The Shades of Rosings -- Part 01

By Barbara
<[e-mail]>

Author's note: a few of you have seen part of this before. For a long time I couldn't decide whether I would finish it, but now I think I will. (And yes, I am still finishing AMMF!--soon!)

To say that Lady Catherine DeBourgh had been extremely indignant on the marriage of her nephew was an understatement. As she had never known what it was to temper the genuine frankness of her character with any such sentiments as one might attribute to sentiment, affection, fondness, or forgiveness, in her reply to the letter which announced the arrangement of the marriage of Fitzwilliam Darcy to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, the aunt sent the nephew language so excessively abusive, especially of the bride, that for some time all contact between them was at an end. But at length, by his wife's persuasion and genuine desire not to be the cause of any unhappiness in the family, Darcy was prevailed on to overlook the offence, and seek a reconciliation by writing once more to Lady Catherine. For months, no word returned from Rosings.

One morning, in the spring following their marriage, Darcy was arranging his cravat when Elizabeth entered his bedchamber and stepped lightly behind him.

She caught her husband about the waist with one arm, and tilted her head so that her lips were very close to his ear. "These letters just arrived for you, and I thought you might like to read them before setting off for the day."

Darcy smiled at his wife's reflection in his mirror. "Put them on my bureau, my love. My steward and I have business in Lambton this morning which we should not delay."

"Oh, but I daresay you might find the business in these letters quite as much of interest to you as anything you might have to do in the village," said Elizabeth, teasingly, releasing her husband and fanning her face with the two letters.

"Very well then," said Darcy seating himself in the armchair by his window and holding his hand out to Elizabeth. "If I have learned nothing else since last November, I know that it does not do to diplease the mistress of Pemberley."

"And allow me to express my admiration for how quickly you have learned this, sir! My gratitude can be discussed later," smiled Elizabeth, handing him one letter and settling herself on the window seat near her husband's chair. Her eyes sparkled expectantly. "Lady Catherine has answered your letter at last, has she not?" As she spoke Darcy had opened and begun to peruse the letter, but did not look up from it, so she continued, "Has your aunt accepted that although I have completely drawn you in through my arts and allurements, her insistence that our marriage was a degredation to your family does not it any less a reality?"

Expecting a smile for this saucy speech, Elizabeth was somewhat astonished when Darcy wordlessly thrust the paper into her hand, and strode angrily to the window on the other side of his bureau. "Read it," he said, gruffly.

Elizabeth read quickly and looked up. "It is an invitation to Rosings! Is this not precisely what we had hoped to hear? I do not..."

He held up a hand towards her. "Read it again, carefully. Read it aloud."

" 'Nephew,' " read Elizabeth, in some confusion, " 'I shall wait upon you at Rosings in two weeks's time, as has been our custom each year.'...Fitzwilliam, I do not see why you..."

"My love, finish the letter," insisted Darcy.

" 'I think often of your visit with me here last April, and how excessively sorry you were to depart.'" Elizabeth paused and laughed. "I think she has not the least idea of how excessively pleased you were to depart. Of course she cannot have known what really happened and--"

He scowled darkly, and impatiently snatched the paper from his wife. Although the reality of his marriage had since permitted Darcy to look back upon the debacle of his disatrous proposal wryly, without regret, and occasionally even with humour, no hint of this was visible now. He read angrily, " 'My nephew Col. Fitzwilliam cannot join us this year, so we are to be a small party. We shall be three, Anne, myself, and you. We should love to see your dear sister as well, if she has no other engagements.' " Darcy crushed the paper and threw it aside in disgust. "Elizabeth, do you not see? Thi--this invitation does not extend to you."

Elizabeth blushed in silent mortification, and was uncustomarily silent for several moments. She stared at her husband's rigid back as he stood before the window, gazing down at the Pemberley grounds. Only once before, nearly a year ago, had she seen him so angry or heard this edge to his voice. Although the recollection of the incident that had occasioned this behavior in her husband brought pleasure in that it provided a starting point from which to trace the development of her love and regard for Darcy, the painful and angry words which had passed between them at Hunsford that day were not exchanges on which the young bride wished to dwell. She ought not to have made even a joking reference to it moments ago.

Remembering that Darcy's present anger was not directed at herself, she approached him, beginning, "My darling, I have..."

"Madam, I beg you! Leave me to my thoughts for a moment!"

