "It's a fine day for some sport. Nothing unpleasant I hope?"

 

"Nothing unpleasant at all, merely estate business that must be attended today and which we must see to jointly." He finished his coffee and rose from the table. "Mrs. Darcy, when you have finished I will be awaiting you in my study. And now, if you will all excuse me, I wish you a most pleasant day." He bowed elegantly and was gone not a quarter of an hour after having joined them.

 

In front of a room full of guests Elizabeth naturally did not question her husband and silently acquiesced. That something was afoot was clear, for he had made no mention earlier in the morning about any estate business and he was undeniably in a bad temper. After a reasonable amount of time, Elizabeth excused herself and went to join Darcy in his study. As she entered the room she closed the door silently behind her. Darcy sat in a chair by the window; he did not at once perceive her presence and she found she did not know whether to frown or smile at his obvious state of petulance.

 

As they had come to know each other better during the short time of their courtship and the first months of marriage, Elizabeth had found Darcy surprising in many ways; perhaps nothing had been as unexpected, so shocking and amusing at once, as discovering that her emphatically dignified husband would, from time to time, display what could only be termed a rather undignified inclination toward a petulance worthy of a child of no more than five. She found it at once an implausible propensity in a gentleman so noble and yet also oddly appealing.

 

The first time she had witnessed such singular behavior was during their courtship. They'd had a particularly trying few days and Darcy had set his mind on a long and private walk, regardless of the cold late autumn winds that would be sure to accompany them. Indeed, so much the better, Darcy had thought, as it would offer the devoted lover an opportunity to keep his bride closer than perhaps propriety strictly required. "Just an hour," he had said to her the prior evening, "pray, grant me just an hour that we may be uninterrupted and completely alone." But when he had arrived with Bingley the following day he had found Longbourn filled with unexpected visitors all come to congratulate the Bennet sisters on their impending nuptials, as well as, more specifically, to visit with Elizabeth before she departed the country. Darcy had attempted to take the disappointed plans with tolerable ease, taking some pride in the obvious regard with which his bride was held in the neighborhood and imagining with satisfaction the success she would surely find in her new home; but when he heard Mrs. Bennet extending what for him was a most unwelcome invitation for all to remain and dine in family, Darcy could not restrain himself and let escape an audible sigh of displeasure. "Clearly our walk must be forfeited," he had remarked coolly to Elizabeth, and then he had turned to Mr. Bennet and inquired if a newspaper might be available. Said article procured, he then sat down in a chair in the corner of the room with undisguised exasperation. Elizabeth was on the verge of vexation upon witnessing such behavior—so little effort to please, such an obvious wish to be left undisturbed and unencumbered by conversation was too reminiscent of his earliest days in Hertfordshire for her liking—but she was distracted from her irritation by the sound of her father's voice close to her ear.

 

"My dear Lizzy," he had whispered jovially. "Your lover has proven a source of ample interest since the two of you so shockingly upset my equilibrium by declaring your intentions, but never since I have begun to know him better have I found him so amusing as at this moment."

 

"Whatever can you mean, Papa?"

 

"Why my dear girl, even you must be surprised to find that your recalcitrant and proud—oh do not look at me so, he is terribly proud my dear, whatever you may argue to the contrary. But I digress from his present disposition. Are you not infinitely amused to find him capable of such petulance my dear? Why it is absolutely delightful. I should have thought him too dignified for such spoilt behavior. But then, he is used to his own way and it must be terribly difficult to give all control over to a room full of gossiping neighbors and to Mrs. Bennet's partridge dinners. Oh, the lengths one will go to for love, my dear. Such extraordinary lengths! Such a display of delightfully undisguised peevishness is not to be squandered!"

 

"Papa!" Elizabeth had cried, not at all pleased with this picture of her betrothed.

 

"Oh do not be alarmed my dear. It is all so amusing. I assure you that he is rising every hour in my esteem. I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,'' he added. "Wickham, perhaps, is my favorite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane's.'' To which provocation Elizabeth had rolled her eyes and walked away.

 

"My dear Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth remarked playfully as she recalled that first bout of petulance and observed him sitting now in an equally irritable state. "Charles had once warned me about what a terrible fellow you could be on a Sunday evening in your own home and with nothing to do. But he never said anything at all about a Tuesday morning with a house full of visitors."

 

Darcy turned to face her without rising from his chair. He made no comment in return, he simply looked at her, boldly and unabashedly, from head to foot, and silently reflected upon how well simple muslin gowns suited her.

 

"Estate business, my dear?" Elizabeth inquired skeptically as his gaze came to rest at last upon her own.

 

"Of the greatest importance," he replied as he held out his hand to her. "Come and I will explain." As she placed her hand into his he pulled her onto his lap.

 

"Mr. Darcy, what if someone were to walk by your window?"

 

"They will not; they are too busy gorging themselves at our table."

 

"Unkind, sir." Darcy summarily dismissed her concern with a slight shrug of the shoulders. She continued to insist: "Pray, do tell me what, exactly, is this estate business which will keep us occupied for the entire day?"

 

"It would appear," he began in a tone of inflated solemnity, "the Master of Pemberley is suffering a crisis of grave proportions. He has grown quite unhinged, and if he does not procure an entire morning of uninterrupted society with the Mistress of the estate he shall go quite mad, in which case innumerable families dependent on his good management will be most adversely impacted."

 

Elizabeth could not but laugh at such foolery. "Truly, my dear, sometimes I cannot comprehend that the world takes you so very seriously. They all think you such a fine, upstanding gentleman, a model of solidity, and you really are no more than a spoilt boy."

 

"I am not a spoilt boy!" replied Darcy with some degree of pique.

 

"No?" she asked, unconvinced. "Well then, tell me in truth why you are so very irritable this morning and why you wish to avoid the society of our guests."

 

Darcy looked at her gravely and frowned. "You will not be angry with me?"

 

"Why do you always think that I shall be angry? Am I so very ill tempered?"

 

"Not at all, quite the contrary; but some matters I do not speak of with great adroitness and I have been know in the past to consequently inspire your displeasure."

 

"Such pusillanimity is not becoming. Speak freely or indeed I shall be displeased."

 

Darcy chuckled at her impudence before adding in a serious tone: "I find myself surprisingly unsettled with regard to our forthcoming visitors. And I do not know how I shall react to Lady Catherine when I must actually face her, nor do I trust how she will behave toward you, or toward the Gardiners. I have already had the unpleasant experience of removing one unwelcome guest from Pemberley and I would not relish the necessity of having to do the same with my own aunt."

 

"You should not have so little faith. She would not have agreed to come if her intentions were not honorable."

 

"She is hardly predictable in this situation and I fear where our union is concerned she is capable of rash imprudence."

 

"Do you doubt I will be a proper hostess?"

 

"That is an unjust accusation, Elizabeth."

 

"Because you trust me?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Implicitly?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Then do not fret so and do not torment yourself with what may be. I can assure you this much: unpleasant moments will undoubtedly occur; it is inevitable. Nevertheless, in the end she will have no choice but to acknowledge that I have neither disgraced you nor ruined you." She smiled and made as if to straighten the knot of his cravat, regardless of its state of sartorial perfection.

 

"Such confidence."

 

"If you have faith in me why should I not have confidence?"

 

It was now Darcy's turn to smile. He marveled that he had ever lived without her presence—at once so calming and so invigorating. "My sensible little wife," he said at last. And then, rather without warning, he cried out in exasperation: "I am impatient for time alone with you! If that makes me a spoilt boy, so be it. Georgiana is old enough to act as hostess for a day and Jane is here for whatever she might need. Let us disregard everything and everyone for a day. Come away with me, Lizzy!" Darcy so rarely called her 'Lizzy', that when he did, always with an intimate resonance, she could deny him nothing; and it displeased her just a bit that he well knew this to be the case. "My dearest Lizzy, what say you?"

 

His tone was so earnest and his furrowed brow revealed such anxiety she could only answer as he wished. They were, consequently, soon thereafter en route to a particular grouping of sheltering trees atop a hill in the southwest corner of the park, a full six miles from the house. They rode out in a companionable silence, and with Elizabeth's hand neatly tucked in the crook of his arm as he drove the curricle, Darcy felt more composed and peaceful than he had in many days. This was, he felt, precisely what he required before facing the certain awkwardness of his aunt's visit.

 

They arrived at the hilltop and laid out a blanket at the edge of the trees. Darcy removed his hat and coat, and looked down upon Elizabeth contentedly: she had neatly wrapped her feet beneath her and gazed out at the valley as her delicate fingers untied her bonnet. Removing it, she turned her gaze toward Darcy, her eyes alight. "You will think it preposterous, I am sure, but some days I still disbelieve that this is my home and that such varied and marvelous beauty is always within my easy reach."

 

"Why should I think you preposterous?" he inquired, seating himself at her side. "Do you think that I do not often wonder at how my life has altered since you became my wife? Perhaps eight months should be time enough to grow accustomed to such change as you have wrought, but I find it quite insufficient to diminish my awareness of all I have benefited."

 

"My dearest husband," she replied as she took his hand within her own. "You have given me so much. You are so very tender and devoted. I do also wonder sometimes if I am deserving of all your generosity and goodness."

 

"Now you are being preposterous."

 

"Perhaps. I do so love you and I do not believe that I tell you that often enough. And now," she added with a laugh, "before I become unduly mawkish, let us see what Cook has surprised us with."

 

Turning their attention to the generously stocked basket of goods, they leisurely and contentedly picked their way through the delicacies, all the while in a conversation at once meaningless and meaningful, the sort that holds no other purpose then to relish in the sound of a beloved's voice. Darcy was feeling particularly well now, calm and reflective. He was happy in the most simple and purest of manners. Finishing the peach he had been savoring, he threw the pit over his head and into the trees and wiping his hand on a fine linen napkin, he lifted Elizabeth's hand and kissed it purposefully.

 

"Did I never tell you that I had planned to bring you here last summer when we had met so unexpectedly? I believe not a half an hour after finding you on my lawn I was set on courting you properly. Of course, this is indisputably preferable, for now you are my wife and then I could not have brought you here without proper chaperonage. I should have been required to suppress my desire to simply have a moment alone with you and I should have been required to try to win you under the far too perceptive gaze of the Gardiners. And of course I could not have brought your traveling party and not included mine. I should not have had even a single word alone with you I am sure. After all, perhaps our own particular manner of finding one another was far better."

 

Elizabeth laughed, delighted as she always was when in their private company he became playful and whimsical. "But our way was very painful, my dear Mr. Darcy, and a picnic under such luxurious trees overlooking a verdant valley is undeniably more agreeable."

 

"Nonsense; you are not being sensible at all. What an exasperating afternoon it should have proven to be; I should have ended the day not one bit closer to having you for my own. But let us forget what was and what never was and enjoy this moment. I am quite pleased with myself for having stolen you away from that swarm of guests we so foolishly brought into our home. Moreover, it shall do Georgiana well to act as hostess."

 

"Oh, yes of course. Very thoughtful of you," she replied archly.

 

"You may tease me all you like, but I would submit that you were equally in want of such an outing."

 

"Such certainty!"

 

"Yes," he replied succinctly as he rose from her side and walked down the hillside picking yellow wildflowers that were scattered throughout the grass. Satisfied with his collection, he returned to the blanket and reclined himself at her side. Resting upon his elbow he began to fashion a sort of garland. Elizabeth smiled as she watched him: he was relaxed and happy as she had only seen him in the privacy of their rooms; and he looked, as well, remarkably handsome with his hat and coat removed and his legs stretched across the blanket, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

 

"Shall I festoon you like my own Flora?" he said after a time, without looking up from his diligently employed hands.

 

"You are very, very silly, sir."

 

"Terribly," he said as he continued to weave the flowers together until he had made a workable garland. Completed, he looked into her face and smiled. "Now, remove your hairpins."

 

"My hairpins?" she cried in surprise.

 

"Naturally. How can I possibly crown you Flora with your hair so properly pinned?" He laughed, adding more earnestly. "If you do not oblige me I shall simply remove them myself."

 

With a moment of hesitation, she lifted her hands and began to remove the pins; his mood was infectious. Darcy watched with unguarded delight as her hair fell piece by piece from the confines of its gentle bindings. He had watched her do just this more than once in the privacy of their rooms, but to see her release her hair in the boundless space of the outdoors was enthralling. In truth, from the age of sixteen at least he had been wholly circumspect in regards to all things feminine, mistrusting, as his father had taught him, of all motivations and intentions. "In pursuit of your fortune ladies will attempt to beguile you, to entice you with their charms and arts," he had warned. "They will have you confuse the heart with the appetites; do not trust your heart, son; trust reason above all else. And when you are susceptible, well, recall that there are ways for an unattached gentleman to curb his appetites without endangering his legacy." And as with all his lessons, Darcy had learnt it well. He had very rarely chosen to curb his appetites, finding the options distasteful or demeaning to his sense of honor, and indulged instead in sometimes hard won restraint; and yet he had safely, easily, guarded his heart until that unexpected, impertinent young lady with the fine eyes had taken hold of it without ever having even wished to. He had, in fact, never allowed himself to explore the thrilling pleasure of observing all the fascinating, sensuous details of a woman's ways, until, with his beloved wife as his object, he indulged in such pleasure with near abandon.

 

Her hair finally released he placed the floral crown on her head. "There, my own little Flora!" he said with satisfaction. She blushed under his ardent gaze and he could not but find it stimulating to see her thus: her color raised, her breath quickened, her abundant, soft hair falling naturally around her sun kissed face, the slow breeze passing a single strand in front of her face and nothing but the wide vast horizon around her.

 

He raised his hand and took a curl of hair and wrapped it around his finger. Elizabeth was silent, her lips slightly parted; he was in a strange sort of trance and she could only look into his face and accept the need swelling in her breast. Words from Milton came to him unbidden from the recesses of his memory, and he spoke them in a hushed, rich voice, as though wishing to keep them secret from the very breeze.

 

"...He on his side

Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love,

Hung over her enamoured, and beheld

Beauty which; whether waking or asleep,

Shot forth peculiar graces; then with voice,

Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,

Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: 'Awake!

My fairest, my espoused, my latest found,

Heaven's last, best gift, my ever-new delight."

 

He kissed her then; a lingering, unhurried kiss. Gently laying her down upon the blanket he let his eyes travel deliberately across her every familiar feature, certain, for all the forthright and unashamed passion they had shared, he had never seen such an expression of almost wild desire therein.

 

"And what if I made love to you right here--my dearest, loveliest Elizabeth--under the wide beautiful sky?"

 

Mesmerized by the strange otherworldly mood that had come over him, as though they truly were in some ancient garden of the goddess, free and uninhibited, all she could reply was a soft, not quite questioning, not quite unsure, "Fitzwilliam," as she placed her open hand upon his warm face to ensure herself that he was no apparition.

 

His voice was a whisper now, and like the words he had earlier recited, was mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes. "May I not love you, Elizabeth, just this once, as though indeed we were such gods and released from all mortal strictures? I cannot love you enough; let me indulge this boundless adoration. Elizabeth, let me love you here, let our union be evermore coupled with the sky, the grass, the breeze."

 

She was in a delirium, swept away by his words, his strange hypnotic mood, and his delicate touch. "Yes," was all the reply she gave and he sank into her enfolding, welcoming arms with an unfettered rapture and they felt as though they had never before embraced.

 

And yet, as they returned to the house an uneasy silence fell between them. They seemed unable to look upon one another—overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment as much as by the sheer madness of it all. Darcy felt he had somehow abused of his own wife—persuading her to a selfish indulgence of his desires and his mind was spinning with derision, shocked that he would have made love to his wife atop a hill where anyone could have come upon them. Elizabeth, seeing his darkened, brooding features, thought only that even Lydia had never been more wild and unrestrained, that all respect must wither under such behavior.

 

"What you must think of me!" she side quietly.

 

Darcy was completely unaccustomed to seeing his wife in such an emotional, vulnerable state. He was, indeed, habituated to her impressive composure in the face of all tribulations and vexations, so that her current lack of the same allowed him to easily comprehend the extremity of her agitation. While this served to increase his own displeasure with himself, he understood as well that this was a moment when he must put his own mortification aside.

 

Stopping the curricle, he took her hands within his and spoke in gentle and caressing tones that belied his own distress. "Pray, Elizabeth, look at me." She did, but with hesitation, not with her usual, steady frankness. "I was thinking the very same thing. What you must think of me! How could I put you in such a difficult spot! It seems I am always seeking your forgiveness. Will you deny me your generous forbearance when I most desperately require its balm? Forgive me?"

 

"I can not forgive what is my own fault. Such behavior, such wanton behavior!"

 

"The fault was entirely mine, as you well know." He paused, composing his thoughts before continuing. "While it shames me that I should have ever placed you in so vulnerable a situation, I must also confess that it is only your anguish for which I feel contrition, not the sentiments which induced me on. For I cannot regret that since I first laid eyes upon you magnificent feelings and desires have awoken in this proper and well-regulated soul of mine such as I had never known I possessed. But I promise you this, I shall never again put you in such a position and I shall make certain that testaments of my adoration remain where they belong."

 

A heavy silence ensued during which she considered his words. She replied after a time: "You must not condescend to exaggeration to ameliorate my anxiety."

 

"I do not understand your meaning."

 

"When you first laid eyes upon me I am quite sure I awoke nothing but your disdain," she replied succinctly.

 

"Cruel, teasing woman!" Said he as he took her into a tender embrace. "I see you are quickly recuperating from our loss of restraint."

 

"Yes, I suppose I am. What alternative do I have?"

 

Darcy paused for a moment and with a slight hesitation remarked softly: "And yet my love, I cannot truthfully say that I should wish it undone."

 

To Darcy's infinite relief, Elizabeth smiled.

 

It did not go unobserved later in the evening that when Sir Patrick entered the drawing room and casually inquired as to the success of the estate business that had kept them occupied throughout the day both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy turned a most pronounced shade of red. The perplexity at such a singular reaction was general, if of short duration.

Past is present

 

 

As Darcy left the gentlemen at the trout stream he could not deny his sense of pleasure in seeing Mr. Gardiner so quickly and well integrated. He had the highest estimation in the world of Mr. Gardiner, as well as sincere and growing affection. When he had first made his acquaintance one year ago he had been too overcome by astonishment upon finding Elizabeth on his grounds, too concerned with his efforts to improve her opinion to do anything more than rapidly admit a certain surprise to find the uncle he had once categorically defamed because of his condition in life to be a man of such fashion and obvious intelligence. The discovery had certainly caused him a momentary pause, but nothing so great as the mortification he felt for having once dismissed Mr. Gardiner--sight unseen--after having worked so closely together on the wretched matter of Wickham and Lydia. By the time that business had been satisfactorily concluded Darcy felt as though he had stumbled upon a man whom he would wish to call a friend: intelligent, discrete, gentlemanly and worldly; some years his senior, but not too many, he discovered a man he would wish to have nearby for counsel and entertainment alike. It did not escape his consciousness that in his stubborn desire to think ill of all outside his own circle he had perhaps missed the opportunity to become acquainted with many fine gentlemen. Darcy was, therefore, particularly satisfied to see Mr. Gardiner so successful among his guests. It pleased him to know that through him Mr. Gardiner could establish acquaintances which would be to his advantage and that of his family. Furthermore, it provided him with added confidence that Lady Catherine would inevitably be tamed by the natural grace and charm of the Gardiners and her visit prove much more unproblematic than he had feared. After all, while Ashton and Bingley were certainly relentlessly amiable fellows, Thorney and Sir Patrick could be unforgivably cynical, and yet it was they who were most taken with Gardiner's intelligence and wit by the time last evening's dinner had concluded, to say nothing of Mrs. Gardiner's winning elegance.

 

With these positive sensations he made his way back into Pemberley House in search of his wife, but could find her nowhere. In her sitting room he instead came upon Jane employed in composing a letter to Longbourn.

 

"Jane," Darcy said as he entered. "Forgive me if I am disturbing you, but do you know where I might find my wife?"

 

Jane looked up from her letter and found she was somewhat surprised at Darcy's serenity. She had anticipated that he would be suffering the same nerves she had earlier witnessed in her sister. Elizabeth had in fact been with Jane earlier in this very room and upon Jane's inquiring whether she were apprehensive regarding Lady Catherine's arrival, Elizabeth had replied, a bit too eagerly and decisively: "Pray, Jane, why should I be? This is my home after all and she will be my guest." And yet she had quickly abandoned Jane's company, unable to disguise her apprehension from her sister's perceptive gaze.

 

Jane put down her pen. "She has gone for a walk this half hour now," she remarked sedately.

 

"A walk?" Darcy cried with no small degree of incredulity.

 

"Yes, sir, a walk," Jane replied as she watched Darcy's face reveal more exasperation than he perhaps intended.

 

Pulling out his watch he rapidly looked at the hour and returned it to its pocket. "Time there certainly is. Still, such an unusual moment to choose. Why would she go for a walk now?" His question was rhetorical, but Jane felt compelled to reply.

 

"Mr. Darcy, I am happy that you have not yet had the opportunity to learn that when Lizzy is anxious she walks."

 

"Anxious? Whatever for?" he replied stupidly.

 

"I should think that is evident, sir." Jane would have wished to offer no more on such a delicate topic, and yet when Darcy continued to look at Jane with confusion, she added timidly: "Perhaps Elizabeth feels she has much to prove."

 

"I beg your pardon, but I am quite at a loss to your meaning."

 

Jane had long admired the quality and quickness of Mr. Darcy's mind--indeed it was what most pleased her on her sister's behalf, for she knew her sister required in a husband not just goodness and honor, but also intelligence and wit--and yet, much as her nature resisted passing critical judgments, she found at the moment he was uncharacteristically slow.