Even after so many months with her had unquestionably softened his demeanor, her husband was not easily to be lulled from such a state, infrequent though they might be growing. Elizabeth persisted. "But there is another letter. It is also from Rosings, but not in your aunt's hand."

Darcy turned, and held out his hand to the proferred envelope as Elizabeth continued, "It is odd, because this letter appears to have had a rougher journey." She indicated the crumpled paper, but Darcy, who was already reading the letter, did not notice.

A moment later, Darcy looked at his wife. "It is from my cousin, Anne. She writes, 'I understand that you shall soon be invited to visit here. If my mother overlooks Mrs. Darcy in the invitation, as I believe she intends to do, be assured that your wife is most welcome to Rosings on my invitation."

Elizabeth was beyond the power of speech for a moment .

"Your cousin Anne sent this?" Elizabeth asked incredulously., taking the letter from him. "How can she dare contravene her mother this way?"

" I am astonished too, Elizabeth," agreed Darcy. "Although perhaps I ought to have realized that it would come to something like this one day. My aunt may know it too, although she would never admit it."

"But, Fitzwilliam," she continued, still agape, "It is so very strange. I know that I have stood up to Lady Catherine in the past--which is quite likely at least part of the reason we find ourselves in these circumstances--but, at the time, I believed her wholly unconnected to me."

"Would you have acted differently had you known that you were soon to be very closely connected to the de Bourghs?" he asked quietly.

"Yes...no... that is, out of respect for you, I might have tempered my retorts to her, but I cannot imagine creating such a stir if I had to live with her!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "It does not seem at all like your cousin to do so."

"But you do not really know Anne, my dear," Darcy reminded her quietly. His whole demeanour had softened perceptibly since he had read his cousin's letter.

"No, I do not," she assented. "For she was not inclined to talk to me when I visited their home, although she did make a special point of bidding me a very courteous farewell. But do you know her well enough to determine what is and is not in character for her?"

"Anne and I are much better acquainted with each other than perhaps you realize, Elizabeth."

This conversation was leaving Elizabeth at a complete loss. She began to pace their bedchamber. "You scarcely exchanged two words with her during the evenings when I dined with you at Rosings!" she exclaimed.

"That is because..." Darcy coughed and stared at his wife thoughtfully. "Elizabeth, you do know that my aunt thought I would marry Anne one day?"

"I had--I had heard tell of it," she admitted. Her husband did not need to hear how Wickham had apprized her of all the details, nor how she herself had gloated at the prospect of the marriage thwarting Miss Bingley's painfully evident hopes. "Your aunt--she was adamant about the arrangement when she came to see me at Longbourn."

"Oh yes, of course. And my mother---"he broke off and grimaced, then walked to his bedside table and poured a goblet of water from the silver pitcher there, which he gulped before continuing. "My mother, too, I believe, had thought that Anne and I might be...." He could not finish.

Elizabeth, seeing the pained look which had dulled his countenance, crossed quickly to him and circled her arms around his waist. She rested her head against Darcy's chest and shoulder as she spoke. "Your mother also wanted you to marry Anne?" she asked softly.

"Before she...died... my mother indicated that she thought it would be for the best." His voice was barely audible.

"Oh my love!" exclaimed Elizabeth with a half-sob. No other soothing words would come to her. She had always believed--or perhaps wanted to believe--that Lady Anne Darcy's desire to have her son marry her niece had been some fiction concocted by Lady Catherine to carry her point. It was certainly no pleasant prospect to consider that in marrying her, her husband had perhaps been in default of a promise he had made to his mother. She could not even sincerely say she was sorry, for she was not sorry that she had married him, much as she hated to see him troubled like this.

Darcy patted his wife's back reassuringly and stepped away from her. "In any event, Anne and I have long known that we were never to marry each other, and we agreed that it would be best not to demonstrate any undue interest in each other, or inclination to converse as long as Lady Catherine were nearby. It was mainly Anne's idea, and for her sake I consented to it."

"What?" Now Elizabeth was truly astonished by this latest revelation. "Do you mean to tell me that your indifference to Anne is feigned?"

He smiled weakly. "Entirely. Anne and I are very good friends, indeed."

"I had no idea," Elizabeth breathed. "But then, why should I? It is a year since I saw your cousin. And because of this rift with your aunt, there has been no opportunity since we have been married. I did not feel as though I even had a right to write her a letter."