 

"May I speak with complete frankness?" she inquired with a smile.

 

"Naturally."

 

"Perhaps my sister feels she has much to prove to Lady Catherine."

 

"That is an absurd conjecture, Jane! Elizabeth has nothing to prove to any person."

 

Darcy's disdain of the mere notion that his wife should have anything to prove to any person was evident; yet Jane instinctively felt that he must be made to understand, and so conquering her natural reserve she continued boldly. "Perhaps not to you, Mr. Darcy. But certainly it would not be absurd to feel that perchance she does believe she has something to prove to Lady Catherine, and by extension the remainder of your family."

 

Jane was afraid she had gone too far when she saw the color drain from Darcy's face. She did not know him well enough to interpret his reaction, but that he had reacted to her comment with force was apparent enough, and she sat uneasy and a little ashamed of her boldness as he began to pace the room.

 

In truth, Jane's suggestion had disconcerted Darcy in the extreme. All he could surmise was that he had somehow failed to make his wife fully understand his unconditional support. Even more, though, his equanimity was challenged as he considered that just as he had once privately feared, the presence of Lady Catherine would only serve to rouse the specter of their past differences, and more particularly of his past misconduct. During their courtship they had determined they would leave the past alone, think no more of it, but how realistic had they been? At once he realized that, their unmitigated happiness notwithstanding, ensconced first in Town and now at Pemberley, away from all the people who could be only reminders of the pain and hurt they had each inflicted upon the other--he so much more so, she so unwittingly--they had simply let it go without truly, fully putting it all to rest. It had all been too fresh and painful to dwell upon in those sweet days of bashful union. Yet, had not Lady Catherine come to embody all that had been painful between them? And today she arrived and the past would be present. Anxious as he had not felt since he had determined to try for Elizabeth's hand again, he turned to Jane for further understanding.

 

"You have requested that we speak frankly, then please, let us do so. I am sure your sister has acquainted you with all that has transpired in regards to my aunt, so you must be aware that it has only been through Elizabeth's efforts that I have sought this reconciliation. I should never knowingly put my wife in a situation in which she should feel the necessity to prove herself." The last two words he verily spit out in disgust at the notion that she should ever feel such a thing. "And in her own home, no less! Are you quite sure of this? We spoke of Lady Catherine's arrival just yesterday and she voiced no such concern. Quite the contrary."

 

"Nevertheless, Mr. Darcy, I believe that she is more anxious than she pretends, even to herself. And I am sure that for all the spirit she customarily displays in the face of difficulties, she feels pained to have been the cause of a breach in your family, and wishes to demonstrate herself worthy to those who would question all that you have given her, likewise all you have shown yourself willing to forgo. She wishes, I am sure, to prove a credit to the Darcy name. She has not said so to me expressly, sir, but I am sure from my knowledge as her sister that I am correct in my surmise."

 

As Jane spoke, Darcy looked her intently in the eyes as though wishing to extract every bit of insight about Elizabeth that a sister would possess that a husband of eight months could not yet equal. Jane found she could not maintain the scrutiny of his intensity and lowered her eyes, a blush rising to her cheeks. His continued silence was unsettling, and for the first time she believed that in those first days of acquaintance perhaps Elizabeth, so unaccustomed to being impressed, had in fact been a little afraid of this man, a little daunted by his intensity and that her consequent behavior was, in part, in defiance of such sentiments.

 

"And that is why she has gone off for a walk?" Darcy finally replied, matter-of-factly.

 

"As I said earlier, I am pleased that you have not yet had the opportunity to learn that when Elizabeth is anxious or unhappy she walks."

 

Darcy moved to the window and looked out, wondering where she had walked to and how he could have been so blind. He had hitherto seen in his wife such valor and strength, such admirable, enchanting aplomb that he never really considered her anxiety and he was grateful to Jane for showing him the way with such grace and delicacy. Throughout this entire business with Lady Catherine he had been so concerned with his own sentiments, his own anger and uneasiness he had never really seen, much less attended, Elizabeth's. He turned back to Jane. "I thank you Jane, for sharing your concerns with me. They will not go unattended."

 

"I am sure they will not, Mr. Darcy."

 

Bowing to her, he crossed the room with determined steps. As he reached the door, he turned back to her again. "Jane?" he inquired almost shyly.

 

"Yes, Mr. Darcy? Is there something else?"

 

"Why just that, actually. I am husband to your most beloved sister and a friend of the most near kind with your own husband. Must it be always 'Mr. Darcy'?"

 

Jane smiled sweetly and Darcy was impressed by the quiet radiance of her person. "I am afraid it must be," said she. "Something about your person demands it. I could not imagine addressing you in any other fashion."

 

"I should hope you do not find my manner toward you unwelcoming. It should pain me to think I have not known how to earn the favor of those dearest to Elizabeth."

 

"Respect, sir, does in no way hinder warmth of sentiments. But if it would please you, one day, if I am feeling very bold, I shall call you simply 'Darcy', as Charles does."

 

"I should be pleased if you would."

 

As he bowed and left the room both felt they had achieved a greater intimacy, a greater openness and trust, and for the sake of their respective spouses, they were pleased. Darcy, what's more, was relieved that his part in once separating Jane from Bingley had never reached her ears, and grateful that both Elizabeth and Bingley had kept it from her; he was ashamed now of his grave and impertinent error in judgment. Indeed, as he made his way to the footpath in hopes of encountering his wife upon her return, he considered how fortunate he was to have in his life a small cadre of truly good and noble people. It was certainly ironic, he mused, for he was a man constantly being thanked for services given, and yet to this small group he felt he owed so much more than anything another could owe him. To it he must now add Jane. Indeed, he had discovered more than one incontrovertibly excellent person suddenly in his life when he had won Elizabeth's hand. He took comfort that he had also given her at least two equally wondrous souls: Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam.

 

Arriving at the end of the footpath that led to a walk through the Spanish chestnut trees that he knew Elizabeth particularly enjoyed, he sat on a bench and awaited her return, reflecting on all Jane had said and intimated. He found it a sort of gratifying irony that while his family had--with the exception of his sister and cousin--been less than warm in their reception of Elizabeth, it was to his family's unwitting intervention that, in some measure, they owed their happiness today. Not only had Lady Catherine's infamous and ill advised visit to Longbourn cleared the path of doubts, but months earlier it had been Colonel Fitzwilliam who equally unwittingly had played a role in the strange and tortured route that had been their acquaintance and courtship. When Darcy was suffering under the blow of Elizabeth's first rejection the Colonel had unknowingly led Darcy from the mire of his anger.

 

He sat perfectly still on the bench and an observer could not know from his semblance that he was recalling for the first time in many long months that strange evening when his torment had become too much to endure alone. Colonel Fitzwilliam had chased Darcy down in the library and had found him sitting in a chair; perfectly still, with the exception of wild, tiny contortions that seemed to disfigure his handsome visage. In his customarily blunt and jovial manner, the Colonel had spared no time with politeness--he was set on getting to the heart of the matter. He sat in a chair across from his cousin and began unceremoniously: "Darcy, whatever has been under your skin of late? You are in a most peculiar mood and I cannot make it out at all."

 

Darcy stared back blankly, as if not able to remove himself from his thoughts. After some moments, silently, he rose, refilled his glass of sherry and offered another to his cousin. Still silent he took his seat anew.

 

"Is this then an invitation to remain?"

 

"You never require an invitation under my roof."

 

"No. But we both know I was referring to an invitation to pry, like some gossiping, bored clergyman's wife."

 

Darcy found he could not partake of his cousin's habitual sarcasm and humor. "Fitzwilliam, a man does well to keep his own counsel on some matters."

 

"Unquestionably. He also does well to know when not to."

 

Darcy indulged in a long, steady gaze. He had always been impressed by the goodness and amiability of his cousin's awkward, plain visage; one only need look upon him once to know he was to be trusted. He had been given an invitation to unburden himself and instinctively, if reluctantly, comprehended he must accept it, for he was sinking under the weight of his anger and dismay. He felt, into the bargain, burdened by his recalcitrant desire in the face of it all: desire to see those bright, intelligent eyes; desire to hear those mischievously sweet impertinences and to silence them with his mouth upon hers; desire to touch and posses that light and playful figure; desire to be challenged by that quick, witty mind; desire to be admired and loved by that noble, loyal heart. But mostly he was angry, at her and at himself: at her for her rejection, her contempt and accusations; at himself for finding that the depth of passion and character she had revealed in her irate refusal had only made her more desirable, more fascinating still. Do as he would, he could not escape the recollection of her scornful rejection, nor the fire that lit her eyes in anger. G-d! At that moment how he had wished to hate her--cold and unfeeling woman! He had cried in silent desperation.

 

Perhaps, he thought, Fitzwilliam was right; a man ought to know when not to keep his own counsel.

 

Lifting his glass he drank his sherry in one swift gulp, with an uncharacteristic throwing back of the head like some wild Cossack. He put the glass down on the table gently, almost delicately, and then ran his hand down his trouser leg, as though to smooth a crease that was not there. With a deep breath, he lifted his eyes and looked into his cousin's and spoke with a steady voice, tinged with a disquieting, deceptive coldness.

 

"I have recently made a young lady an offer of marriage and find that her declining said offer has left me in a state which you so cleverly have described as peculiar."

 

The Colonel's astonishment was evident and in retrospect Darcy wondered he did not laugh at the sight of such dismay. The Colonel had stammered inelegantly: "You have made an offer of marriage?"

 

"I have."

 

"And it has been rejected?" The word hung between them for a moment until with real confusion, born in no small part from his sincere admiration for his cousin's character, the Colonel spit out: "What cause could the young lady possibly have?"

 

"It appears I am not to the lady's liking."

 

"Not to her liking!" He replied sardonically, for the Colonel, while all that is loyal and good and charming, was also unremittingly practical. "She must be in possession of a very important fortune to decline you on such sentimental grounds."

 

"No. In point of fact she has neither fortune, nor property, nor meaningful connections to speak of."

 

The Colonel was dumbfounded. Firstly, that Darcy should have made an offer to a girl of apparently no consequence, and secondly, that she should have refused him. The world, he concluded, had gone mad. "She has nothing at all?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"I have never heard anything so absurd."

 

"Nevertheless, there you have it. It appears she has other criteria when choosing a husband than those used by the young ladies of our acquaintance. She believes me responsible for injury to one very beloved and to have been scandalously false to one I was bound by honor to protect. My material advantages apparently could not outweigh my purportedly dishonorable actions. In the former matter she was perhaps not completely mistaken although I did what I thought I must; in the latter she had, to my very great disadvantage, believed as truth falsehoods spread about my character."

 

"Falsehoods about your character? I am all confusion to be sure. I know of only one who would indulge in such conjured discrediting of your character and that scoundrel is in all probability sleeping in some far off ditch by now! And if by some miracle he is not, surely the world can not be so small?"

 

"Surely not," Darcy replied sardonically, painfully, as he recalled with what vigor she had defended that very blackguard's interests!

 

Completely at a loss by all Darcy was confiding, and the cold distorted tone in which it was told, the Colonel could think of nothing helpful to say. "Well then, there you have it, it has nothing to do with you then."

 

"Ah! But she had other reasons as well," Darcy snorted inelegantly.

 

"Other reasons?"

 

As if speaking to himself now, revealing more in his now pained and impassioned voice then he had intended, Darcy continued in a kind of soliloquy that seemed already half recited. "All the while I was thinking her welcoming my attentions, expecting my addresses. Dare I say desiring me as I desired her? It seems I missed her pointed dislike in a most embarrassing fashion. And I all the while thinking it was all in my hands; I need only decide to have her and have her I would. Lord! I hear her now, that lovely musical voice of hers, strained with scorn as she resolutely informed me that my arrogance, my conceit and my selfish disdain for the feelings of others had set her sentiments against me quite early on in our acquaintance."

 

"She called you arrogant, conceited and selfish?" The Colonel inquired, unable to conceal a small smile of almost admiring disbelief in spite of himself. Since his Uncle Darcy had passed away he was sure not a single person had ever called Darcy to account.

 

"Yes."

 

"How uncivil," the Colonel sniggered mordantly.

 

Darcy did not notice. He continued with his own thoughts. "Apparently my own mode of address inspired such incivility--if indeed she was uncivil," he added bitterly, recalling each of her words with the freshness of the first moment. "She was quite thankful for it really, for it spared her the pain of refusing me had I behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner!" At the echo of those torturous, accusatory words, he could no longer withstand the charade of cool indifference and he slid down the chair, dropping his head against its back while covering his face with his hands, a wrenched groan escaping his lips.

 

Colonel Fitzwilliam was only growing more confused. "Darcy, how did you behave?"

 

"How did I behave?" Darcy murmured, his hands now at his side, but his head still resting on the back of his chair. His eyes wandered across the exquisitely painted fresco of his library ceiling as he considered his ill-advised proposal for the thousandth time. Something in the fresco--perhaps the face with the penetrating brown eyes--made him for the first time see that terrible argument through her eyes and not through his own wounded pride and raging anger. What things he had said to her! Had he really declared in the same breath that he loved her and that she was unworthy of that love? Had he truly avowed his sense of her inferiority, of its being a degradation? What offensive, demeaning assertions! How presumptuous he had been, thinking she would be grateful for his condescension, as though she were his for the taking because she was relatively poor and he was preposterously rich, as though she must be grateful for such abuse of her situation and her character and her patience only because circumstances had been kinder to him than to her. How had be behaved?

 

"Heedlessly," was all the reply he made, in a voice so soft he was not sure if he had indeed spoken the word.

 

The Colonel was speechless and shocked to see Darcy in such a state over a girl who apparently not only had nothing at all but who also thought his cousin an ill-bred and contemptible fellow. "I do not know about all this Darcy. It seems very strange and I cannot understand why you should repine such a young lady when you have London's finest at your feet. Are you perhaps suffering not regret but wounded pride?"

 

"Pride. Such a complicated word."

 

"You must not indulge these emotions Darcy. If indeed she feels such a way about you be glad she did not accept your foolish offer and be done with it."

 

"I confess that I should like nothing better than to forget her and the entire ugly episode; to disdain her would be my relief. Yet I find that in weaker moments her rejection of my offer--an offer so manifestly to the advantage of herself and her family--because she would not betray her principles or sell her integrity, I confess in moments of weakness it makes her esteem all the more desirable." The words spoken, Darcy felt all of a sudden he had exposed himself too much. Sarcasm dripping from his words, he added "So you see, I am no more safe from passion's perverseness than any other man."

 

"I am not sure what to say Darcy. It seems a strange alliance you desired to make. Not at all what I would have expected of you."

 

"No, nor what I should have expected myself." He paused and, permeated with a desire to reveal the simple truth, said quietly: "nonetheless, one day as I was looking upon her, as she was doing nothing more extraordinary than sitting on a settee reading a book, I found I wished nothing more than to have her at my side for the entirety of my life."

 

As he said this, there was a sadness and vulnerability, a gentleness in Darcy's voice which the Colonel was sure he had not heard before. For the first time in the conversation his dismay gave way to compassion. But then he wondered where Darcy could have become acquainted with a young lady of no consequence in a setting intimate enough that he could observe her while she read a book. He was horrified to think Darcy had fallen in love with the governess of some fine house he frequented, but he could think of nothing else. "What will you do when you see her again?"

 

"That is not likely."

 

"But London really is small, after all."

 

Darcy lifted his head and looked at his cousin. "She does not reside in Town." As Darcy said these words an expression of comprehension crossed the Colonel's face and a silent understanding passed between them.

 

"Darcy, am I acquainted with this young lady?" The question seemed to answer itself.

 

"What does that matter?"

 

"It doesn't I suppose," the Colonel replied, now sure he knew who the mysterious lady was and with that information he suddenly understood it all: Darcy's behavior now and in Kent, his unusual reaction when their aunt had first said her name; no, Darcy would never notice a governess, it must be her, the Colonel thought, she would be a girl daring enough, independent enough to refuse a man like Darcy and in that bold, forthright manner as well. Had not he also admired her? But admiration could always be conquered.

 

"Regardless of whether you shall see her again or not, perhaps, if this has tormented you so, you ought to consider her reproofs and your own behavior in as dispassionate a manner as possible. There may be something to be saved out of all this. So that next time a young lady takes your fancy you do not make the same mistakes."

 

"Perhaps," Darcy replied, but he comprehended at that moment there would be no other young lady. At eight and twenty he had never before experienced more than a passing, paltry inclination--he was not a man to love easily and often. He understood in a pained and wretched fashion that he would remain silently, privately faithful to his unquenched desires and this newfound respect. For he had desired her, he loved her even now with a passion he loathed for its uselessness, its senselessness, but he had not respected her, that was but newly born. He was shocked by the realization and all it implied about his behavior and his character. That he should love a woman, approach her with an offer of his hand and all without once treating her with respect--admiration, yes--but not respect. It was an overpowering insight, shocking and unsettling in the extreme. What kind of man was he, after all? And why would he wish for as a wife a woman who would accept such disrespect as her due? It was not many days' reflection in this direction before he comprehended he was not in all respects the man he should be, nor that he could be. With these new thoughts Darcy thereafter resolved to become a better man, not in the vain hope of seeing Elizabeth again and improving her opinion of him--that was unlikely at best--it must be for his own sake alone.

 

That evening Fitzwilliam had said no more, but when Darcy became engaged to Elizabeth some months later he had said to him simply: "I suspected it was her all along; it was, was it not?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Then I congratulate you Darcy for finding a woman strong enough to demand more of you."

 

"The family does not approve."

 

"True. Fortunately you are your own master and such approbation is not strictly required for your happiness."

 

"I intend to be very happy, Fitzwilliam."

 

"I liked her very much when we met in Kent," the Colonel had replied mischievously. "If I were free to choose for inclination alone perhaps I should have tried to win her first."

 

"Then how fortunate for me that such an alternative was never before you." The Colonel had laughed and Darcy had felt grateful for one ally within the family.

 

Now as Darcy sat on a bench in the footpath so unexpectedly ruminating on those painful days, he did not sense the arrival of she for whom he waited, nor the picture that he presented. Sitting on the bench, perfectly erect and fastidiously dressed as was his wont, his hands resting on the walking stick that was planted between his legs, his head upturned and his eyes looking somewhere atop the trees, he was a picture of serious concentration and the memories he was indulging gave to his mien a tightness Elizabeth was no longer accustomed to seeing. She could only suppose as she quietly approached her husband that he was filled with anxiety at Lady Catherine's impending arrival. And why, she wondered, should he not be? He had assured her forcefully enough when that infamous letter had found him at Netherfield that where their union was concerned he would never feel remorse for the loss of anyone, be it Lady Catherine or anyone else who should choose to disapprove. Still--it was all so painful and unpleasant and somehow fresh.

 

She recalled how he had tried to keep that letter secret from her, but the day it had arrived at Netherfield he had been so cold and distant with her--she understood now in an attempt to manage his indignation--that at last to appease her unease he had revealed the existence of the letter and its intention if not its specific content--and she had misinterpreted his demeanor completely.

 

"Sir," she had said. "I would not have you marry me for honor's sake alone. If this letter has made you reconsider, I will not hold you."

 

Darcy's face had gone pale at her words, but something within him--perhaps the same perseverance which had at last allowed him to win her--got the better of him and he pushed his anger aside. She was sitting on the settee in the parlor and he came and sat by her side. Their knees touched and he took her hands into his own. Asking that she look him in the eyes he said simply and forthrightly: "Can you truly have so little faith in my constancy? I will not allow Lady Catherine or any other person who may disapprove our union to impose upon our happiness. I do not marry you for honor's sake. I desire you to be my wife. I put it to you now: I would not have you marry me for honor's sake alone. If this letter has made you reconsider, I will not hold you. Do you still desire me for your husband?"

 

Elizabeth was ashamed of her foolishness, ashamed that after he had proven himself over and again, she should even now rush to judge him ill. "This is all still so new and I have again judged you unfairly. But I do still wish for you to be my husband."

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I esteem you, I admire you and respect you. Because you are the best man I have ever known."

 

Not quite satisfied, Darcy replied: "That is all?"

 

And he was pleased to see her blush under his gaze, and more pleased by her words, for she understood what he sought: "Because I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

 

He smiled and pulled her into his arms. "As I love you, Elizabeth Bennet. So let us have no more of this foolish talk!" Before she could answer he was kissing her and they left Lady Catherine and her invective for another day.

 

Now, all these months later Lady Catherine loomed again.

 

Elizabeth arrived at her husband's side and he did not sense her presence until she put her hand on his shoulder. She was determined: their happiness had been hard won and she would not allow Lady Catherine to undermine it. Oddly, such assurance only increased her anxiety--for it seemed to suggest that Lady Catherine could indeed impede their further happiness.

 

"What a pleasant surprise to find you here," she said softly, warmly. But before Darcy could tell her all he desired, she had kissed him lightly on the lips and said simply, "but my darling, there is no time now to indulge in your presence." And as quickly as she had appeared at his side she had scurried into the house to refresh herself before Lady Catherine's arrival.

 

In her impatience and rush, Darcy understood how blind he had been to her anxiety. He admired her so thoroughly, held her in such high esteem and respected her so fully that he saw only strength when he looked upon her. He had come to depend upon her so quickly that he had perhaps forgotten that she could be vulnerable and unsure as well, and it was only natural that Lady Catherine's arrival should inspire such uneasiness. He regretted that he had not understood this earlier and had not had the opportunity to make her comprehend that she need not conceal her apprehension in order to ensure his readiness to improve the distressing state of affairs between Pemberley and Rosings.

 

Later as Darcy offered her his arm and they made their way to the front drive to await Lady Catherine's carriage he could not help but wonder if it was her afternoon toilette that made her look so becoming in her simple, rose colored silk gown, or perhaps their secret knowledge that she was with child that made her look so especially beautiful to him. In the face of such natural grace and charm he thought Lady Catherine must relent.

 

"Ah, Lady Catherine," he listened to Elizabeth softly whisper as the carriage was heard coming down the long drive.

 

At her words he took her hand into his own and spoke her name in a tone so serious that had it not been for the warmth in his eyes Elizabeth may have been made uneasy. His words were unexpected and heartfelt. "Elizabeth. I am privileged to be your husband, proud to have earned your respect and immeasurably pleased to have won your love. I would ask you to always remember that."

 

She smiled and felt her courage rise. "I shall never forget."

 

"Good!" said he, as he tenderly pressed her hand.

 

Moments later the carriage was at their feet and Lady Catherine stepped out in all her rarified glory and poor Miss De Bourgh in all her paltriness. The greetings were everything proper and polite, executed to perfection, if coldly, and no one observing could have seen anything at all amiss. But Elizabeth was surprised to find that her initial observation on meeting Lady Catherine in Kent, that Darcy was like her--which she had later rejected—had not been all wrong. As they stood facing each other exchanging civilities, she could not dismiss the similarity of their tall, elegant frames, nor the manner in which their handsome visages were set in identical, unyielding challenge.

 

This sennight, she concluded, would require all the talent she might posses, and a little more.

Wagers and challenges

 

 

Elizabeth walked into her husband's dressing room and saw him standing completely still and silent, hands at his side and chin lifted ever so slightly as his valet carefully executed the delicate business of knotting a cravat. Upon seeing Mrs. Darcy enter Thompson turned, bowed elegantly and deeply, stated a sound 'madam!' in his deep baritone voice and turned back to the sartorial task at hand. Like Elizabeth's maid, Molly, Thompson had grown accustomed to such mutual intrusions of husband and wife into each other's territory, although to his more mature experience the habit was not as endearing as to young, romantic Molly. He would not judge, however; it was not his position to do so, even if he did find it less than customary for a lady--even if she be a wife--to enter the dressing room of a gentleman, much less at such critical moments of dress. And it was certainly not due to <i>his</i> indiscretion that the entire upstairs staff and a goodly portion of the downstairs staff were aware that only one bed was made per morning in the master chambers--although both were drawn down nightly. To his utter dismay there was, in defiance of all that is proper in a household staff of such a notable estate, even a wager as to how long that state of affairs would persist. Thompson, much to his vexation, had never been able to establish which of the chambermaids had spoken with so little discretion, or he surely should have informed Mrs. Reynolds to ensure dismissal of the loose-tongued servant.

 

"Satisfactory, sir?" Thompson inquired as he patted down his handiwork.

 

Darcy grimaced with dissatisfaction as he looked at his reflection in the glass. "A bit too spectacular, Thompson. We are not attending the opera, after all."

 

As Thompson made to undue his work, both men were surprised by a quiet, but emphatic: "Oh, preposterous!" as Elizabeth turned and left the room without another word.

 

Not one to make a scene in front of his servants, Darcy waited patiently as Thompson made a more suitable knot and helped his master into the golden silk waistcoat just up from London and finally his black frock coat. As Thompson handed Darcy his fob, he was quietly if a little preemptively dismissed. Darcy turned and entered the master bedchamber where Elizabeth sat on a settee in front of the mantel, impatiently tapping her fingers over her knee. He could not prevent an amused smile from forming upon his lips, for while she looked exceptionally well--her maid had become quite adept at setting her hair in just such a manner as to make her appear at her most beguiling--she looked also like what could only be described as a sulky child. Darcy found the contrast quite amusing.

 

"Pray," Elizabeth cried. "Are you <i>quite</i> dressed?" Darcy merely opened his arms and looked down at his attire as though offering himself to her judgment. "Well!" She replied mockingly, "I never dreamt a gentleman could take longer to dress than a lady."

 

Darcy continued to smile and stated calmly: "And I never imagined a lady could dress so quickly and yet so successfully. For, your pouting impertinence notwithstanding, you do look extraordinarily lovely this evening, my dear."

 

As Elizabeth looked upon her husband, handsome and composed, she was overcome with a sense of personal disapproval. How could it be, she wondered, that she, who possessed such equanimity heretofore regarding Lady Catherine's arrival and he who had been so very disturbed, should have suddenly changed roles upon the eminent lady's actual arrival? In defiance of her own uneasiness, she replied sharply: "It shall have to do!"

 

"Do? For what?" responded he, more alarmed by her tone than her words.

 

"Not for what, for whom. For Lady Catherine of course. Can we not make our way to the parlor now? We are quite tardy."

 

Most surprisingly for Elizabeth, Darcy chuckled at her explanation. For in truth, after the initial arrival and greeting of his aunt had been dispensed with Darcy had found himself in surprisingly good spirits. Perhaps it had been something about the peculiar sight of his lively wife--so filled as was her every gesture with health and vigor-- escorting his pale and sickly cousin which had inspired in himself a sort of sublime relief that he had been bold enough to follow his heart and to have never succumbed to the duty-draped wishes of his aunt. Or perhaps after months of marriage to Elizabeth he had truly begun to measure people differently--for his aunt had never appeared to him so extravagantly supercilious in manner and dress as when she stepped from her carriage earlier in the day and marched into Pemberley House with all the solemnity of a queen. Whatever it had been, to his very great surprise, he felt invigorated and cheerful, so that he replied now to his agitated wife with something betwixt dispassion and amusement.

 

"Is that why you are so impatient and anxious? For Lady Catherine's approval?"

 

Indignant at such a thought, Elizabeth rose from the settee and walked toward the mantel, at which point she turned round to face her husband and coldly replied: "Not at all! I certainly do not require Lady Catherine's approval!"

 

As Darcy watched and listened he did not know which to indulge first: his admiration for her appearance, for she did indeed look exceedingly lovely in a finely, daringly cut lilac gown that enhanced her natural glow and set off to perfection her figure--just beginning to show signs of her state of expectancy as it was; or whether perhaps he should indulge his amusement at her adorable and all together exceptional irritation. Yet as he approached her he recalled Jane's expressions of concern from earlier in the day and understood he must not take lightly her now ill-disguised anxiety. Taking her hands into his own he raised one hand at a time to his lips. "Indeed you do not require the approval of Lady Catherine, or, for that matter, any other person."

 

As he spoke Elizabeth allowed herself to examine his beloved features: the open, broad forehead that bespoke of his honesty and integrity; the expressive eyes that revealed what his reserved manner would guard, the finely drawn lips that when arched into a timid smile would fill her heart with adoration. As he raised an eyebrow in anticipation of her response Elizabeth understood that for her own self she cared as little for Lady Catherine's approbation as she had when she had been a reluctant guest at Rosings Park; she did, however, now desire if not her approbation, her acquiescence, for his benefit. For Darcy was as loyal and devoted to his family—flawed as they were—as she herself was to her own equally imperfect family. Though she comprehended that Darcy would never repine breaking off all contact with his aunt after her infamous letter, Elizabeth also comprehended that the rupture of relations between himself and his mother's only sister, was privately painful. It was only to spare her own feelings that he never spoke of it.

 

She sighed, for truly, she did not know how to begin anew with Lady Catherine. Removing one of her hands from his, Elizabeth leaned over to the table and picked up an item that lay upon it. "And what shall I do about this?"

 

"What is this?" he inquired, distracted as she bent to retrieve the item by the manner in which her gown accentuated her bosom and wondered for a moment whether London's latest fashion was really <i>all that</i> as they were like to say in the ton.

 

"This!" she cried, lifting a lace item to his eye level. "This cap! You are aware she shall think me a hoyden for refusing to wear a cap as all proper married ladies do."

 

"I believe I must write to your father," Darcy replied, repressing a smile. But Elizabeth's expression of perplexity at what sounded to her a confused tangent merely served to elicit an open and joyful laugh from her husband. Lifting the lace item from her hand he threw it on the settee and gently pulled her into his arms. "Yes," he continued, "I must write to your father and inform him he has badly misled me. For he affirmed he was father to three of the silliest girls in England and I am quite certain he proclaimed that <i>you</i> were not among them."

 

"Mr. Darcy!" Elizabeth replied in annoyance.

 

"Mrs. Darcy!" he answered teasingly. "As I said before, this is your home," he continued as he tapped the tip of her nose. "If you choose to dispense with such a godforsaken garment, far be it from Lady Catherine or any one else to question your discretion. Moreover, you may always blame me. After all, I believe I was the one who insisted you never wear such a terrible accoutrement. You looked positively matronly when you first donned one."

 

"I believe, my dear sir, that is entirely the intended effect."

 

"That may well be, however, I have recently been enlightened regarding the very positive advantages to be had when breaking with some of society's more foolish dictums. I see no point in unlearning that lesson over such a matter as this, my love. I married a young lady of spirit and vivacity--I shall not have her hiding under a silly bit of lace."

 

"So I shall simply inform Lady Catherine I am an obedient wife," she replied with an ironic smile.

 

"So be it, but I hardly think she will notice at all."

 

It was now Elizabeth's turn to laugh. "Do you not know your aunt at all, my dearest sir? I shall wager she has already observed my abandonment of an adornment generally considered requisite. Further I suspect she is only awaiting the most embarrassing of moments to call me to account."

 

"What shall we wager then?"

 

He looked so blissfully amused as he spoke, so positively unperturbed that Elizabeth felt her own unease dissipate. There really was, after all, nothing Lady Catherine could do to harm them; she could only make for some unpleasantness. She therefore determined Lady Catherine would not intimidate her in her own home. Feeling her courage rise, she felt consequently her playfulness return. "What shall I demand from you?" She remarked at last. "For victory is assured in such a wager as this."

 

"Then pray, make my defeat as sweet as your victory," he replied enticingly. "One we shall never forget."

 

Elizabeth smiled broadly, blushed prettily and drew his head down. As she whispered in his ear, he drew her closer to him. "My little minx," he returned, his voice suddenly hoarse and charged. "You have put me in the unhappy situation of finding I am required to initiate some stratagem or other, for I surely must now do all that is in my power to encourage Lady Catherine's insolence on this matter."

 

His wife simply arched her brow in response. "Come my dear, we are surely wanted in the parlor."

 

With her spirit thus lightened, the handsome couple made their way to the parlor, where they found Mrs. Gardiner alone and quietly perusing a book of poetry that lay on a table. As they entered she rose and went to their side, a wide smile on her pleasing and warm countenance.

 

"My dear Lizzy, I am sure of it! Now we are just we three I insist you set me right. You have an unmistakable healthy glow about you. I do believe that you and your Mr. Darcy are keeping a small secret."

 

The smile Elizabeth and Darcy shared was all the answer Mrs. Gardiner required. "My Mr. Darcy has always said you are the most perceptive of women, Aunt. But you must keep it to yourself for we have not yet shared the news."

 

They embraced silently, but the room was now becoming filled with the other household guests and so they said no more on the happy topic. Before Darcy could attend to his duties, however, Mrs. Gardiner quietly whispered an aside.

 

"Mr. Darcy you have used your considerable skill of persuasion to bring my husband and I to Pemberley to partake of your sentimental surprise. When shall it be revealed?"

 

"Patience, my dear Mrs. Gardiner. All in good time." He smiled mischievously before turning away and Mrs. Gardiner was recalled to her presumptuous insinuation to Lizzy that Darcy only need marry well to acquire that touch of liveliness he lacked. She was pleased at her discernment.

 

As Pemberley's guests gathered for another evening of fine dining and agreeable company, Lady Catherine dallied in her room, quite determined to be the last guest to arrive in the salon for dinner. She would in no way be obvious in her challenge to Mrs. Darcy, but she would challenge her competence. The easiest way, she was sure, was simply to disturb her plans through tardiness-would the dinner still be served warm? Would the tea go cold? She would embarrass her without ever giving her nephew just cause for reprimanding her own behavior. She would exhibit no outward disrespect, but she would make Mrs. Darcy's task as hostess difficult as was within her power--she would crack that facade of confidence that had so angered her that infamous and ill-fated afternoon in the garden of Longbourn.

 

Intent on her mission and well past the polite hour, Lady Catherine gathered her fan, squared her shoulders and made for her private battle. Making her way down to the parlor she confirmed her earliest observation--that Mrs. Darcy had made little substantial change to Pemberley. That, at least, was a small consolation, for she had suffered visions of a gaudy disturbance of the stateliness for which she took such pride. For had she not so generously advised her nephew when he had made modifications to the music room and the principal public rooms? Although she had been disappointed that he had not selected the gold-fringed draperies she had so preferred for the salon, nor the royal blue wallpapering she had selected for the music room, she took personal satisfaction in Darcy's universal reputation as a man of excellent taste and refinement.

 

With these thoughts entertaining her passage, she arrived at the principal salon, the last guest and a full half hour after the proper time. She entered with authority, a feathered creation upon her handsome head, and draped in enough silk and jewels to impress the wealthiest of sultans. Elizabeth immediately went to her side. The contrast between the two ladies as they made polite greeting at the room's entrance was stark and not at all to Elizabeth's disadvantage. From the simplicity and quality of her gown one could see that Elizabeth was neither gaudy nor uselessly fine; with less of splendour than Lady Catherine, and more real elegance.

 

"Lady Catherine," said Elizabeth as she curtsied with simple elegance. "I hope you are well rested from your travels."

 

"Yes, yes." Lady Catherine replied, annoyed at Elizabeth's evident indifference to her guest's tardiness. "Nephew," Lady Catherine continued. "Your arm."

 

As Darcy took her arm and led her to a seat, Lady Catherine surveyed the assembled party and with her customary confidence, defined and relegated each person to their proper place. "It seems a respectable enough lot, Darcy." She intoned as she mentally observed that the gentlemen were clearly all that they ought to be, well groomed and not a fop among them. The ladies offered more variety for her scrutiny. Georgiana she found as infuriatingly meek as always--she really could not tolerate how she would hold her head down when engaged in conversation. She was momentarily surprised to see her own daughter talking to a lady of some elegance and fashion; she immediately dismissed Miss Bingley as the common London fashion girl, found Mrs. Thorney far too good looking to do anyone any good, and Mrs. Ashton unassuming and genteel. Lady Catherine's attention was at last caught by the pretty, pale, delicate face under a fine, laced cap.

 

"Pray, nephew, who is this uncommonly lovely lady?" She inquired, stopping immediately in front of Jane and examining her with the same unrestrained inspection of a man buying a horse. "Such a pretty, serene countenance she has."

 

"This uncommonly lovely lady," Darcy responded as Jane blushed, "is Mrs. Darcy's elder sister, Mrs. Jane Bingley."

 

Lady Catherine, evidently surprised at the connection and displeased to have so singled out a relation of Mrs. Darcy, said very little more until they were called into dinner, but at just such a moment she could not but return to her commanding self.

 

"You must take Anne into dinner, Darcy. She is so fatigued from the travel."

 

Darcy simply stared at her in silence, a look of antipathy spreading across his mien, as he had been wont to do in Hertfordshire. How preposterous, he mused silently. Did Lady Catherine truly suppose she could usurp his wife's position as hostess and that she could freely manage and order people about as she did at Rosings? He was on the point of declining to oblige in some curt and uncivil fashion when he felt Elizabeth touch his arm as she spoke lightly, seemingly indifferent to the presumption of her guest.

 

"Yes do, my love," Elizabeth replied with sweet defiance. "I would not wish cousin Anne tired unduly."

 

Darcy, annoyed, knew as he spoke that he was reducing himself to his aunt's silly stratagems--something he abhorred--as well as drawing upon all the ill-conceived conceits that had once brought him such unhappiness. Yet he could not contain himself: His anger had suddenly returned, like an unwelcome changing wind on the high seas. Lady Catherine sought to assert herself above his wife and he sought, in a manner most sure to irritate her, to put her in her place. That he must use a man he admired and esteemed to accomplish this small victory he regarded as unpleasantly necessary, and hopefully not at all obvious. In a clear voice that all might hear, he responded, "It must be as you wish, Mrs. Darcy. Then pray, Sir Patrick, will you not accompany my wife to dinner, and Mr. Gardiner, will you not do the same for Lady Catherine?"

 

Sir Patrick bowed in accordance but was momentarily delayed by his companion, Miss Bingley. "As we have been so bold with one another to date, may I not observe, Sir Patrick, that Pemberley has suddenly become a very interesting place?"

 

Sir Patrick merely smiled a half smile without further remark, but as he bowed to Miss Bingley and made his way to Mrs. Darcy's side he found himself attracted to her pleasure in observing the power play. Yet, for all her handsome face and figure, her ambition and her fortune, he could not bring himself to a decision. Vacillation was not in his character, but each time she seemed a fine candidate for a wife, he recalled the words he had demanded from Darcy when he had first arrived at Pemberley more than a fortnight ago: Her character is ambiguous. I do not mean to imply that she is willfully duplicitous or ill-intentioned, but that, beyond her ambitions, I am not certain of her intentions, of the quality of her temperament or the depth of her mind. He need make no decision now--here he had no competition, after all, and concluded he ought best to defer his decision until they had all returned to London after the summer.

 

As Sir Patrick made his way to Elizabeth's side, Mr. Gardiner was bowing elegantly to Lady Catherine and offering his arm. The Lady, for her part, merely looked him up and down and inquired, "And how are you acquainted with my nephew?"

 

"I am Mrs. Darcy's uncle."

 

"You are Mrs. Darcy's uncle?"

 

"Indeed I am, Lady Catherine. At your service," he answered with an elegant inclination of his head.

 

"And you reside where?"

 

"In town, madam."

 

"In which part of town?"

 

"Gracechurch Street."

 

An inelegant "Humph!" was all the reply she made, to Mr. Gardiner's amusement--for he was a man difficult to offend. Lady Catherine endured the realization that he was the infamous uncle in trade well enough as she watched Anne lead the party into the dinning room upon Darcy's arm: As it ought to have been, she mused. She even condescended to accept Mr. Gardiner's offered arm, feeling, as she was, momentarily triumphant, she could also be generously condescending.

 

Her satisfaction would perhaps have been short lived had she known the silent observations of more than one of the party. Her intentions for Darcy had not been London's most guarded secret and more than one within the party could see that--fortunes and connections aside--Darcy had made the superior choice. Even the still mildly displeased Miss Bingley could see that from a purely sentimental perspective, the choice between the sickly cousin and the confident, lively country girl was obvious; for while Miss Bingley's latent envy made her quite unable to openly admire Mrs. Darcy, she had in these days at Pemberley begun to perceive why Mr. Darcy might.

 

During the meal Lady Catherine quickly observed that the former Miss Bennet had lost none of her decidedness when it came time to voice her opinions, indeed she seemed to have acquired still greater confidence. To her displeasure she saw that her nephew was, if not mawkishly demonstrative toward his wife, certainly unapologetically besotted. Further, the party as a whole seemed to find her commentary charmingly witty.

 

"Youth!" Lady Catherine muttered under her breath, at one particularly frank exchange between Elizabeth and Sir Patrick regarding the capriciousness of society's dictates.

 

"Yes, youth," Mr. Gardiner responded mischievously. "So reprehensibly broadminded!"

 

Lady Catherine was unmistakably displeased by Mr. Gardiner's irony, so clearly expressed at her own expense as it was. Clearly, she concluded, it is from this upstart tradesman that she learned her ways.

 

Before making a reply she observed the assemblage with something like objectivity. She would not credit Mrs. Darcy for the excellence of the table—Pemberley's staff and her own nephew's fastidiousness ensured its continuance. The disposition of the party, however, the collective character of the intercourse, was more clearly her doing. While she could not fault Mrs. Darcy on civilities, the air of ease and liveliness that suffused the company was not at all what she was accustomed to finding at Pemberley, and she was uncertain as to its being sufficiently dignified for such a fine estate. That Mrs. Darcy had imposed her personality upon the house and company--without even altering much more than a single settee--left Lady Catherine no alternative but to conclude that the young woman's confidence was not to be so easily shaken as she had supposed--truly she should have expected as much after her audacious display of will at Longbourn. Moreover, whatever her own feelings about the exuberance of the party and the discourse throughout the meal, she was honest enough to recognize in her nephew an air of satisfaction and contentment she had grown quite unaccustomed to seeing. Nevertheless, for all her sincere affection, she could not share in what she considered his misbegotten pleasure. She could not but deduce that she had misunderstood the intent of Darcy's letters and invitation all together. His effort of reconciliation came not from remorse or regret as she had supposed, but from surety. Evidently, leading Darcy to comprehend his grievous error--as she still desired-- would be a bit more complicated than she had anticipated.

 

She motioned for the servant to fill her glass with wine and drank it to the full rather inelegantly.

 

"Broadminded?" she finally responded to Mr. Gardiner. "Perhaps. But not as indomitable as they believe."

 

Mr. Gardiner looked her intently in the face and wondered if perhaps he might need to warn his niece to some unclear challenge. He would consult his wife to be sure.

Brave Defiance

 

 

Miss Georgiana Darcy was surprised at how very much her life had altered for the better since her brother's marriage. This change was in no manner material in nature, for she had always been given all she could desire and the new Mrs. Darcy had found Pemberley in no way lacking in grace and so had made merely minor modifications to furnishings and schedules; rather it was a change in tone that made it all seem wholly different now. It was like the difference between hearing a song sung by a soprano or a tenor--the score is the same, but the overall effect quite unrelated. While her admiration and affection for her new sister was sincere and every day seemed to increase, she was wise enough to recognize that it was not merely the true friendship of a sister that had wrought such an alteration, but all that came with her, most particularly the happiness of her brother and the subtle changes in his demeanor that said happiness had effected. He was easier now, less formidable. During these first months of his marriage she had seen more of the man that he was and so had come to look upon him now as more of a brother than the slightly distant father-figure he had heretofore been; and while her respect was unaltered, she felt her tenderness toward him becoming the more dominant of the two emotions. This seemed to allow her to approach him with less trepidation, although she perhaps gave too little credit for the natural evolution of character and confidence that accompanies the maturing from girlhood to womanhood.

 

Georgiana was reflecting upon this improved state of affairs as she sat in the shade of the Spanish chestnuts with Mrs. Ashton and Mrs. Bingley. The latter's gentleness and kindness encouraged in Miss Darcy the same simple admiration and trust that Jane commonly inspired, yet it was Mrs. Ashton with whom Georgiana was enthused. Georgiana's sisterly affection toward Elizabeth was very different from the burgeoning friendship she sensed between herself and Mrs. Ashton. Although she was many years Mrs. Ashton's junior, over the last fortnight she had felt a kinship toward this woman she had rarely experienced in her young life. Georgiana was not a young lady with many friends--perhaps due to her shyness, perhaps in part to her brother's protective manner--whatever the cause, while certainly not friendless, she did feel herself lacking a particular friend. Their common passion for music had brought them to spend much time together during these lazy summer days at Pemberley, but it was more, for Mrs. Ashton made Georgiana feel always at her ease. In truth, there were times when Georgiana could not prevent feeling intimidated and unequal to the challenge of participating in the witty, playful repartee between her brother and his wife, naïve when confronted with Miss Bingley's worldliness, or over these past days a bit shocked by the beautiful Mrs. Thorney's eccentricity. Yet with Mrs. Ashton she felt always tranquil and without fear of appearing silly or young or dull.

 

Georgiana's pleasant ruminations were, unfortunately, abruptly disturbed when a footman came out to the sanctuary beneath the chestnuts where the three ladies were idling away the warm morning to inform her that Mr. Darcy required her presence in his study. Her calm contentment collapsed, her face reddened and she felt again as juvenile as when she was an orphaned girl of no more than eleven and her tall and impressive brother would enter the classroom and, with a crispness and thoroughness that was both estimable and frightening, interrogate the governess on her progress as regards some lesson or another. He had always been generous in his praise when the report was favorable, but equally eloquent in his reprimand when she fell short of his exacting standards. Her behavior the prior evening came rushing back to her and she understood that she had fallen short of those standards and must now face his justified chastisement. He had not rebuked her even once since the shameful Ramsgate incident, as though since than he felt she might break should he be too harsh; albeit in truth she had been both too broken-hearted and too mortified to be any trouble at all over these two years. The last evening's outburst toward Lady Catherine had been an anomaly, and as such she hoped for his leniency. She was only surprised that with the distractions of the morning she had forgotten till this moment her extraordinary incivility toward Lady Catherine the previous evening, and equally surprised that her brother had waited an entire morning before calling her to account. She was quite certain she had never in her life spoken so completely out of turn and she felt belatedly ashamed of her audacity.

 

It had all begun to unfold when Georgiana had quietly asked that Lady Catherine allow her to decline her petition to hear her niece perform for the assembled party. Upon hearing Georgiana's negative, Lady Catherine had shaken her head and waved her hand in the air dismissively. It was a gesture Georgiana had observed innumerable times and yet on this particular occasion it had irked her. She was no longer a girl to have her preferences so easily snubbed, she felt.

 

"Why do you bother to practice so very continually Georgiana if you will wilt at the thought of performing? This is hardly such an impressive assemblage that you should be so tiresomely intimidated. You are too much your mother's daughter in this regard. Your brother ought to push you more." At which consideration Lady Catherine called for Darcy.

 

"Madam?" he inquired indifferently as he came to her side.

 

"You are far too indulgent of Georgiana's timidity. I have requested that she perform and she has denied me. You can not allow such particularity of character to continue unchecked."

 

"You can be assured, madam, that I shall not require Georgiana to perform if she is disinclined to do so," he responded evenly.

 

"Always so lenient!" Lady Catherine snapped. "I have told you far too many times and yet you persist in your determination to permit the girl's whims and apprehensions. She would not be such a timid little creature had you been more demanding upon her. If my poor Anne had been blessed with Georgiana's health, I can assure you I should not have tolerated such behavior, just short of sullenness as it is."

 

Lady Catherine continued in this manner long enough to inspire Georgiana's indignation--she knew she was overly timid but her aunt was too embellishing in her description of the same--and Darcy's reflection. For his part, as he listened to his aunt underscore his supposed leniency, he wondered if perhaps quite the opposite had been the case. When he had found himself a young man with the full responsibility of his much younger sister Lady Catherine had been similarly diligent in proffering advice. At the time he had thought her counsel more sound than not and he questioned now whether that had been the case; if perhaps he had been in fact too exacting and not tender enough with his sister; if perhaps his relations with his beloved sister had, in those early days of their orphanage, been infected by what Elizabeth had described once in heated anger as his disregard for the feelings of others. Had he, he conjectured, been thoughtful enough to his own darling sister in those sorrowful days? Lady Catherine's diatribe likewise succeeded in resurfacing the never extinguished feelings of failure he had felt after the Ramsgate incident. Had he shown his devotion too coldly? Gifts and indulgences aside, had he been too strict, too reserved and thus left her adrift to increase her timidity and leave her vulnerable to the persuasive gifts of that infamous, wretched cad? He brought his mind back to the present, unwilling to revisit those painful days. He was surprised by the turn of the conversation when he did return his attention to its content.

 

"It is hardly as though the party has not heard you play, Georgiana. I am sure the entire household was awoken this morning by your running of scales at some unfortunately early hour."

 

"I am sorry, madam, if my practicing disturbed you. I shall be sure to await a later hour to begin from here on."

 

"Why bother at all if you will not perform? All your accomplishments at the pianoforte will not assist you in finding an appropriate husband if you will keep your accomplishment to yourself."

 

Darcy's barely contained sigh at his aunt's suggestive use of the word 'appropriate' did not escape the notice of either the speaker or her young niece. Georgiana felt a sympathetic wave of indignation, as well as a more personally inspired sense of impatience rise; she was timid, to be sure, but she was neither unfeeling nor lacking in perception. Opining that neither the insinuated slight to her sister nor the dismissal of her own character should be allowed to stand, and taking courage in the daily example of Elizabeth's self-possession--the very thing she had come to understand as the core of her brother's admiration for his wife--she took a deep breath to gather her nerves before responding curtly, her tone haughty: "I do not play to find a husband. I play for the great pleasure I derive from music."

 

Lady Catherine was momentarily speechless as she fixed her eyes upon her niece, who held her aunt's angered gaze with brave defiance. Her tone quite surpassing Georgiana's for haughtiness, Lady Catherine replied at last: "Pray, young lady, have I inquired as to your pleasure?"

 

Feeling an unaccustomed exhilaration at her boldness, Georgiana did not relent. "You have not. Nevertheless, I consider myself full young to be concerned about a husband at this time."

 

"Perhaps you are full young. Yet with such manners as you have, apparently, lately developed you shall certainly never secure a husband of any consequence. As I cannot claim any confidence in your brother's discernment in such matters, to say nothing of his wife's complete lack of advantageous connections, I shall certainly be required to manage this process for you, and clearly, the earlier I begin the task the better."

 

Unthinkingly, Georgiana blurted out with a dismissiveness equal to any her aunt or her brother had ever been known to employ: "You shall do no such thing! Your judgment in such matters is not one that I care to respect."

 

Blanching, Lady Catherine turned to Darcy who had listened to the entire exchange in stunned silence--both in dismay at his sister's incivility and in admiration of her never before witnessed courage. Lady Catherine's voice was even, cold, triumphant as she spoke, her eyes steady upon her nephew's: "And you, Darcy, you stand there in silence allowing her to address her own aunt in such a brazen manner? Such insolence behind that meek facade! Is this then the exceptional example your wife has set? I must find the time to know her better. What a remarkable creature she must be to have bewitched the Darcys so completely out of any sense of propriety!"

 

In his anger Darcy quite forgot his sister's extraordinarily uncustomary forthrightness, but before either he or Lady Catherine could continue they were required for the sake of civility to attend to Miss Bingley's performance upon the pianoforte. When Miss Bingley concluded, Lady Catherine immediately rose and retired to her room with a curt 'good evening' that did nothing to conceal her displeasure, while Georgiana returned to her customary silence. Darcy, for his part, turned on his heel and exited to the terrace, leading the entire party to the obvious conclusion that some family discord had been unleashed in the quiet corner to which the three had earlier retreated. Elizabeth did her best to distract the room by insisting that Miss Bingley favor them again. While Miss Bingley had come to a grudging acceptance of Mrs. Darcy, she was not generous enough to wish to assist her former rival in her struggle to distract from the unusual display of familial dissonance. However, her vanity, to her general detriment and at this moment Elizabeth's particular advantage, was perhaps her most steady attribute, and she was pleased enough to have the room's attention returned to her own person and so quickly obliged.

 

When Darcy returned from the terrace Elizabeth could see his temper had not been ameliorated by the cool summer evening and concluded it would be best to leave her curiosity unquenched. So that when Darcy entered the master bedchamber later that evening he was greeted not by the petition for particulars he had anticipated, rather by his wife quietly pouring him a brandy.

 

"Ah, a brandy!" Darcy sighed with gratitude, sinking inelegantly into the settee as his wife handed him a generously filled glass.

 

"I should imagine it is just what you require." Kissing him on the forehead she looked upon his troubled expression before adding, "Tonight I do not wish to know what occurred between you three. In the morning there shall be time enough for the unpleasant revelation I anticipate it shall be."

 

As she sat at his side he replied simply, "Thank you."

 

Without another word, Elizabeth slipped her feet from her slippers, lifted them from the floor and tucked them beneath herself as she leaned into his open arm and rested her head upon him. Darcy took another sip of the brandy while he lazily ran his other hand up and down her arm slowly. Her summer robe left her arms nearly bare and he found a sort of hypnotic release in the repetitive motion and an unaffected pleasure in the feel of her soft skin beneath his hand. After a time Elizabeth reached for the glass and took a small sip of the warm liquid. Darcy smiled. He found it amusing and endearing that she would invariably take a few sips of his brandy while steadfastly refusing a glass of her own. Elizabeth simply found it deliciously intimate to sip the rich liquid from her husband's glass.

 

These were some of the moments they both most enjoyed of their married life together--the quiet moments, the moments of gentle intimacy when there was neither the sometimes bewildering intensity of their passion, nor the challenge of wit, nor the demands of society. They simply were--a man and a woman in harmony.

 

In due course Darcy perceived Elizabeth's breathing had grown deeper. "My love," he whispered, "do you sleep?" She made no reply and his mouth formed the smallest of smiles. Her head lay against him and her hand had slipped from his chest where it had laid and now stood atop the knot of his robe and rested against his abdomen. He covered her hand with his own and sighed with contentment as he gently pulled her closer into his embrace. "My love," he whispered again as he kissed the top of her head. "My dearest, loveliest Lizzy."

 

As he held her thus and listened to the even breathing of her sweet repose he recalled the first time she had sat thus in his embrace. It had been their second night as man and wife, after a day in which they had been filled with all the exhilaration of their new intimacy and all the joyfully awkward, embarrassed awareness of the same. In just such an embrace, sitting in the library, they had found their equilibrium and it had been thus evermore. He closed his eyes and let all his awakened indignation toward Lady Catherine and his confused disappointment in Georgiana's unusual outburst be forgotten until the morrow. He would not allow anything to enter into this sacred, innocent communion.

 

In the morning he was therefore rested and content, able to describe the prior evening's incident to Elizabeth with calmness and dispassion, able to hear her suggestions regarding Georgiana with openness and able to marvel at his wife's apparent indifference to Lady Catherine's continued acrimony with good humor.

 

"I find it remarkable, Elizabeth, that you should be so forbearing toward Lady Catherine. I should never be so generous," said he at last.

 

"Do not mistake the matter, my dear sir," she replied with a laugh. " You may be the best of men, but I have never claimed that I am the best of women. You once again mistake my character all together. It is not goodness which inspires such forbearance, it is obstinacy."

 

"Obstinacy? Pray, explain."

 

"Not two nights ago, by her mere arrival, Lady Catherine succeeded in working me into a disgraceful panic. I am determined the good lady shall never do so again. My vanity could not withstand such a blow."

 

Darcy laughed, and silently congratulated himself for having married a woman who could, with just a playful, charmingly impudent turn of a phrase, defuse even his most recalcitrant anger. So that when Georgiana entered her brother's study and found him calmly writing some correspondence, she was surprised by the even and amiable tone in which he instructed her to sit a moment while he finished his letter.

 

Nevertheless, when he had finished with his correspondence and they had begun to discuss why he had summoned her to his study, his tone was less than easy. Indeed he spoke with as much exasperation as anger, as much incredulity as indecision. In truth he had no desire to call her to account, but he knew it to be his obligation to do so.

 

"Lady Catherine is our aunt," he concluded after what could not be described as his most vigorous reprimand. "Regardless of my current differences with her, you are to treat her with respect and the deference that is her due as your mother's sister."

 

"Yes, sir." Georgiana weakly replied, her eyes downcast and her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked such a penitent child that Darcy regretted his tone; she seemed again to be the timid girl he was accustomed to fret over and not the strong--if wrong-headed--young lady he had witnessed on the prior evening. Asking her to please raise her eyes he continued in a tone of greater amiability.

 

"You must think me a hypocrite. Lecturing you on your conduct to Lady Catherine while I have been at complete odds with her?"

 

"No, sir. I never question your judgment."

 

To Georgiana's complete amazement, Darcy chuckled before retorting: "Perhaps you ought to from time to time. I am not as infallible as I once believed myself to be."

 

Her eyes grew wide with astonishment at his self-deprecation, to which he responded by holding out his hand to her. "Come," he commanded, and as she did he enfolded her in a brief, tender embrace, before continuing in a tone lacking in chastisement, and rich in camaraderie. As Georgiana listened she could not deny the delightful sensation that he was speaking to her, for the first time she was sure, as something like an equal.

 

"I do not expect you to accept such commentary from our aunt, nor such presumption. However there are more appropriate manners in which to express your disagreement. Although you understand the general cause, I have never shared with you the particulars of my argument with Lady Catherine. It seems belated and unnecessary now. I will only say that when two duties conflict a husband must always choose first his wife's honor. You had no such conflict and your behavior was uncalled for. An unrestrained expression of disagreement is a sign of neither strength nor wit."

 

"Do you wish me to apologize to my aunt?"

 

"I wish you to apologize for the manner of your address, if not for the intention. You must never apologize to any one, not even me, for defending your integrity or that of those you love." He paused, before adding softly, "Georgiana, your ordinarily timid demeanor is nothing for which you must be ashamed, but I should never have you meek. Your manner last evening notwithstanding, I am very proud of your courage. Some would have you believe it otherwise, but a woman does not cease to be a lady for possessing valor."

 

Wanting nothing more than to be deserving of his praise, she quickly replied, "I shall go to her now."

 

He smiled at her eagerness. "Not so swiftly. I did not ask you here merely to speak of Lady Catherine. For while your manner was at fault, you reminded me last night that you are no longer a girl, and you begin to know your own mind, and so I wish to put something to you for your consideration." As concern returned to Georgiana's expression, Darcy's smile widened. "I believe you shall find it a very pleasing matter."

 

Darcy then explained to Georgiana the invitation Mrs. Ashton had extended to her through Elizabeth to attend her musical evenings in Town. Darcy could not but be pleased that he had not dismissed the offer out of hand when he saw the heart felt delight that diffused over Georgiana's face. "Oh William!" she cried. "Would you truly allow me to attend?"

 

"That Mrs. Ashton should have the delicacy to approach Elizabeth first and enumerate openly what she felt might be my concerns--the attendance of performers and the like--shows she is a lady to be trusted. And as your sister reminded me, I must trust you that you might learn to trust yourself as well."

 

"You shall not be displeased that you have, dear, dear brother!"

 

"Oh yes, I am very dear now!" he remarked teasingly.

 

Georgiana laughed at his silliness with such gayety that Darcy could not be untouched. "May I go to Mrs. Ashton now and tell her you have given your permission?"

 

"You may, but only after speaking to Lady Catherine and offering your regret for your manner last evening."

 

As Darcy watched his sister depart his study he felt an enormous sense of satisfaction, sure they had made an important step away from the relation of guardian and ward and closer to the relation of brother and sister, of the true friendship they both so desired. Before returning to his remaining correspondence he walked to the window through which he saw his wife turning into the lane toward the cutting garden. Turning back to his desk he quickly assessed the correspondence that awaited his attention. "Nothing so very pressing, after all," he whispered to himself. With a small smile gracing his lips, he left his study and made his way to the cutting garden where he found his wife busily selecting fresh flowers for the parlor. Coming up behind her and overwhelmed with tenderness he wrapped his arms around her and let his hands come to rest upon her belly.

 

"You are very affectionate this morning," Elizabeth replied lovingly.

 

"What I am, my love, is a very happy man and I have you and our child to thank for that blessing."

 

Elizabeth turned into his embrace and smiled warmly. "I do not know to what I owe this outpouring of devotion, but I shall happily take it all in."

 

"Do, please," he said as he lowered his lips to her own.

 

From the upstairs picture gallery Lady Catherine watched the entire exchange. She had been in the gallery considering the unpleasant addition of a new portrait to this hallowed hall filled with pictures of all her nephew's great and noble ancestors when she observed her nephew's wife entering the garden below. As she watched her, dressed in a simple and unpretentious muslin gown, her resentment toward the object of her observation seemed reborn. She had lived for years with the gratifying conviction that Darcy would one day take on responsibility for Anne and the legacy of Rosings Park; she had been certain that once the restlessness of youth had been properly satisfied that he would have done just that, taken Anne and Rosings Park under his care, thereby fulfilling both his duty to his family and all her own ambitions. But then this upstart had appeared and bewitched him, destroying all her plans for uniting the two great estates, for ensuring the excellent management of Rosings Park and taking from her all the comfort she would have had in having for her daughter a husband that could be trusted and respected. Now she must start afresh when Anne was no longer in her first bloom and find a husband for her poor sickly child that she could trust as she had once so trusted Darcy.

 

She was no fool, no unworldly simpleton. Had she not understood, when the rumors of an engagement had first reached her, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was just the sort of young lady who could lure her nephew into a compromise and thus disrupt all her carefully laid plans? Lady Catherine could not deny that her nephew's wife had a sort of vigorous grace, a peculiarly sweet defiance and delicate wit that could entrap a vital and intelligent gentleman like Darcy. That acknowledgement was one matter, but believing her worthy to be mistress of Pemberley, sufficiently extraordinary of a lady to justify Darcy's throwing over Anne, his duty and his family--that was another matter all together.

 

As Lady Catherine watched Darcy enter the garden and embrace and kiss his wife she comprehended as well that she herself had found something in the former Miss Bennet appealing when she had so generously attended to her in Kent. Was that not why, when considering the rumors of an engagement between her nephew and Miss Bennet, she had not doubted the possibility. If not, why the rush to Longbourn to have the girl deny it, to have her promise to forsake him? If not, why that ill-fated confrontation with her nephew in Town? And with what calm surety he had rejected her petitions and denied that an implicit understanding had ever existed between himself and his cousin.

 

"Am I to understand then that I have designed Anne's entire future based upon a misapprehension?" she had cried in desperation.

 

Darcy's response had been so tranquil, and yet so forceful and impassive, that he had left his aunt without argument. "Lady Catherine, I make no claim to comprehend upon what grounds you make decisions regarding your daughter's future, nor do I care to have you elucidate them. Allow me, nevertheless, to be quite clear. I am my own master in every manner. No young lady can make any claims whatsoever upon me nor have I any claim on any young lady. That said, you may be certain, madam, that should I become engaged it shall be to the young lady of my choosing and I shall be guided by nothing but my own conscious. Do we understand one another, aunt?"

 

And there below her were the fruits of his conscious. Her nephew flirting in the garden with his own wife like some reckless, inelegant schoolboy; her own position in the family dishonored by the insolence of a heretofore biddable niece; a tradesman and his wife her companions at table; she required to suffer the ignominy of seeing her sickly daughter the object of compassion from her nephew's healthy, spirited wife.

 

As she watched the couple abandon the garden, Lady Catherine felt a tremendous rage and a tremendous powerlessness. She wanted nothing more than to force a rift between that girl with all her vigor and her infatuated nephew, to at the very least make him suffer even some small pang of regret, to make the girl understand that she had not won her place without suffering consequences for her ambition. But as they disappeared from her sight and she turned back into the room and let her eyes rest upon the just hung portrait of Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, Lady Catherine doubted not that hers was a hopeless aspiration. Had not the former Miss Bennet herself warned Lady Catherine that the world in general would have too much sense to join in any familial scorn should she marry Darcy? And it had been thus--certainly their marriage had not been celebrated, but neither had it been censured. With his vast fortune it was generally considered perfectly within the gentleman's prerogative to marry whomsoever he desired, and that he had done so only seemed to solidify his reputation as a man of independence who could not be swayed by anything but his own self interest--and only he could know where that lie. Even her brother the Earl had been little more than resigned. "It should have been quite preferable that he marry Anne, sister, but what am I to do about it now?" That had been all his commentary, before returning to his port and his cigar.

 

Lady Catherine turned away from the portrait of Elizabeth Darcy and began to make her way to the parlor. She had never felt so entirely alone.

Becoming better acquainted

 

 

Mrs. Gardiner observed her niece in silence with an unambiguous feeling of pride. She had always been particularly attached to her two eldest nieces, and while she loved them equally it was Elizabeth who most drew her fascination now. Elizabeth was still as she ever had been--lively, witty, intelligent and unaffectedly pretty--and yet Mrs. Gardiner was beginning to see in her signs of something else: a greater elegance, a more informed mind, a less defiant independence. All the wealth and privilege that had come with her new station had not altered Elizabeth's artlessness, her sensible calm or her warmth in the least, as though she almost disregarded the luxury in which she now lived; and yet she was blossoming because of the opportunities it afforded her into a woman of greater depth and worth. Mrs. Gardiner recalled with clarity how she and her husband had discovered the prior summer with something like amazement that their niece had attracted the attention of such an illustrious young man as Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. She had sensed from nearly the first that they would be an excellent pair, should they come to an ability to understand one another, and it pleased her to no measure to see that she had been entirely correct. "As per usual," her husband had laughed after they had visited Pemberley for Christmas. Yet what she saw now pleased her still more than the charming picture they had made in those first weeks of their union. During the Christmas season they had been still in the first blush of marriage, and Elizabeth was just becoming accustomed to the tasks associated with her new position. As Mrs. Gardiner sat in her niece's private parlor on this pleasant summer morning and considered her interactions with the housekeeper, the ever amiable and efficient Mrs. Reynolds, she saw with satisfaction that Elizabeth was well settled into her new role. It was with easy confidence that she finalized the plans for the evening, and Mrs. Gardiner was pleased on her behalf.

 

"I believe everything is quite in order then, Mrs. Reynolds. I shall not detain you any longer as you have a very busy day ahead. Although first, do tell me, how is Cook?" Elizabeth smiled playfully. "Has he regained his composure? He was quite put out with me when we discussed the menu."

 

Mrs. Reynolds laughed softly. "Ay, Mistress. He is settled again. It has been many years since he has been challenged to prepare such a grand dinner. I believe he simply felt a little old. But have no fear, Pemberley's staff always performs as is required in each situation."

 

"In no small part due to your excellent management." Mrs. Reynolds bowed her head in acknowledgment of the compliment. She appreciated deeply that Mrs. Darcy had not arrived at Pemberley as an overbearing mistress determined to make her mark upon her new home by changing how things had been done for so many years; instead she had respected the quality of Mrs. Reynold's work and made only minor changes to the household's functioning. That ease and lack of pretension, her warm and respectful manner toward all had done much to win the staff's loyalty, while her lively and joyful manner was enough to quickly win their affections.

 

"Thank you, madam. In truth the entire staff is excited for this evening. It has been many years since Pemberley has hosted the shire's finest families and we are anxious to do our service in such manner as to further the good name of the master, as well as your own, Mistress. Nothing shall be wanting, you can be sure."

 

"I do not doubt it. Thank you Mrs. Reynolds."

 

As Mrs. Reynold's curtsied and left the room, Elizabeth rose from her chair and turned to the window, a smile lit her face as she looked out onto the grounds. Mrs. Gardiner went to her side.

 

"And what is that smile for Lizzy?" Elizabeth made no response, merely gesturing out the window. Beyond the glass was a lush green lawn that climbed slowly to a hilltop spotted with brave old oaks, behind which could be seen the silhouette of distant peaks. "It is a beautiful prospect," Mrs. Gardiner said. "Indeed I do not believe there is anything but beautiful prospects from any window in the house."

 

Elizabeth turned to her aunt, the smile still alighting her face, and warmly embraced her. "To think, my dear Aunt, had you not brought me to Derbyshire last summer I should not have my present happiness."

 

"You are happy." It was a statement, not a question.

 

"So much so that I wonder it is real. I told you once when we were not long engaged that I was happier even then Jane. I think that is still the case. Is that dreadful of me to say? Does it seem unkind or boastful?"

 

"Not at all my dear Lizzy. Her happiness will never be mirthful, as yours is wont to be; hers is of a different kind, but no less real or precious for the variation."

 

"Mr. Darcy said something of the kind to me not to long ago. I was very upset with something I had learnt about Bingley and Jane, because it was not how we would have been. And he told me very much the same thing."

 

"I could not be more pleased for both you and Jane. You each have had the good fortune to marry well. And I do not mean by that merely that you have married men of affluence, rather men who suit you each so well. Close as you are, Jane and you are very different creatures after all. Jane is so steady in character and being that she should always have been just what she was at Longbourn regardless of where she should reside or in what circles of society she should travel--she needed a gentleman of equal kindness and sweetness of temper. But you Lizzy, you are quite different."

 

"Do not tell me that you of all people believe I married Mr. Darcy for the 'circles of society' in which I might travel?"

 

"Not at all," she laughed as she patted her niece's hand reassuringly. "While his affection has certainly been of longer duration, I am confident today yours is now of equal fervor." Elizabeth could not but blush at the intimation. "It is not that at all. Rather that I had often felt the society you could encounter at Loungbourn was far too limited for you and worried you should ever find an acceptable life partner. You should not have remained satisfied with Meryton and its environs for very much longer. You required a husband worldlier than the neighborhood could provide, a society of more variety, less confined, to allow you to become fully yourself. You undeniably love your husband, Lizzy, but you need not be ashamed that you are pleased with the society and opportunities offered you by being his wife. I am sure he would not wish it so; indeed I suspect he is proud to have that to offer you. The change has already begun, Lizzy."

 

"The change? I do not understand."

 

"In your new life I see you blossoming. You are in a fair way of becoming a very great lady, Lizzy, and for that I shall always be truly grateful to your Mr. Darcy."

 

"You are very kind to me Aunt. He has never asked me to be anything other than I am, and yet I hope one day I can become a great lady, for his sake."

 

"But it is just that my dear. By being who you are, but now exposed to so much more than Loungbourn's environs could offer, it is inevitable that you shall."

 

Elizabeth blushed anew, and responded impishly: "I do not know, but tonight I need to be a very great lady indeed. As a bachelor Mr. Darcy never chose to entertain in such a manner as we will this evening; his sister was full young to be his hostess and he himself found the notion of a young unmarried man of just three or four and twenty entertaining on such a scale peculiar. But now we are married, now that Pemberley has a mistress again he feels that Pemberley must be Pemberley again. So you see, I need to be quite grand, and I am nothing of the sort," laughed she diffidently.

 

"I will begin by saying that you need be only yourself. The same sensible, unpretentious, witty and charming girl he fell so violently in love with is I am sure all he wants from you. But what does Mr. Darcy mean by saying that Pemberley must be Pemberley again?"

 

"When Lady Anne still lived they entertained families from the shire quite regularly and lavishly. Mrs. Reynolds has told me all about these dinners and they were quite famous in the neighborhood for the generosity and elegance of the entertainment. With the exception of Mr. Darcy's own occasional party of friends from town, Pemberley has essentially been locked up since Lady Anne passed away. As you can imagine Mr. Darcy spent a good deal of his time in Town. He spent less than six months a year here, and it was not Georgiana's home as it is now. So you see Aunt, this evening is really rather more than just another dinner party."

 

"And yet you remain quite calm."

 

"Why ever not? Mrs. Reynolds is entirely the most competent housekeeper one could desire and it is near impossible for Pemberley to be anything but beautiful and elegant, so I need only look my best and be reasonably charming. As for the former, I have a lovely gown from London not yet worn and a maid who makes me twice as pretty as I actually am by fixing my hair in the most extraordinary manner. And for the latter, I do not believe anyone, excepting perhaps Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley, have any interest in seeing me fail, which makes it ever so much easier for people to find one charming!"

 

"You are optimistic, my dear! Perhaps it is the babe that gives you such courage."

 

"Perhaps."

 

"Have you told Jane you are with child?"

 

"Yes, and Georgiana as well. They are very happy. But Aunt, I have not yet felt the quickening, and yet I know it to be so."

 

"From everything you have told me I am quite sure you are not mistaken. You shall feel it soon enough my dear."

 

"Oh I do so hope it will be soon!"

 

Elizabeth beamed with joy as she spoke of her anticipation and looked undeniably lovely as a result, which only served to annoy Lady Catherine as she walked into the room. Since her arrival at Pemberley the great Lady had become tormented by a sort of determined and traitorous recognition that Mrs. Darcy, while not the most handsome of women, was in possession of a vigorous attractiveness that was undeniable and that seemed to only increase with association. Lady Catherine reluctantly marveled that even when sharing a room with the astonishing beauty of the indolent Mrs. Thorney and the angelic beauty of her own sister, Mrs. Bingley, her nephew's wife still shone. It irritated her beyond measure that while her own daughter sat passively in the corner--sickly and unnoticed unless she herself should single her out--Mrs. Darcy's effervescence of personality seemed to light the very room she entered. Such recognition did not make her admire her more; rather, envious and jealous for her daughter, it only inspired greater disapprobation.

 

Lady Catherine did not know precisely why she had seeked out her nephew's wife. She had watched them surreptitiously in the garden the day before and felt defeated, but had awoken with renewed energy. For exactly what she knew not; but here she was, standing in Mrs. Darcy's private parlor, and feeling intensely provoked by the sight of her vivacity, health and vigor.

 

"You seem quite satisfied with yourself this morning, Mrs. Darcy."

 

"Is there a reason I should not be?" she responded distrustfully.

 

"Clearly not. You have achieved your ambitions. You and your relations, that is." At which she turned upon Mrs. Gardiner a look of unmistakable dismissiveness such as she had heretofore not dared in her nephew's presence. Elizabeth seethed at the implied offense to her aunt.

 

"Lady Catherine," she admonished. "I would remind you that you are not at Rosings Park where your ill-mannered commentary must be silently endured."

 

Lady Catherine raised her eyebrow and cast a disbelieving look upon Elizabeth. "This is my nephew's house and I shall speak in it as I see fit, young lady."

 

"This is also my house and I will not tolerate such disrespect toward any guest of mine," she rejoined with force.

 

"Your home!" Lady Catherine sputtered glibly. "You are nothing but an interloper in this house and in this family."

 

Elizabeth could not restrain a dismissive laugh. "An interloper? Really, Lady Catherine, I expected a more clever attack from you than that!"

 

"I see you are as insolent as ever and have learnt no manners."

 

Elizabeth made no reply. She simply folded her hands in front of her and looked at Lady Catherine with undisguised distaste.

 

"Perhaps I should retire," Mrs. Gardiner interjected into the silence.

 

"Certainly not on my account, Aunt Gardiner. There is nothing Lady Catherine can say to me that I need be ashamed of. It is she that must be ashamed for her behavior. A guest in my home and to speak to me in such terms."

Mrs. Gardiner noted that for all Elizabeth's bravura, she was growing noticeably pale. "Nevertheless," she whispered and slipped out of the room. She immediately found a paper and pen and drafted a note. Finding the nearest footman she instructed him to immediately take it to Mr. Darcy, who was fishing at the trout stream with the gentlemen. Sir, it read, I know you shall comprehend and forgive my intrusion when I ask you to please come quickly. Lizzy requires your assistance. She is in her private parlor with Lady Catherine. Yours, M. Gardiner

 

Elizabeth was indeed feeling weak, but thought it must be her state of expectancy. She could not credit Lady Catherine's peculiarly persistent spite.

 

"Yes, I suppose you do think of it as your own house. You have certainly achieved your ambitions. But I know what you really are even if my nephew does not. You are an interloper: an upstart and a fortune hunter, a discredit to the family. That you have been successful in entrapping my nephew does not absolve you of your selfish motives."

 

"You may believe that if it gives you comfort, it is of no consequence to me. I am sure you are not alone, which should provide you some consolation, Lady Catherine. My husband knows my feelings. And in these matters, his is the only opinion I care for."

 

"I will grant you that you have succeeded in blinding him to your true self. He is indisputably and pathetically infatuated, to be sure. It takes no great observation to see that. But what of when he tires of your kisses and your allurements? What will you do then?"

 

Elizabeth replied with an inelegant snort. "If he should tire of me that is our business alone. And I fail to see your point. I should still be his wife, regardless."

 

"You stand there with great confidence, triumphantly. Certainly you have earned your triumph over me. You are, disgracefully, his wife. But do not be fooled into believing that his blind infatuation is sufficient to raise you to become the equal of his family and friends. Do not believe that you are my equal only because you have effectively enthralled him. You have not risen; sadly, he has fallen. A pillar among gentlemen he has debased himself, and for what, a girl of no consequence. Society does no more than tolerate you for his power and influence, but once he tires of you, as I know he shall, you will be ostracized as the country upstart that you are."

 

"Frankly, madam," Elizabeth finally responded in exasperation, "I know not what you think you can accomplish with your continued acrimony excepting your nephew's ceaseless disapprobation. I should think your affection for him quite outweighs your dislike of me. And truly, if you could not succeed in having me succumb to your whims when I was only Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn, you surely cannot believe that I will be troubled by your tired and illogical intimidations now that I am Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy of Pemberley! You have nothing to gain and everything to lose. Mr. Darcy has already made it quite clear with whom his loyalty lies. I am his wife and I am now carrying his child; your slights do no injury to our union.

 

Lady Catherine was silenced a moment by the revelation. It was inevitable, to be sure, and yet it displeased her to have it so. Elizabeth, for her part, had quite run the course of her patience. She spoke forcefully.

 

"I would recommended that you change your tone with me, Lady Catherine, if you care at all for continued association with your nephew. Plainly you must know that if I were to speak one word of this conversation to my husband you would be banished from Pemberley forever."

 

"You would not dare interfere in the relations between my nephew and myself!"

 

Elizabeth could not repress an ironic smile. How easily Lady Catherine had forgotten that it was just such interference that had procured her an invitation to Pemberley. "If I am everything you say I am--heartless, ambitious, greedy--why should I not dare?"

 

Lady Catherine made no reply. So that when some moments later Darcy quietly entered the room, his shoulders thrown back in all his stateliness and his mien wearing the impenetrable neutrality that had so often inspired observers to call him proud, he found the two women standing and facing each other in determined silence; Elizabeth with hands folded neatly before her, Lady Catherine with a hand upon the table at her side almost as if to steady herself. Their eyes were locked in challenge and their chins mirrored each other, thrown back in fixed defiance. Elizabeth looked, Darcy thought, as offended and indignant and formidable as she had during his infamous botched proposal at Hunsford Parsonage. As he saw her thus he wondered for a moment if Lady Catherine, upon confronting Elizabeth at Longbourn, had not been as surprised as he had been to discover that beneath her easy, light manner was a woman of such strength of will. Mrs. Gardiner had summoned him anticipating that Elizabeth required assistance against the relentlessness of his aunt's attack, but she clearly could stand her own ground. He felt his heart verily swell with admiration for Elizabeth's courage and resolve. She was no weak and helpless female, and yet could be as sweet and yielding as any man could desire; that contradiction, that amalgamation exhilarated him.

 

"Mrs. Darcy," he said calmly but demandingly as he entered the room. "Is anything amiss?"

 

Neither woman turned toward him, nor seemed surprised at his arrival.

 

"Nothing at all my dear," Elizabeth replied evenly. "Lady Catherine and I were merely becoming better acquainted one with the other. Were we not, madam?"

 

"Certainly. And I have discovered your wife is not to be underestimated." And she quit the room at an unhurried, solemn pace without another word.

 

"Elizabeth?" Darcy asked once they were alone.

 

"It is of no consequence William."

 

He came to her side and took her hands into his own. "Of no consequence? You are trembling! You will tell me what she has said!"

 

"No, I will not. For what purpose?"

 

"I will not allow her to speak to you in such a manner as to leave you thus, Elizabeth. The particulars are immaterial; she has clearly been more than uncivil to so affect you. This will not stand!"

 

"William!" she cried to no avail as he dropped her hands and hurried out of the room, his determined gait revealing his intention. Elizabeth sank into a chair and found she was indeed trembling. She was impatient for his return, for she doubted not he would return to her immediately upon confronting his aunt. She cursed the woman for her perversity. Shaking her head in dismay as she recalled that Darcy had warned her of just such behavior should Lady Catherine accept their invitation to Pemberley. Still, Elizabeth wished it could be different. Lady Catherine's ire served no purpose at all. Determined to not allow a moment more to be spent upon the great Lady's vocal disapprobation, Elizabeth rose from her chair and went in search of Mrs. Thorney who the prior evening had expressed a desire to take a long walk in the park in the morning. Knowledge of whatever words passed between nephew and aunt could wait; she would not waste such a beautiful morning indulging Lady Catherine's irrationality.

 

Darcy found his aunt in the music room making as if to listen to Georgiana and Mrs. Ashton play. Her ploy would not serve her, however, and he curtly requested that they leave him alone with his aunt. Closing the door behind them he took a deep breath before turning to face Lady Catherine. She was little pleased with the unhidden indignation that sat upon his mien, but she would not be castigated as a child, and so began herself.

 

"Has your wife sent you? I should have thought her more resilient than that."

 

"She has not sent me, but it takes no great discernment to know you have been arguing and I have every faith that the injured party was my wife."

 

"She the injured party? Why I have never encountered such insolence as I have at her hands. Really, Darcy, what sentiments could have induced you on to this matrimony?"

 

"My sentiments are not of your concern; my sentiments concern only myself and my wife."

 

"Such an insolent, head-strong girl! I have never been spoken to in such an impertinent manner by any other person!"

 

"If she utilized strong language with you I am sure you must have provoked it, for she is everything civil and well-mannered. But she is nobody's fool to acquiesce to insult from you or any one else, and in her own home no less. There is nothing to discuss. I have but a few words for you and I would have you hear me well Lady Catherine: she is my wife and I will not allow you to speak to her with anything but respect and consideration."

 

"Yes, now you are concerned with formalities and duties and respectability. But you did not care for such things when she ensnared you with her arts and allurements; you did not care for such things when your cousin Anne's future was at stake."

 

"Enough!" he roared before she could continue. "My forbearance is spent. This ridiculous charade will not continue. You will treat my wife as is her due or you will not remain under her roof! Be forewarned that I shall not bend to Mrs. Darcy's will in regards to a reconciliation again. If you leave because you cannot see fit to treat my wife as you should then there will be no further attempts at reconciliation. The choice is yours."

 

He thought he saw her wince as she turned her back upon him and he made as if to depart the room, but then hesitated a moment. Had he learned nothing, he wondered, about the uselessness of implacable resentment? Had not Elizabeth told him that she did not require an estrangement to feel her honor defended? Could he not find a manner in which to bring her 'round to acceptance? He thought there must be another way. She was after all his mother's only sister, one of the few living links he had back to that vague beloved figure of his boyhood. Could he not be magnanimous for the sake of his mother's memory? Elizabeth would not resent if he offered his aunt a sort of amnesty; indeed she would commend him for the same. Lady Catherine was as different as could be from what his mother had been, but still, they had been devoted sisters. He looked upon her tall figure, and something about the increased slope of her shoulder that bespoke fatigue and loneliness stirred his compassion. He approached her and spoke in a gentle tone Lady Catherine was not accustomed to hearing.

 

"Lady Catherine," said he. "Aunt."

 

She turned to him and could not deny that her heart softened at the tender expression thereupon. Had he ever looked upon her thus, she wondered? He took her hand into his own and was more than a little moved to feel it tremble. He spoke softly, gently, but with conviction.

 

"Aunt, you must know that I would have never made Anne my wife. It was what you wished for, and perhaps it is true that my mother also wished it so. I cannot vouchsafe. Yet it could not be. Anne, poor girl, had neither the desire nor the constitution to be Mistress of Pemberley. And I never wished her so; she was not the woman for me. But I can be a brother to her; I can give you my word that she shall have from me always the loyalty and counsel of a brother. You can trust me, Aunt, to ensure she is never unprotected. Let us not go on in such an acrimonious manner. Tonight for the first time since my mother lived Pemberley will open its doors to its Derbyshire neighbors, and I should regret to not find you at table. If you will but allow yourself, you shall see that my wife does honor to the Darcy name. I ask you, Aunt, do not go on blaming her. It was in my power alone to satisfy your wish--for it was your wish, not mine, not Anne's. It was my choice to disappoint your hopes, not my wife's. And I should have disappointed those hopes even had I never met Elizabeth. You know I speak the truth. If my wife is pleased to forgive, why should not you and I do the same? We are family. Let us forgive the past and let us reconcile."

 

Darcy searched his aunt's countenance, but found it unreadable. Her eyes were steady upon his face, but she revealed nothing. He sighed and squeezed her hand. "Think upon what I have said, Lady Catherine." Without another word, he bowed and left her.

 

The Mistress of Pemberley

 

 

Elizabeth walked into the dinning room, stopped at the head of the table, and silently considered the luxury and elegance that lay before her. The crystal stemware was lined down the expanse of the table in perfect symmetry; the Spanish linens were luminous from the finely woven silken threads therein; the silver reflected the delicate hue of the fragrant flowers that were dispersed up and down the table's center as clearly as a still pond reflects a crisp blue sky. Everything was laid to perfection. A more refined and sumptuous room could not be imagined, and yet for all the finery, the room was free of ostentation. She sighed, cocked her head to the side and bit her lower lip.

 

Darcy, who stood beside her, wondered how it was possible for a woman to look as alluring as she did this evening--in her delicate and becoming golden silk gown--yet simultaneously so innocently adorable. He concluded it was just another of her charming contradictions and thought it better to determine what was amiss seeing as her lower lip remained captured within the grip of her perfectly white teeth.

"What is it, my love?" he inquired.

 

She replied without looking at him. "That is a very long and very elegant table."

 

He did not at first understand the import of her comment, but as he followed her gaze down the luxurious expanse of their table it occurred to him that it would not be particularly remarkable should she be feeling somewhat anxious. While they had certainly entertained with regularity both at Pemberley and in London since they wed, they had never entertained to such a scale before--neither in quantity of guests nor with such ceremony. Some of the families that were to dine at Pemberley this evening had in fact already been entertained by the Darcys, or had entertained the young couple themselves, but those evenings were far more familiar in nature, far less formal. When he had remarked to Elizabeth that 'Pemberley must be Pemberley again' he had spoken half in jest. But only half, and she had understood what import this evening held both for him and for them. Indeed it was almost late in coming, but he had been reticent before now and she had been perhaps even more so. Pemberley was to reopen its doors to the neighborhood for the first time in many years, and they were to visibly take the place within Derbyshire society long reserved for the master and mistress of Pemberley. He found it endearing that she might need reassurance.

 

"Yes," he replied at last. "It is a very long and very elegant table, and you shall preside over it with your customary élan, making it a very charming table as well."

 

She turned her face to his, a less than fully confident expression upon her mien. "I do hope that is true. I would not wish to be a disappointment. Will you think less of me if I confess I am rather intimidated by this evening."

 

"Intimidated?" he inquired, as he smiled broadly. "Then how fortunate that your courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate you."

 

Elizabeth laughed happily at the recollection. It was of immense, if unspoken, gratification to them both that they had begun to learn to look upon some of the more painful moments of their past misunderstandings with humor and something like levity. "Is there nothing you forget, sir?"

 

"Not as regards my precious wife," he replied evenly, glad to see her not so very intimidated as she had imagined herself.

 

"Very pretty, Mr. Darcy."

 

"Yes, very pretty," replied he as he lifted her chin and inclined himself toward her pouting lips. He hesitated a moment, adding, "and this evening more so than ever," before his lips fell tenderly if briefly upon hers.

 

"Shall we, Mrs. Darcy?" he inquired. She placed her hand upon his offered arm and they made to the entrance hall to welcome their guests.

 

Not until the fish course was complete and the game course half consumed did Darcy have another moment for reflection. He was pleased when the attention of each of his dinner companions' was turned away from him that he might observe the table in silence. He could not be more satisfied with the progression of the evening. He was particularly contented with the adroitness of his wife's seating arrangements. Bingley really was the only person who could coax words from the diffident Miss Church, and even the cantankerous Mr. Lydgate could not resist the soothing effects of Jane's sweet countenance, although she did look at the moment somewhat alarmed by whatever accounting he was presently giving. Dr. Gibson, fine doctor that he may be, was about as tolerant of silliness as his singular father-in-law, so to accompany him on either side with Mrs. Gardiner and Georgiana had been kind. It had been quite amusing of her to place the impressionable and vain son of Squire Hale, just one year at university, next to the ever surprising and striking Mrs. Thorney; the boy would undoubtedly boast to his university mates about the eccentric beauty he had been called upon to entertain and they would think him a worldly fellow for such a conquest, for as such he would surely present his innocent and meaningless dinner conversation. Likewise amusing was her determination to procure Miss Bingley every opportunity to become Lady Caroline. I feel obligated! Elizabeth had playfully asserted to him earlier. After all, I have deprived her of Pemberley and though Blackfall Manor may be only half its size, the Manor has the advantage of a title. He has not yet declared himself, I am sure, and he departs on the morrow, so I must provide her every opportunity to further her aims. Can you imagine how delightfully conceited she would be? I absolutely must seat them together. Miss Bingley was in no manner squandering the opportunity her former rival had provided and was being as solicitous to Sir Patrick as she had ever been known to be toward Darcy. He trusted Sir Patrick knew what he was about. Leaving them to their flirtation, his eyes swept the table pleased with the easy flow of conversation throughout.

 

The one exception was his aunt, Lady Catherine. That she had joined the party did not necessarily indicate that she had given any consideration to his words earlier in the day. Indeed he could not determine the significance of her uncharacteristic comportment for she sat at his side stoically mute, never speaking unless spoken too, and with her imposing person and less than welcoming countenance she gave an air of decided pomposity and arrogance. He almost laughed at the awareness that he must have appeared just as disagreeable and surly to Elizabeth in those first days and weeks in Hertfordshire when his own silent demeanor was certainly no different than his aunt's was at this moment.

 

Darcy did not care to contemplate his aunt's intentions, and let his eyes continue down the table to settle on the very pleasant sight of his wife as she conversed with Squire Hale. The Squire was a good-natured man of advanced years who had married late and found himself a widower shortly thereafter upon the birth of his son, the tragedy of his rapid widowhood having no discernable impact on his jovial nature. A gentleman strongly inclined toward the congenial, he had quickly taken a liking to the lively Mrs. Darcy upon first making her acquaintance during the Christmas season, finding her a delightful addition to the neighborhood. Across the din and hum of conversations and silver upon china that ran up and down the course of the well populated table Darcy could not hear Elizabeth's voice with any clarity, but he could watch her in all her loveliness. At that moment her countenance was alight with amusement as she listened attentively to the squire's talk.

 

Darcy was sure he had never seen Elizabeth so lovely as this evening, and perhaps he could have credited the becoming golden hued gown, or the delightful arrangement of her abundant hair softly adorned with a delicate diamond studded comb, or perhaps her state of expectancy, that gave to her face a particular quality of serenity and to her complexion an appealing rosy blush, but he knew it was none of that. There was something distinctly new in her manner that he could not precisely define and would surely be noticeable only to one who had observed her as untiringly as had he since very early on in their acquaintance. It was almost as though she was exhibiting a new dominion over what she had hitherto considered as only his property; he fancied she felt herself at last, in every respect, the Mistress of Pemberley. He was overcome with a sense of glorious pride. This remarkable, matchless woman was his: his wife, his companion, his lover. Unknowingly he sighed deeply with a feeling of profound satisfaction.

 

"She is lovely, Mr. Darcy" came a voice into his reverie.

 

Turning to his dinner companion, a genial looking woman of some fifty years with an air of restrained nobility, he replied quietly. "I beg your pardon, Mrs. Chesterton?"

 

"Your wife, she is very lovely."

 

Realizing he had been so entranced in watching his wife he had not only quite impolitely ignored his dinner companions, but probably appeared as much the fool in love as Bingley ever had been wont to do, he looked down and made as if to wipe his mouth with his napkin to disguise his embarrassment. "Was I distracted very long?" he asked at last, sheepishly.

 

The sight of the perpetually dignified Mr. Darcy blushing delighted Mrs. Chesterton. She responded in a tone rich with affability. "Do not be concerned, Mr. Darcy, you were not so very obvious nor so very long distracted. Just sufficient enough as to be quite charming to someone who has known you since you were a boy." He inclined his head silently.

 

"May I be unforgivably impertinent?" she continued.

 

"Mrs. Chesterton, you were my mother's friend and as I recall, particularly kind to her when she was ill. I cannot imagine anything you could say to me would be unforgivably impertinent."

 

"Well then, I shall tell you what I have been longing to say since I first made the acquaintance of your wife."

 

"Pray, what would that be?"

 

She spoke in a soft voice that required Darcy to lean closely toward her. "Lady Anne would have approved. She would have liked her very much. "

 

Darcy felt his heart rush with pleasure and gratitude at the words of his mother's old friend. He lifted his eyes to his wife again. She was reaching for her glass and caught his eye; she merely raised an eyebrow in recognition and returned her attention to her companions. "Thank you," he said. "You are kind to say so."

 

"It is no kindness, Mr. Darcy. When she was in her last illness she often spoke of what should become of you and Miss Darcy. I am sure she would be pleased."

 

Darcy suddenly felt his sentiments far too exposed and the conversation taking an awkwardly intimate course. Rather brusquely he changed the subject to the anticipated return of her son, Lieutenant Chesterton, from his current naval assignment. "Mrs. Darcy and I should be glad to have you all to dine at Pemberley when he is settled. I know my wife would find great pleasure in hearing of his experiences on the peninsula."

 

"I am sure it should be our honor, sir," she replied and, much as Darcy had desired, proceeded to speak freely and with undisguised affection of her preferred child.

 

He could not have imagined what effect this kindly lady's inclination toward his wife, coupled with the artlessness and candor of her character, would have later in the evening when she approached Lady Catherine. The ladies had all retired to the drawing room and Mrs. Chesterton came to Lady Catherine's side with a warm and affable smile upon her lips.

 

"Lady Catherine, I did not have an opportunity to greet you properly earlier this evening. What a pleasure to see you again. It has been many years since I have had the honor of being in your company."

 

"Indeed Mrs. Chesterton, since Lady Anne passed I am sure. Pray, sit a moment at my side and tell me how you have been. And your children? There were four if I remember correctly."

 

They exchanged predictable civilities for a time until, recalling her old friend with sentimental affection, Mrs. Chesterton spoke to Lady Catherine with more familiarity than had perhaps been her custom when the daunting Lady had visited her sister in Derbyshire. "Pemberley has been very quiet for far too many years. Lady Anne would have been delighted to see it so full of Derbyshire society again."

 

"Perhaps," Lady Catherine replied with a hint of displeasure. She did not like anyone, even an old friend, presuming to speak for what her sister would or would not have enjoyed. "My sister was of a very quiet and docile disposition, but she took great pride in opening Pemberley to the neighborhood."

 

"I am certain she would have enjoyed this evening very much. Mrs. Darcy is all that is charming. You must be very pleased with your nephew's choice of a wife, Lady Catherine," Mrs. Chesterton remarked guilelessly.

Displaying more restraint than she was known for, she replied flatly: "And why should I be very pleased?"

 

Lady Catherine was, in point of fact, particularly interested in hearing Mrs. Chesterton's opinion on her nephew's wife. The Chesterton family was as old as the Darcy family and as well established in Derbyshire; although not nearly as wealthy or as influential, they were highly regarded and their good opinion was amongst the most valued in the neighborhood. For her part, Mrs. Chesterton was a bit surprised by the question. The old friendship had in fact not been one of equally shared confidences, and she had never been privy to any knowledge of the great alliance purportedly planned between the sisters. Furthermore, she kept very much to her own circle of Derbyshire intimates and so was not aware of the whispered knowledge about London that Darcy and his aunt were at odds due to his marriage.

 

"She is such a delightful and intelligent young woman, Lady Catherine. Very much her own person, to be sure, but charming and warm. The neighborhood has an entirely new level of regard for Pemberley thanks to her."

 

"I cannot possibly imagine your meaning! Neither Pemberley nor the Darcy family could ever be found wanting in that regard, Mrs. Chesterton. Respect could not be more fully given than has long been given to Pemberley and its masters," Lady Catherine replied indignantly.

 

"Certainly you misapprehend me, madam. I do not wish to imply that Pemberley was lacking in any respect from the neighborhood. The entire county owes so much of its prosperity to Pemberley that it could not be otherwise. And of course Mr. Darcy is a good and generous gentleman of outstanding character. But I will not scruple to maintain that Mrs. Darcy has inspired a kind of warm personal regard that has not been seen since the days of Lady Anne. Why, I believe half the county is mad in love with Mrs. Darcy."

 

Lady Catherine sighed with annoyance, inquiring sarcastically, "Only half the county?"

 

Mrs. Chesterton laughed pleasantly. "Well, there are some mothers and single young ladies who have still not resigned themselves to the disappointment that Mr. Darcy has wed. He was after all so very sought after, regardless of the complete absence of interest he showed in any of the local girls. Which is why I am certain that some resentment would exist regardless of his bride. But those who had no such ambitions could not be happier. After all, an estate as large as Pemberley has such an impact on so many people's lives that something as personal as who Mr. Darcy married of course seemed as though it could have an impact on many. In truth, many feared he would marry a woman of fashion who cared nothing for the well-being of the neighborhood and would want to be always in Town. Mrs. Darcy has not closeted herself away here at Pemberley, madam, but has taken the time to be among her neighbors; you need only attend a Sunday service to see how she is regarded. To find Mrs. Darcy not only so witty and lively, but also so genuinely respectful and caring of all the people in the neighborhood, well it was very pleasing and only served to increase the admiration for Mr. Darcy himself, that he would take as a wife such a fine, unassuming young lady."

 

An inelegant Humph was Lady Catherine's only response.

 

Mrs. Chesterton, for her part, had the good sense to understand Lady Catherine was not entirely pleased with the conversation and wished it over. Suspecting she had breached the Lady's understanding of decorum and that she had been too familiar with her old friend's sister, she excused herself and joined a conversation a few local ladies were conducting regarding the new, unmarried clergyman who would soon arrive at Lambton Parsonage.

 

Mrs. Chesterton's words surprised Lady Catherine, indeed distressed her deeply. This was a woman who had been on comparatively friendly terms with her sister, a lady from an old and respected Derbyshire family. What could she mean by such praise? What had her nephew said to her earlier in the day in that strange almost plaintive plea: If you will but allow yourself, you shall see that my wife does honor to the Darcy name. Moved anew by the remembrance of the unusual tenderness with which he had spoken to her, Lady Catherine turned to Mrs. Darcy and observed her nephew's wife for the first time with something like objectivity.

 

Mrs. Darcy did move through the room with ease and grace, attending her many guests with warm, gracious smiles, and delicate gestures. She was attentive to all, without being overly solicitous to any. She had a perpetual air of independence about her--had possessed it even back in Kent--which lent her a certain dignity. And yet her very unaffectedness wrangled Lady Catherine thoroughly--for it seemed only to confirm that the entire situation agitated her not in the slightest; the girl clearly had no diffidence, no sense of her inferiority. Lady Catherine thought her insufficiently impressed with the life she had obtained by snatching Darcy from her own daughter's grasp.

 

At the thought of Anne, she turned her observation on her and as her eyes set upon the figure sitting almost alone in a corner--if not for the compassionate attentions from, of all people, Mrs. Gardiner--Lady Catherine's mother's heart, her Fitzwilliam and de Bourgh superciliousness, suffered the keen sting of disappointment. How could she credit that the pale, insipid little creature that was her daughter, barely able to maintain a civil conversation as she was, could have ever provided Darcy and Pemberley with what was required? Lady Catherine felt the bitterness of truth roil in her stomach as she acknowledged that her own daughter would have never been capable of presiding over this large and motley party with the artless poise Mrs. Darcy had projected from the first guest's arrival. Indeed had she not imagined that she herself would have served as Darcy's hostess, not her daughter? For the first time, Lady Catherine wondered if her sickly daughter could have even produced an heir; while this fresh country upstart would likely provide him a menagerie of children as healthy and vigorous as she. A slow consciousness began to overtake her that perhaps her nephew had been right to reject Anne as mistress of Pemberley, and in that consciousness was awakened a new admiration toward her nephew--a pride that he was man enough to put his own interests above his aunt's womanly fancy--and an intense, tender pity toward her daughter. He had said it plainly: Anne would have never been his wife. Surely, Anne would never marry at all--and Lady Catherine began to see perhaps it was all for the better--for when she passed from this world Anne would be under Darcy's supervision. He had explicitly offered Anne his protection and this gave Lady Catherine at last a kind of peace and satisfaction.

 

She turned her attention back to Mrs. Darcy. At that moment she was sweetly cosseting an elderly gentlewoman that Lady Catherine vaguely recalled from when her sister still lived--from a respectable but modest family, she thought. She was a thin and frail looking creature, but she was looking upon Mrs. Darcy with bright eyes and an expression of such frank approbation that Lady Catherine could only conclude that Mrs. Chesterton had not been exaggerating the girl's success after all.

 

But no, it would not do! She could not be reconciled! For all Mrs. Darcy's charms of person she was still nothing, nobody, a girl of no consequence at all. Who was her mother; her aunts and uncles? Niece to a tradesman and that very tradesman sharing tonight's feast as though he were on equal footing with all present, including herself. Darcy, having not taken Anne for his wife, should have taken a girl of fortune, of connections and title to raise still further the prestige of the Darcy name. Lady Catherine had long looked upon her nephew as a sort of paradigm of all a gentleman ought to be: wealthy, connected, honorable, dutiful, handsome, and distinguished. He could have had even a Duke's daughter and this nothing bewitched him into a fool's union of which Lady Catherine would have never thought him capable. She could not reconcile herself to this marriage: she would resent this headstrong, insolent girl; she would despise her. Vigorous and charming and lovely as she evidently could be, she was still of no family and no import in the world. She had brought nothing to the marriage; she offered her nephew no discernable advantages. To Lady Catherine she would ever be nothing, nothing but her nephew's one momentous failure. She could not but despise the girl for bringing him so low.

 

And yet, had she brought him low? For shortly thereafter, as she watched Darcy enter the room with all the gentlemen in tow her heart verily swelled with pride to see him so much the better of his neighbors: tall, elegant, refined, imposing, they all looked common in his wake. In truth, she had wanted him for a son for her own self as much as she had wanted him for a husband to Anne; she could not lose him as a nephew too. This quarrel had indeed been painful to the lady and Easter without his presence at Rosings had been bitter. She had missed him and knew the feeling had not been reciprocal. In his blind infatuation with the girl's rosy cheeks and impertinent expressions, all else withered in consequence. What had the girl said to her that very morning in her confident, defiant tones: I know not what you think you can accomplish with your continued acrimony excepting your nephew's ceaseless disapprobation…You have nothing to gain and everything to lose.

 

Darcy crossed the room to his wife and kissed her hand gallantly, a look of warmth and contentment suffusing his mien. As quickly as he had kissed her hand he had released it and each had turned their attentions upon one of their guests. Lady Catherine was struck by that simple, unremarkable gesture, the forthright and graceful manner in which it was offered and received amidst a room full of guests--a gesture neither concealed from observation nor performed for effect. Something about its unadorned honesty clarified her prejudices and Lady Catherine at last understood this was no mere infatuation that would run its course and leave Darcy regretful of his actions. He loved the girl, and perhaps, just perhaps, she loved him as well. It was as simple and as dreadful as that.

 

She felt defeated and wished for nothing but to leave the room and retire to the solitude, but she could not. To discomfit Mrs. Darcy with a curt removal from the room as she had the other evening in front of a few London friends was one thing, but to do the same to her own nephew in front of all Derbyshire's finest families was unthinkable. The choice, he had said, was hers. There could be no half measures as she had so foolishly imagined when she had first arrived at Pemberley. She comprehended fully now what the choice entailed: respect their union or be lost to her nephew forever.

 

In that instant she made her choice. She chose affection for him--fallen idol that he would forever be now--over her abhorrence of her, over her fixed disapprobation of their marriage.

 

A decision once made, Lady Catherine was not one to foster delay. If the unpleasant business must be done, let it be done with. She cleared her throat, raised herself to her full stature and walked to where Mrs. Darcy and Georgiana were pouring the tea and coffee. Her stateliness and imposing carriage--so much like her nephew's as it was--ensured her actions did not go unnoticed. Her hands folded in front of her, she began to speak without preamble in her customarily authoritative and overbearing manner: "Mrs. Darcy, what a lovely evening we have had thus far. Not since Lady Anne lived has Pemberley seen such elegance and graciousness of entertainment. I hope my niece will find enough courage to perform for us this evening. You have certainly never lacked for courage, perhaps in that she might take a lesson from you. I recall you performed quite charmingly when you were last dining at Rosings, Mrs. Darcy."

 

Darcy and Elizabeth were fixed in astonishment at her unexpected soliloquy. Her tone had been supercilious, even cold, but her intention was unmistakable. Whatever her private sentiments remained, she had acquiesced and they would no longer suffer her insult.

 

Elizabeth reacted first, and responded to Lady Catherine in her warmest tones. She was not ignorant of the great forfeiture of pride Lady Catherine had made in order to make even such a coldly civil remark. However duplicitous was the ostensible compliment to her courage, she would be gracious, for her husband's sake. "I am pleased you are enjoying yourself, Lady Catherine. I shall always be grateful for your approbation."

 

As Lady Catherine took the cup of tea Elizabeth handed her, she could not determine if the girl had spoken with humility or mockery. She possessed such a peculiar combination of archness and sweetness in her expression as to quite belie understanding. Lady Catherine was momentarily diverted by one thought: she had been correct that morning when she had proclaimed to her nephew that the girl was not to be underestimated.

 

Lady Catherine returned to her seat and as she lifted her teacup looked to her nephew. Darcy merely bowed his head slightly toward his aunt in acknowledgment of her resolution, a gesture she returned. After all the heated words that had been exchanged between them, after so much acrimony, it was all that was required, and both were satisfied. The subject of his marriage was closed.

 

Flight of Whimsy

 

 

As Elizabeth made to rise from bed she felt her husband firmly grasp her wrist to halt her movement.

 

"Where do you think you are going, wife?"

 

She turned to look upon him. His arm was raised just enough to hold her wrist, but he lay deep in the comforts of his bed. His eyes remained closed. The morning stubble upon his chin disguised the firm set of his jaw line and his hair was all a tussle from sleep. The subdued airiness and intimate ease of the man who lay at her side was starkly incongruous with the fastidious, upright gentleman the world saw in their drawing rooms; the sight of him thus rising from sleep to wakefulness never failed to stir Elizabeth's heart. She reached out with her unbound hand and pushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

 

"We have a guest departing this morning. I am rising to attend him." She replied evenly, suppressing her laughter as he shook his head in answer and grinned boyishly, his eyes still closed.

 

"Sir Patrick is perfectly capable of drinking his coffee unaccompanied and I have every confidence he would take no offense in so doing." He opened his eyes now and looked straight into her own, as though he had known her gaze had been tenderly upon him. When he spoke again his tone was playfully resolute. "You cannot possibly imagine that I am at all prepared to let you rise from this bed so quickly, today of all days."

 

"Fitzwilliam," she began to protest, but he pulled her toward him and as she fell gently upon him he wrapped her into his embrace.

 

"This is so much better, love. Stay."

 

Elizabeth made no more attempt at protest, she simply laid her head upon his chest and closed her eyes. She adored how he smelled—of citrus and bergamot oil—and relished the coolness of his skin. She happily relented to his soft ministrations and enjoyed the sensation of his fingers twisting and turning within her abundant mane of hair, now and again lightly caressing the nape of her neck.

 

"Do you know what today is?" inquired he after a moment of enchanting stillness.

 

Her head still lay upon his chest, so that he could not see the cheeky little smile that graced her lips before she rejoined flatly: "Tuesday."

 

"My teasing little minx!" responded he with a chuckle, and she delighted in how the sound of his amusement resonated from deep within his chest and echoed into her ear.

 

Lifting her head, she looked at him in silence for a brief moment before responding. The soft suffusion of contentment upon his mien gave to his features a becoming unreserved affability not generally common to him. "You have assured me in the past, dear husband, that you are quite pleased to find me generally unsentimental, but even I am not so unsentimental as to forget."

 

"You of course recall that I was forced to confess that I have a surprise for you to mark the occasion."

 

"I thought your convincing the Gardiners to not forgo their visit was my surprise."

 

"No. I simply thought it right they should be here." He paused for a moment and gazed at her. She had such a fresh, softness about her in the mornings, and a wonderfully delicate blush to her complexion that he found particularly appealing. And her eyes—those bewitching eyes with their remarkable expressiveness—her eyes were always brilliant with the expectations of the day. "I have a gift. A unique gift. I am quite sure it will be very much to your liking."

 

Elizabeth sat up playfully and held out her hands, palms upward and fingers outstretched; opening her eyes wide and lifting her eyebrows expectantly she murmured not a word, but her anticipation was apparent. Darcy laughed and swatted away her outstretched hands. "It does not come in a box, dearest. It cannot be wrapped."

 

"Oh!" He said nothing to her exclamation, an expression of amusement settling upon his features. Elizabeth saw he was reticent: "Well then?" she inquired with such adorable petulance that Darcy laughed again with unmitigated delight.

 

"Such spoilt behavior I should have never anticipated from you. I never thought my sensible little wife could be so covetous. I will not divulge my secret. I will make you wait, for you shall most certainly never guess. I am in possession of some imagination, after all, even of some dangerously romantic notions, it would seem."

 

Elizabeth expressed her incredulity at such an avowal with such sweetness that Darcy was compelled to reflect that she was particularly endearing this morning. "I thought it needed to be something quite memorable," he continued. "I can gift you with a book or jewels or trinkets whenever I so desire. I wanted something as delightfully surprising as finding you so very unexpectedly standing on my lawn exactly one year ago today. When you see what I have done I hope you shall not think me gone mad. It is, I am afraid, rather a bit of a flight of whimsy."

 

"Now I am all curiosity."

 

"By nightfall you shall see to what extents I have gone to please you, my love, and I should not be at all astonished should you think me an extravagant fool."

 

"Think you a fool? Oh, Fitzwilliam, my dearest husband!" She replied with an unexpected seriousness that took them both by surprise. Elizabeth took his face into her hands and softly kissed his lips before speaking again in the delicate, purring tones she generally reserved for their most intimate embraces. "You love me in every manner a man can love a woman. You think always of pleasing me and indulging me. I would be the fool if I did not see that and treasure that, whatever foolery you may have in store for me."

 

He smiled so beautifully at her words and his eyes shown with such devotion that she was moved to abandon her habitual teasing manner and to speak words of more consequence.

 

"I do not believe that you can rightly comprehend what it is for someone like me to have the privilege of love. Young ladies with no prospects, no fortunes, no connections, as I was when you came upon me in Hertfordshire, we are taught that in life we should expect nothing, that we should accept whatever security we are offered, no matter how distasteful or how repugnant to our sense of self. I could never bear that. I rebelled against such subjugation."

 

"As when I first went to you?"

 

"Yes," she replied with honesty, as she tenderly pushed a lock of hair from his forehead that had insistently returned to its prior position after her earlier similar ministration. "So, is it not paradoxical that I have been rewarded for my obstinate disobedience precisely with you?"

 

"Indeed, if it be a reward." He replied, Elizabeth thought, with too much grave humility. There were moments when he seemed, even now after so many months of the beautiful communion of marriage, almost incredulous of her regard. She wondered if perhaps the very impertinence of manner which she knew him to adore was not the cause. She thought this an opportune moment for soothing assurance.

 

"I do not speak my feelings as often as you do, Fitzwilliam. I am always impertinent and teasing. So much so that at times I even fear that you may not apprehend how very much I love you. I know from too close observation what daily punishment it is when a man and a woman who cannot respect and love one another wed. Although I had long ago promised myself I would not marry a man I could not respect, I could not love, in truth, I never imagined that a husband could be all that you are to me. I never dreamt that my love for you could so completely fill my heart. How was I to know that between a husband and his wife could exist feelings so much more exhilarating, so much more moving than just a sympathetic caring? Perhaps I was simply more innocent than I thought myself, but truly, I never imagined that my every sense could be so alive to you, to the pleasure of your touch, to your smell, to your taste, to your very presence. Sometimes when I look at you I am overwhelmed by emotions of such frightful power, of such ardent passion and such sweet tenderness. Yet I have never felt so protected as when I am in your embrace and I have never longed to care for someone as I long to care for you."

 

"My Lizzy," was all the reply he made. He lifted his head from the pillow and placed the tenderest of kisses upon her lips and let his head sink again into the soft down. Closing his eyes, he pulled her closer into his embrace. His only desire was to chastely hold her and lay with her, to indulge in what she had just so aptly called the privilege of love. And they did just that, laying together in harmonious silence until the world could no longer be civilly ignored.

 

When they entered the breakfast room some time later they found that Sir Patrick was not alone as anticipated, but he was being carefully attended to by Miss Bingley. Sir Patrick did not know whether to be pleased or displeased with her arts—for only Mrs. Thorney was apt to arrive at breakfast later than Miss Bingley, and Sir Patrick's departure was scheduled for particularly early in the morning. On the one hand, he could admire such an open declaration of her ambitions since her unembarrassed ambition was what he most liked about her; but then, it might also display less independence than he would have hoped for. If he should take a wife, he did not want a lady who would be always at his side. So disconcerted was he by her unexpected solicitousness, that he insisted on making his departure from the ladies there in the breakfast room and allowed only Darcy to accompany him to his carriage.

 

"I suppose she's made it quite clear I can proceed should I wish to," Sir Patrick remarked as he stood in front of his carriage.

 

"So it would seem," was Darcy's succinct response.

 

"You were correct, she is a difficult creature to fully understand. How should I proceed?"

 

"You ask me? I am no matchmaker!"

 

"Twenty thousand pounds is no small fortune. A gentleman dedicated to politics can never ignore fortune."

 

Darcy looked at his friend for a moment before responding. Not so very long ago he himself had held similarly unfeeling notions regarding what a gentleman ought to desire from a marriage. Still under the powerful influence of the morning's tender interlude with his wife, he surprised himself a little by offering his friend a frank reflection. "There are more pleasing comforts to be had from a wife than a fortune and I should imagine marriage a very disagreeable business if that is the greatest source of comfort you are to find. Will you find in her an agreeable companion, a trusted confidant?"

 

"A companion?" Sir Patrick shrugged his shoulders. "I find her quite amusing. She is indisputably a terrible snob and a gossip and yet I find her amusing. As for the rest, I am not really sure that I ever thought my wife would be my confidant. But now that you suggest it, I suppose it would be rather satisfying to find it so."

 

Recalling how miserably his service to Bingley had gone wrong when he had offered marital advice in the past, Darcy thought better than to pursue this topic with much dedication, but Elizabeth's earlier words about a young lady's expectations disquieted his conscious. He was keenly alive for perhaps the first time to the pitiable image of sweet, loyal Jane having been left to the misery of disappointed hopes for so many long months as Bingley's negligence gave rise to the understanding that his marked attentions had been no more than a flight of fancy. Miss Bingley's fortune gave her seemingly more possibilities, but it made her no less vulnerable to caprice. He unhappily considered that soon his own darling Georgiana would, inevitably, be discussed in the same calculating, unfeeling fashion. A man who had spent the better part of the last ten years resentful of every unmarried lady's attempt to win his attentions, Darcy felt, as he surely never had before, compassion for their lot.

 

"I am not inclined to offer direction to any gentleman on such a private decision as who they should or should not offer to. That sort of counsel is always impertinent and ill-advised. But do consider for a moment that gentlemen are given the luxury in society of action, and the relative honor of that action is entirely up to each gentleman's whim. Young, unmarried ladies are meant to passively wait. They are given little more then the choice of a reply, and sometimes not even that. Whatever you do is your concern alone, but for her sake go about it honestly and forthrightly."

 

"Fear not Darcy. I know Miss Bingley is now connected to you through your wife and your friend. Do not be concerned. Here at Pemberley we have been thrown together by chance, but I do understand what it would imply should I seek her out in London. If I call upon her it shall not be merely to entertain some empty vanity. Frankly, I am far too occupied for purposeless coquetry. You know my word is good. I will not play with her sentiments or her expectations. I will not use her ill."

 

"I know you to be a man of honor, of the greatest integrity. Forgive me if my commentary seemed to imply otherwise."

 

"I am not offended. You have merely reminded me that marriage is a serious business not to be entered into lightly, and I will act accordingly. Now, enough on such sentimental womanly topics, it shall not do at all. Do thank Mrs. Darcy again for a most delightful sojourn, and we shall surely see each other in Town before too long. I will need to avenge that drubbing you gave me at billiards last evening—it cannot stand."

 

They shook hands fraternally and Sir Patrick was off to Blackfall Manor.

 

As Darcy made his way back to the breakfast room he was more than a little surprised to encounter Mrs. Thorney moving in the same direction, early as the morning still was—after all, she had no titled unmarried Member of Parliament to woo as did his other unusually early riser. He thought she ought perhaps to rise early more frequently, for she looked absolutely splendid in a high colored verdant toned riding habit that accentuated her height and her long elegant neck. She truly was a remarkably handsome woman, and yet there remained something so disappointing about her character as to quickly stultify her considerable good looks. She was such a flighty, peculiar creature, spoilt in the truest sense of the word. He had never been in her company for so much time as this visit to Pemberley and he found himself hoping that his own steady friendship with her husband did not necessarily translate into a similarly steady friendship between their wives.

 

"Mrs. Thorney," he bowed elegantly as they met in the hallway outside the breakfast room. "What a pleasant surprise to see you about so early."

 

She laughed good-naturedly. "You really can be such a devilish fellow! I believe that is why you and my husband get on so well. Yes, I acknowledge it is a tremendous sort of miracle to see me up and about when the sun is so recently risen, but I find the beautiful morning calls me out for a ride. We shall be definitively leaving Pemberley in but two days and you never know but the dreadful rain could return by morning. I absolutely must have another ride around, I have grown so fond of the countryside hereabouts, so I must take my opportunity when it is presented. For once I shall not indulge my weaker self. But when will we convince your wife to become a proficient as well?"

 

"Pray, do feel at your own leisure to make an effort at such a conversion yourself, she is just inside. I shall not join your bid, however," he remarked dryly as he led her into the breakfast room.

 

By the time breakfast was concluded some time later Mrs. Thorney had made no progress in her effort to make Elizabeth a riding enthusiast, she did, nevertheless, secure the company of all the gathered gentlemen as well as Georgiana. With Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Ashton enjoying a dawdling walk in the gardens, Miss Bingley dedicated to composing a letter to her sister detailing her new found objective to become 'Lady Caroline' and Lady Catherine confined to her rooms with complaints of a headache (her daughter was never seen before noon), Jane and Elizabeth were left, most happily, to themselves.

 

About midway through their quiet morning the sisters were making their way from Elizabeth's private parlor to one of the public rooms utilized mostly in the wintertime in which Elizabeth hoped to show Jane a Greek vase just arrived from an antiquarian in London. "It is extraordinarily beautiful, but the depictions are almost scandalous, Jane," Elizabeth was saying as they walked arm-in-arm. "I hardly think the blue parlor the place for it, but Mr. Darcy insists such a treasure not be hidden away and of course our Aunt Gardiner has quite agreed with him. She actually said that Papa would surely fault me for such mishishness. Sometimes I think they enjoy conspiring against me, so you must tell me your thoughts on its location and I shall be guided by your delicate sensibility alone."

 

While Jane was quietly acquiescing, they passed the ballroom only to be startled by a great clattering sound that came from behind the closed doors. With a surprised 'whatever could that have been!' Elizabeth turned toward the closed doors only to find herself most unexpectedly hindered from opening them and entering the room by her own footman. Good John was sure he had never seen the mistress look upon any servant with the displeased incredulity with which she now regarded him. Looking down sheepishly he stumbled out his excuses.

 

"Beggin' your pardon, mistress, but the master gave the strictest orders that I was to allow none to enter."

 

Elizabeth smiled and wondered what her husband could possibly be about. "Surely, John, he did not mean that I could not enter."

 

She felt quite sympathetic toward the poor man as he blushed profusely. "Again, beggin' your pardon, mistress, but Mr. Darcy was most decided. The master said to me quite plainly: 'Not a person John, and most particularly not the mistress, do you understand me? I depend upon you to not allow her to smile her way past you.' Those were his very words, mistress."

 

At that moment Mrs. Reynolds came out of the room allowing Elizabeth a brief glimpse of what looked to be some sort of construction. "Mrs. Reynolds, I will not importune poor John with my insistence, but you must tell me what Mr. Darcy is about." But Mrs. Reynolds' reticent expression convinced her that her husband's instructions were not to be gainsaid. "Oh, never you mind. John has already told me that Mr. Darcy gave most particular instructions that I was not to know." Turning to her sister, she continued jovially. "Clearly, Jane, I am not wanted here. The mystery will be resolved soon enough." With a laugh she led Jane away, resolved to allow her husband the pleasure of his surprise—and in truth she was more than a little gratified by his efforts.

 

Mrs. Reynolds watched her mistress walk away with her lovely sister and smiled with satisfaction. Had it once been suggested to her she should have never believed that her master could be improved in any way—such perfection did she see in his look and manner and character—and yet since returning to Pemberley with his young, handsome and lively wife she had witnessed in his person a lightness, a softness and a deep, unmistakable contentment that made him still more admirable to her doting inclination. If for nothing else, the happiness the mistress had brought to Pemberley was reason enough to approve her. And with a child now on the way, why the happiness would only increase. And yet she did not know what to make of this flight of whimsy the master had conjured. Nothing of this nature had ever been done at Pemberley in her nearly five and twenty years of service. She had been incredulous when he had called upon her for assistance in arranging the matter and at first confused by his demand for secrecy from all but essential staff, and most particularly from his wife. 'A surprise to amuse her,' he had said noting her confusion.

 

After her meeting with Mr. Darcy in his study Mrs. Reynolds had gone to her office below stairs and sat for a moment in contemplation. A notion entering her head, she had gone to the shelf and pulled down her household diary from the prior year and compared the dates. "Aha!" she had exclaimed to herself. Under visitors she had made the following entry: 'Three visitors today, from London. An agreeable married couple and their pretty niece. Appears to be some acquaintance between the young lady and the master.' No more than that and yet as she reflected back on her master's behavior that summer day she smiled indulgently--he had rushed into the house so very unexpectedly and in such an anxious huff and within half an hour was outdoors again in search of the visitors. She should have known then the acquaintance was of some import, for he customarily assiduously avoided visitors to the house and grounds. Yet on that day she had wondered only momentarily at the peculiarity of his manner, for surely an acquaintance, even if minor as the girl had suggested, was reason enough for such civility in a gentleman as attentive as her master. She had not even thought on the import of that day when she had received his almost effusive letter announcing his marriage to that same young lady; as long as he was well cared for, the particularities of his sentiments were not her concern. Now, with his strange request timed to coincide with that very day Mrs. Reynolds had a small view into the intimacy of her master's heart—and she treasured and protected that knowledge with her habitual discretion. To the entirety of the staff this would seem no more than an indulgence for the Darcys' guests; none would know from her that it was in fact a romantic declaration of love from husband to wife. And so Mrs. Reynolds had set to making his whimsy a reality and was sure both he and she would be pleased with the results. Anticipating her mistress' delight and the surprise of the guests this evening, she smiled kindly. Young as he still was, it had been a very long time since she had considered her master as youthful, and yet that was just how he appeared to her since his marriage—bestowed in his conjugal happiness with all the best traits of youth.

 

And Mrs. Reynolds was correct as to the sure delight of family and guests alike. After dinner Darcy had asked for his guests' indulgence. "This evening Mrs. Darcy and I wish to offer an alternative to customary parlor entertainment," he had stated. Walking in front of the group he arrived at the ballroom doors and swung them open wide with a rather theatrical air. To the collective astonished approbation of the group the room revealed his machinations. Elizabeth's eyes wandered from the room to her husband's face and he felt an unspeakable delight in her surprise and amazement. The room was bright with lighted candelabras and a row of chairs was facing an elaborate and beautifully set stage.

 

Mrs. Thorney was the first to react. "Players! How immensely charming!" Impulsively she took her husband by the hand and swept into the room, eager to select a seat. "John, I cannot imagine why I never thought of such a diversion. Why Mrs. Darcy, this is such a singular treat for your guests. How I adore a good play! Tell me, what shall we see performed?"

 

Elizabeth turned her gaze to Darcy again. He was happy to let their guests believe it was all his wife's doing for their pleasure—she knew that this was his particular gift; certainly the Gardiners understood as well, he did not care for the rest. He rather liked it remaining that way.

 

"Shakespeare," Elizabeth stated half in question, half in assertion, to which her husband answered with only an affirmative smile.

 

"A comedy, I do hope," Mrs. Thorney continued.

 

"That depends," Darcy replied, "where one finds humor, Mrs. Thorney."

 

"Whatever can you mean, sir?"

 

By way of response he quoted from the play they were to see performed by a traveling London troop, all the while looking into his wife's amused and delighted face, her eyes brimming with joy and anticipation: "For aught that I could ever read, could ever hear by tale or history, the course of true love never did run smooth."

 

"A Midsummer Night's Dream! Splendid!" Mrs. Thorney cried and happily seated herself in anticipation. As the others likewise made their way to chairs with equal surprise and delight, Elizabeth and Darcy were left to themselves standing by the doors.

 

Elizabeth took Darcy's hand and wrapped it tenderly within her own, bringing it toward her heart. "Oh, what a magical choice," she whispered, her eyes bright with adoration and understanding. That he should wish to mark their finding one another on the lawn of Pemberley in such a singular, poetic manner moved her tremendously.

 

Leaning close, Darcy whispered in return. "Do you like your surprise, my love?"

 

Still holding onto his hand with one of her own, she took her other hand and caressed his cheek. "Do I like my surprise? Oh, Fitzwilliam, I am speechless with delight and gratitude. Such a beautiful gesture and all you mean to convey with it I shall never forget." They shared an expressive, eloquent gaze before taking their own seats, and they felt as if in that moment all the pain they had inflicted one upon the other before that unexpected summer encounter, all the old wounds that Lady Catherine's arrival had stubbornly evoked in their memories, all was finally and fully healed, so that when the performance commenced their hearts were light and joyful as never before.

 

Indeed, so pleased were they with each other and the delightful, mischievous performance, that not even Lady Catherine's disapproval of such entertainment could mar their joy. For as the players took their final bow and the assembled company of fashionable London gentlemen and ladies applauded and laughed without reserve or pretense, Lady Catherine sat obdurately displeased.

 

Joyful upon her husband's arm, Elizabeth went to the unhappy lady's side and in a whimsy of good will with her free hand took one of the lady's within her own as affectionately as she would have taken the hand of her best beloved sister had she looked similarly discontented. "I believe that your ladyship has not enjoyed Shakespeare's mischievous Puck as well as have the rest of the party. I hope it is not that you are still unwell and suffering the consequences of your earlier headache."

Lady Catherine did not at first know how to respond. Elizabeth still held her hand within her own, lightly but determinedly, as though they were the dearest of relations. Feeling both irritated at the familiarity of the gesture and unaccountably pleased by the same, Lady Catherine slowly pulled her hand from the hold of this young lady who appeared to her every day more uncommon. When she replied, however, her tone suggested no such confusion but was as dismissive and haughty as ever. "Do you not find, Mrs. Darcy, that there is something not altogether proper about Shakespeare's humor?"

 

To Lady Catherine's surprise, if not to that of Darcy who stood at Elizabeth's side silently observing this peculiar exchange between his wife and his aunt, Elizabeth laughed at the older lady's assertion. She was so delighted with the evening and with her husband's wonderful gift that she was, on this one evening, even delighted with Lady Catherine. "That is perhaps true, your ladyship. For all Shakespeare's canonization as the great man of British letters, for all we are to admire his wisdom, I have always suspected his plays endure precisely because he is always just a little improper. There remains something not at all conventional about the Bard, and his comedies are so marvelously impertinent, and yet I defy you not to admire them in spite of yourself."

 

As she spoke Lady Catherine observed the brilliancy of Elizabeth's eyes; they were remarkably expressive, intelligent and even honest eyes. "It would appear, Mrs. Darcy, that in life there are times when admiration will come whether we would wish for it or not."

 

Lady Catherine then turned away and went to the drawing room where refreshments had been laid out, but Darcy was quite sure his aunt's observation was in no way related to the Bard. So that he was not surprised when, upon her departure from Pemberley two days after, Lady Catherine insisted that if Mrs. Darcy were able to travel, she would expect them all at Rosings for Easter.

An Easy Distance

 

 

Elizabeth looked up from her book and toward her sister Jane who sat across the room quietly working on a piece of needlework for the coming babe. The sound of Georgiana practicing a Mozart concerto Mrs. Ashton had particularly recommended to her could be heard floating through the air and down the hallway on the gentle cool breeze that wafted through the house on this unspoiled September morning. Elizabeth felt a wave of deep satisfaction and contentment at the tranquility that had settled over Pemberley now their guests had all departed and only Jane and Bingley remained behind. Indeed, not until quiet had rightly settled over Pemberley did Elizabeth apprehend how trying the summer weeks had been, what with Lord Chiltern's mysterious arrival and tense departure, and Lady Catherine's obdurate censure; to say nothing of all the anticipated pressures incumbent upon a first summer as mistress of Pemberley. But now it was all over Elizabeth considered that she had passed the trial admirably—indeed in less than one year of matrimony she felt she had come out of many an examination admirably, from London to Matlock to Derbyshire. All her success, she knew, would not have been possible without the unwavering devotion and encouragement of her husband. There had certainly been struggle and disagreement between them in these months, but his confidence in her had never so much as trembled and in that she had found strength. Further, during these summer months they had reached a deeper understanding, a fuller union in which past wounds were healed and they could continue forward with conviction and dedication, prepared for any impediment, any inconvenience.

 

The thought of inconveniences recalled to her a subject she must address with her sister, and so she roused Jane from her diligent needlework.

 

"Did I tell you Jane that I received another petition from Lydia? We must be sure to inform one another of all her requests that she may not abuse of our purses. She believes it well within her right to expect a weekly allowance from us both, I am sure."

 

Jane was not well pleased with her sister's blithe tone and reprimanded her gently, but firmly. "We cannot be ungenerous with her, Lizzy. We each have so much now, and she has so little."

 

"Hardly!" Elizabeth replied unsympathetically, aware of many more details of the Wickhams' financial situation than was Jane. "But she and Wickham are so irresponsible, so very extravagant they will live always as though they had twice their actual income. They have quite enough to live upon, if they would only choose to act with economy."

 

"Perhaps, but what would you have us do? She is our sister. If she claims need we cannot but respond rightly."

 

Elizabeth rose from her chair, suddenly aggravated and displeased, and walked to the window that the cool, refreshing air might return her to a better temper. "I wish I could be as sure as you are that her claims of need are genuine—I would provide for her unhesitatingly then. Yet I cannot escape the notion that she wishes only to fulfill some spoilt fancy."

 

"I think it best to respond as though it were in fact genuine need, for what sort of sisters should we be if we were to leave her wanting when we have so much?"

 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes impatiently. "Yes, of course we have no choice. Have no fear; I will send her something, Jane. But it is the one thing I shall keep from my husband."

 

"He knows what they are. Do you not think he imagines you send her money?"

 

"Yes, but it need not be discussed. They remain the one topic we are at pains to speak of."

 

"It must certainly be awkward," Jane offered.

 

"The first misunderstanding we had as husband and wife was due to the Wickhams, Jane. We were married not even a fortnight when Wickham sent a letter to my husband."

 

"He did not dare? What could he say?"

 

"I do not know exactly, but it caused a painful discord nonetheless." Jane furrowed her brow, not wanting to pry, and Elizabeth laughed at her tender concern. "Oh never you mind Jane, it is long past and was peculiarly edifying."

 

Smiling, Elizabeth turned away from her sister and looked out at the prospect before her: outside the parlor was an elegantly appointed terrace that opened into a naturally designed garden and a small arboretum with trees that had flowered in the spring and under which she had walked hand-in-hand with her husband when they were first learning all the possibilities of the love they shared. She wondered if she would ever grow wholly accustomed to living surrounded by such beauty. Some days she almost felt as though she were a stranger only just arrived to Pemberley, so affected by its elegance and beauty was she still. And yet, she was not at all a stranger to its splendor, for if she and her Darcy were so united now their confidential walks amidst Pemberley's beauty had been a vital component of arriving at this ever so gratifying union of minds and hearts. She recognized now that another source of their deep understanding was precisely those painful disagreements in which they had been able to learn so much about each other's hearts. The discomfiture produced by Wickham's letter had, in the end, been but another opportunity for their mutual understanding to increase and now she recalled only the sweetness of reconciliation.

 

They had been in London not even a fortnight and were preparing to journey on to Pemberley for the Christmas season. Sitting together in the library, Elizabeth read a book while Darcy reviewed the papers and correspondence he had left neglected since well before the morning of their wedding. Still in the initial flushes of marriage and indulging in all the intimate discovery inherent in those first delicious weeks of union, she had wanted very much only to watch him at his task, but she had been embarrassed to do so, still not wholly at ease with the powerful emotions the nearness of him now inspired. Turning to her book she had made to read, but was soon released from her facade of independent activity when she had heard him grouse in a most uncharacteristic manner. Looking up she saw him reading a letter, his visage suffused with an air of violent animosity.

 

"My love, what has upset you so?"

 

Darcy looked up from his letter and the sight of his lovely bride's concern softened his appearance. "Nothing of consequence," replied he evenly.

 

"Please tell me."

 

"Truly, it is of no consequence. Do not concern yourself."

 

She stood and approached him, a pouting expression upon her lips. "Were we not to be companions in every way?" she insisted with a teasing gravity he found inexpressibly appealing. She was gratified to see him smile, if only for a moment.

 

"Very well. It is a letter from Wickham."

 

"Oh!"

 

"A most audacious and disingenuous letter!" As Darcy continued to speak his anger rose; so caught up was he in his abhorrence for the correspondent he did not notice her reaction to his harsh, imperious tone. "The man has no scruples; no sense of shame. I would never dare ask you to close your doors to your own sister, but you must know I shall never welcome him."

 

He cast the letter aside with disgust, thinking the matter settled.

 

"I understand," she replied softly. Her manner downcast, she turned from him and wandered pensively toward the mantel. Her small, lovely hand played nervously with the adornments of a clock which sat thereupon. Darcy watched her for a moment in silence, completely at a loss to what her activity and posture could portend. He stood, as though to approach her, but he did not know how to interpret her gaze, her tone, her departure from his side, and did not go further, unsure of himself.

 

"You cannot truly be angry with me?" Darcy cried after a long, disconcerting stillness engulfed the room and strained the companionable calm that had earlier pervaded it. Elizabeth did not turn toward him and made no reply, but he saw her head sink lower. Thinking her sympathetic to the gentleman's cause, he responded to her silence with undisguised ire. "That scoundrel will never cross any threshold of mine!"

 

Her continued silence further discomfited Darcy. Neglected memories of her past chastisement of his character rose vividly in his mind, and with something like desperation he added: "You must understand this is not some foolish resentment. Surely, you must understand me."

 

Within a moment she was before him, his hands grasped tenderly within her own: "You have misapprehended me. I should consider myself fortunate to never see that man again, although he be my poor sister's husband."

 

"Then why such displeasure with me?"

 

"It is not displeasure with you, but for you. That you should be made to bear such mortification for my sake: Brother-in-law to the man you most abhor! Indeed, there was a time I thought you would never come to me again because of my association with him. How could you?"

 

"How could I? Did you really believe my abhorrence for him could guide me more strongly than my love for you?" He winced, pained at the thought. Darcy was angry that even at their worst moments she should have thought so little of his constancy, of the depths of his feeling. He spoke softly, making no effort to mask his vulnerability. "I thought you knew me better. Even then."

 

He tried to withdraw his hands from her grasp, but Elizabeth held firmly, instinctively understanding this dissonance was about something more than George Wickham.

 

"Perhaps I did not then. But I do now. Still, I cannot, in the face of such a letter, deny that you have borne many mortifications for my sake."

 

Darcy was oscillating between anger and despondency; he did not know what to make of this strange, discomfiting tension. Their marriage was not yet a fortnight old, he could not bear to have Wickham intrude on them so soon—that he would was of course inevitable, as it was inevitable that for Elizabeth's sake he would in due course provide further assistance to the unworthy scoundrel. But at this moment Darcy only cared that the sweet, almost blushing intimacy they had shared since they wed was broken. She was ashamed and he did not know how to alleviate her distress; and yet that it was on his behalf was undeniably heartwarming.

 

He wrapped his arms around her, almost forcefully bringing her to him, desperate to close this awkward breach. "Pray, have you not borne mortification for my sake at the hands of my aunt?"

 

"You are being generous. It is not the same. What is a little insolence from a person who was nothing to me? Whereas you, you have willingly aligned yourself to the person who has most betrayed you and your family, for my sake. You know it is not the same and I will not have you pretend it is to appease my shame that he should be my brother."

"Elizabeth, my love!" he had whispered in passionate tones--the recollection of which still sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. "You have said it yourself. I have willingly aligned myself to him. I should bear much more than Wickham's insolence and shamelessness for your sake, Elizabeth. I should bear so much more for the privilege of calling you my wife."

 

In that moment, in that strained passionate declaration, Elizabeth had comprehended as she had never comprehended before all she was to him, she had understood fully what it signified when this tall, powerful and sometimes imperious man declared to her simply and without adornment: 'I love you.' And she wondered if she knew how to make him comprehend that her regard, though not as long established, was certainly now of like fervor.

 

Overcome with the recollection Elizabeth hastily excused herself from her sister's side just as Bingley was joining them and went in search of her husband, desirous of giving him a simple, spontaneous demonstration of her affections.

 

As was his wont at this time of day she found him in his study. As she entered his room she smiled to herself, finding him in just the same position she had been recollecting, behind a desk, encumbered with papers and scanning a piece of correspondence, only this time the expression of his countenance was eager and light.

 

"Do I disturb you?" Elizabeth inquired, as she entered the room and softly closed the door.

 

Darcy looked up and smiled broadly. She was still amazed that a man who had the capacity to look so cold and closed, when he smiled, appeared all the contrary. She had teased him once that had she but taken the time to note his smile when they had first been acquainted she could never had stopped herself from loving him. He had blushed like a boy at her pretty compliment, to which she had found no recourse but to place her arms around his neck and call him her 'darling boy' before kissing him tenderly.

 

He did not respond to her question, nor to the expression of adoration so clearly upon her face. Instead he rose from his desk and with the letter in one hand he grasped her around the waist with the other and spun her back toward the door. "Come, we must locate Bingley."

 

"I have only just left him with Jane in the blue parlor."

 

"Excellent!" Darcy declared. When she did not move, he grew impatient. "Come, you will wish to hear this as well."

 

As he strode into the parlor, he waved the letter in the air like a flag. "Bingley, I have it!" he declared almost triumphantly.

 

Bingley looked inquiringly from Darcy to Elizabeth, who merely shrugged her shoulders in confession of her ignorance. "Have what, Darcy?"

 

"Tethering Hall!"

 

Bingley simply stared back at his friend looking baffled.

 

"Think man!" Darcy cried impatiently. "We discussed this when you first arrived." Bingley's confusion did not abate at such a declaration, but Elizabeth's and Jane's eyebrows shot up in understanding and anticipation.

 

"Tethering Hall is to be sold. I have it from my agent, who is also agent to the current owner of the hall."

 

"Why should that excite such anticipation on your part?"

 

Darcy rolled his eyes at his friend's practiced stupidity. "In my anticipation did I neglect to mention that Tethering Hall is no more than 30 miles from Pemberley?"

 

"Why Darcy old man!" Bingley cried in response. "Have you been looking out for an estate I might purchase?" With an amused smile he turned to his wife. "This, Jane, is why I always depend on Darcy. He organizes my life so efficiently."

 

Elizabeth and Jane could not but laugh at such a statement, which only served to aggravate Darcy. "We did discuss this," he offered with slight reprimand.

 

"In passing."

 

Bingley's reply had just enough glib laziness to exasperate his friend, who threw the letter down onto the table in expression of the same. When Darcy spoke again his tone could not disguise his sense of poised authority. "You can do with the information what you will then. But it's a fine old estate and it is high time you have your own, as your father had hoped. It will not do for a married man with your resources to continue letting. Furthermore, I should think bringing your wife into so easy a distance from her beloved sister would make this estate of some particular interest. But I shall not interfere."

 

At such a declaration of disinterestedness, Darcy's three companions could not but attempt to disguise their insipient laughter beneath their hands, only increasing his indignation. As he seemed to throw his chin high into the air in response to such mockery, Elizabeth, at least, could no longer hold back her laughter.

 

Bingley rose from his place at Jane's side and placed a hand upon his friend's shoulder. "Really Darcy, you can be a bit high-handed. I thought Lizzy had cured you of that! Shall we ride out to see it, and if it is a pleasant enough prospect, we can go again with the ladies."

 

"As you wish," was Darcy's succinct and portentous response as he turned on his heel and left the room. Whether he heard the fit of affectionate laughter that followed his exit is questionable, but not two days passed before the gentleman rode out to Tethering Hall for a look at the fine old estate. It was quite late when they returned so that although their anticipation had been great, each gentleman found his wife in her rooms preparing to retire.

 

"I do have the conviction, my love, that by Christmas it shall all be resolved," Darcy asserted, removing his coat and tossing it carelessly upon a bench at the foot of her bed as he strode across the room to where his wife sat upon a settee awaiting his return. "You shall have your Jane within a mere 30 miles distance."

 

"So quickly?" inquired she as she rose to greet him with a tender, easy kiss upon the lips. "Without Jane's consent? Without looking at any other properties?

 

"Jane's consent will hardly be difficult for Bingley to attain and you know how impulsive his decisions can be. In this case I see no difficulty because I know it to be a fine estate. He could make much of it, with diligence. We shall all go and visit it forthwith and then I am sure it shall be settled with alacrity."

 

"To think, with all my sources of happiness, I may have Jane too at such an easy distance. And it is all your doing!"

 

"Mine? Hardly. I have learnt to not meddle in Bingley's personal decisions."

 

Elizabeth lifted her face to her husband's, and he could not but admire her charming, impertinent smile. "Oh, you may have learnt that you ought not to, but you still command him as easily as ever. Do you really consider it probable that he should have acted so quickly without your guidance?"

 

Darcy shrugged his shoulders indifferently and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close into his embrace. "I do not care to consider that matter, it is rather dull. I would much rather you detail those sources of happiness you just mentioned."

 

Elizabeth laughed playfully before responding. "Oh certainly, sir. Why Pemberley really is the most elegant home, nothing can compare. And the prospect from every window is charming. And such a park for my walks, and such pretty dresses I have, and ever so many new little trinkets."

 

Shaking his head, Darcy smiled as he looked joyfully into the blooming face of his much beloved wife. "My teasing little minx. I see I shall have to correct your gross misapprehension as to where the source of your happiness lies."

 

Sweeping her into his arms and into her bed he made haste to right any mistaken notions she might entertain. Some time later, he chuckled happily as his wife languidly whispered: "Oh, yes, and did I neglect to mention that, although I had not thought so at first, it would seem Mr. Darcy is indeed quite tolerable enough to tempt me."

 

Epilogue

 

 

At this very spot he had stood some two years back awaiting word that his carriage was ready and he could depart this place which he had then felt would forever be in his memory as the place of his private agony. Such conflicting emotions had then battled for supremacy in his troubled mind and heart: anger, despair, disdain, pure broken-heartedness. For some time thereafter it was anger that was supreme, but at that moment as he had stood at the window looking across the park in the direction of the parsonage house, perhaps it had been despair that was absolute as he wondered if she had yet read his letter. That she would he had never doubted, but another concern altogether was whether she would soon, if nothing else, acquit him of cruelty. He could not have imagined during those tortuous anger imbued days which followed that she would do so much more than acquit him—that she would forgive him, she would respect him, she would love him as fully and ardently as he loved her.

 

Darcy heard the click of the door's latch behind him, the gentle clasp of its closing and he swung around with joyful expectation, his wife's name upon his lips. The anticipation and adoration that shone from his eyes was unmistakable.

 

"Hoping for your lovely wife instead, Darcy?" Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired good-humouredly.

 

"Yes," replied he forthrightly.

 

"Well you shall have to do with me for the moment. Come sit and have some conversation with me while you wait."

 

Darcy obliged his cousin and sat, but felt less than conversational. It did not matter, for the Colonel was quite talkative, in one of those rambling, self-indulgent manners that he acquired from time to time.

 

"I am so grateful you and our aunt have mended your dispute, Darcy. Rosings was so unremittingly awful last Easter. You cannot possibly imagine."

 

"So you have said before."

 

"Our aunt was irritable and sulking and our cousin as hopelessly insipid as ever. How such a creature ever came to be I cannot conceive. We Fitzwilliams are many things great and terrible, but insipid never was among them. Although it must seriously displease our aunt, we shall just have to fault Sir Lewis de Bourgh's line. Mrs. Collins was the only hope of sensible conversation and surely anyone who married that fool of a man cannot really be altogether that sensible. Certainly there was no amusement to be had."

 

"I am sorry for your tedium, Fitzwilliam, but you can hardly think that concern entered my mind at all," Darcy replied dryly.

 

The Colonel snorted inelegantly. "You of course care nothing for all I suffer on your behalf."

 

Darcy merely smiled good-naturedly at his cousin's breeziness, waiting for him to continue.

 

"Marriage appears to be a bit of a contagion in our set of late. I ran into your friend Sir Patrick at White's. I was quite surprised to hear he was to marry Bingley's sister. He never struck me as the type to renounce bachelorhood."

 

"Apparently he is. They are to marry in the summer. He has asked me to stand with him, which my wife finds very amusing."

 

"What do I find very amusing?" asked Elizabeth, just entering the room at the allusion.

 

"That I am to stand with Sir Patrick at his wedding," Darcy replied with a warm smile as he rose to greet his wife with an affectionate kiss to her hand.

 

"Well, it is undeniably amusing," she replied as she tilted her head to the side, smiling archly.

 

"So it would seem," Darcy laughed softly.

 

At the sight of Elizabeth the Colonel was once again as pleasantly impressed as when he had first joined them in London for the trip into Kent. The ladies in his family all seemed to get weak and pallid with motherhood, but his cousin's wife was more vigorous and lovelier than ever. As the Colonel watched their innocuous, familiar exchange he was recalled to his mother's words when they had become engaged and she had made Elizabeth's acquaintance. "Your father and brother may not approve of the match, to say nothing of your aunt, and society may require some time to assimilate the rather intense surprise that Darcy should take as his wife an unknown quantity of a girl, but you shall see, her lack of rank and fortune notwithstanding, that girl shall be the making of Darcy. He shall not repine his choice." And by goodness if she had not been correct and among their circle of family and acquaintances they were universally considered the very picture of conjugal felicity.

 

The Darcys soon excused themselves from the Colonel's company as they wished to call on Elizabeth's old friend Mrs. Collins. The Colonel had intended to accompany them, but Darcy had maintained that his cousin's call could certainly wait, for he sentimentally desired to be alone with his wife on this first walk across the park.

 

"How is my son?" Darcy inquired as soon as they were alone and leisurely crossing the lawn.

 

"Your son is sleeping soundly."

 

"And his nurse, she has everything she requires?"

 

"My dear sir, what a question to ask! Lady Catherine would be mortified to apprehend that you have such little confidence in her. We are at Rosings after all, and she is most particular."

 

Darcy chuckled at his wife's impertinence. Almost breathlessly, he replied: "Yes, we are at Rosings."

 

They soon arrived at the groves that separated Rosings Park from the lane which led to the parsonage house. As they entered into the shade Darcy lifted his hand and covered Elizabeth's as it rested in the crook of his arm. When he spoke, his tone was easy and cheerful.

 

"Do you not find it quite unfathomable, my love? We are so much of one mind now I cannot comprehend how we so completely misapprehended each other when we were first acquainted, and most particularly here at Rosings. Why when I was sure to have quite clearly made an assignation to meet in these very groves, you were equally sure you had quite clearly warned me off. We are both, of course, well aware that was only one of our more harmless misconstructions."

 

"I suppose it is quite remarkable that we each should have so dramatically misread the other's intentions, but I suspect all that truly matters is that now we are, as you said, of one mind, and in one another's complete confidence."

 

"Yes, just so," he replied with a warm smile as he pressed her hand affectionately.

 

"How do you feel now we have returned to Rosings, Elizabeth?" he continued. "And more particularly, now we are to return to that parlor which shall forever be the place of my infamy."

 

Elizabeth could not but laugh at such a description. "We are each so different from what we were on that day, my life is certainly so very much altered that I do not imagine it will seem at all familiar. And you?"

 

"I am in a state of grateful wonder, to tell the truth."

 

"Grateful wonder? Pray, explain."

 

"When I last walked these grounds I was in a state of such misery. How I had tortured myself with beliefs I now know to be so inconsequential to an honorable and happy life. And how disgracefully did I proceed to insult you with my misguided assertions. Yet now we are returned, together, with our first-born. You are my wife and I believe it is fair to boast that we have an uncommon and exemplary marriage. Considering how unforgivably ungentlemanly I was to you that day, I suppose I shall always feel a sort of grateful wonder that I was somehow able to earn your forgiveness and your love."

 

Elizabeth voiced no reply to such a heartfelt statement, she only looked at her husband and in her soft and expressive eyes he saw clearly the sweet indulgence and love that filled her heart.

 

As they entered the parlor that had been the scene of such pain and anger, there was no sense of quiet mortification, no reciprocal shame, no unresolved anxiety. Darcy and Elizabeth merely exchanged a knowing, significant smile which silently communicated the shared knowledge that it was, strangely enough, precisely the dreadful clash they had held in this room which had set the foundation for the forthrightness and honesty they both cherished in their union.

 

It was but a brief moment of mutual awareness before they turned their attentions to the Collinses. Elizabeth kneeled to kiss the checks of the little girl presented for their attentions. When she looked up from the girl toward her husband she thought she had never seen him so handsome. Darcy's entire bearing impressed her with a sense of such profound happiness and firm peace as she had hitherto not observed. So much was it the case not even Mr. Collins' foolish, sycophantic bantering could wipe away the delicate smile that sat upon his lips.

 

 

 

 

The End

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