"Anne knows that, and I suspect her desire to become better acquainted with you prompted her to write."

"But we are still back at our original difficulty: How will lady Catherine react? What if I come with you, and she refuses to admit me to her home? I may not know Anne, as you say, but it is equally difficult to believe she has the audacity to extend such an invitation."

"But Elizabeth, Anne is the---" he broke off abruptly. "I think you ought to meet Anne and get to know her as I do."

"Are you saying that you are thinking of accepting the invitation?"

"I am."

"And bringing me with you?"

"Absolutely. I would not miss this for the world."

I had not thought to excite such anticipation with the first parts of this, but all the comments are VERY

much appreciated! I hope this part does not disappoint!

By the time it was too late to do anything else, Elizabeth fell helplessly to wondering whether she had best devote her futile energies to composing herself into an appropriate attitude of submissiveness and gratitude, or marshaling her wits as a defense against the onslaught that was surely to come. Either way, this whole experience promised to be an ordeal. What had she been thinking to allow Mr. Darcy to persuade her to accompany him to Rosings, uninvited by the formidable Lady Catherine?

Every time she thought of it, which was mercifully no oftener than she found it necessary to breathe, Elizabeth sank a little further into the corner of their carriage, in the fervent wish that she might endeavour to make herself disappear. It was one thing--when they had been perfectly unconnected and certain to remain so-- to have blithely allowed the older woman's meddlesome, domineering conversation to roll over her with no more lasting effects than a dark cloud that drifts across the horizon. It was another thing to have faced down Lady Catherine's belligerence at Longbourn, in defense of a hope for her future that Elizabeth had hardly dared to dream at the time.

In both situations, she had held her own against Darcy's aunt--and not without a secret satisfaction in having triumphed. But to arrive now--reviled and unwanted, although entirely connected--posed a dilemma which Elizabeth did not feel she had the power to solve. The weapons which had been at her disposal in the previous encounters were not available to her now, for she was Darcy's wife, and--if nothing else--she must not put him in the position of seeing his bride act in a disrespectful manner to an important and powerful member of his own family. Which was now, of course, Elizabeth's family.

Darcy leaned over to clasp her hand and pat it reassuringly as the carriage rumbled relentlessly nearer to the dreaded spot, whither they would arrive not a minute past the appointed time. "Come, now, dearest Elizabeth," he coaxed as he fixed upon her that look he reserved for her alone. "You have taught me to read you well this past half year, but I declare your fears are unfounded."

You know not the half of them! she thought as she looked at him helplessly. "I have told you that in some circumstances, a good memory is unpardonable. If only I could command that talent now! Or if I could persuade your aunt to do so!"

He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand as he spoke. "Unfortunately, a faulty memory has never been one of Aunt Catherine's failings. What is it you wish her to forget?"

"Our final exchange," Elizabeth murmured, biting her lower lip as she stared out the window at scenery which grew disturbingly more familiar.

"Elizabeth, she wrote that letter in anger. She is unused to being..."

"Not the letter," she interrupted quietly. Elizabeth searched the dark depths of his eyes. He knew, of course, about the confrontation at Longbourn. How precisely had Lady Catherine related to him the particulars of their last meeting, she wondered? "I am afraid I was--I was rather beyond impertinent to her when last we met."

Darcy released her hand and put his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders as he drew her close to him. "What did you say to her that she did not deserve? She had no right at all to meddle in our affairs in that manner--although I must be forever grateful for the results her interference produced."

"Yes, but what must she think of me?" Elizabeth sighed, and leaned back against the high cushioned seat.

"Forgive me, my love, but we know exactly what she thinks of you, do we not?" He smiled conspiratorially at her. "Now we have only to convince her that she was in error."

Easily said she thought, as she conjured a wry, feeble smile for his gratification. How she did love him for attempting to ease her by every possible method! "Very well, then I shall require you to begin exaggerating my good qualities as soon as we alight from the carriage."

"Willingly," he whispered, and bent to place a lingering kiss on the lips which had drooped into an uncharacteristic but becoming pout. "You could hardly set an easier task before me--although I am certain it will not be necessary."

A small ripple of laughter escaped Elizabeth as she exclaimed, "Do not attempt to disarm and distract me by such methods as these, sir!"

"Am I succeeding?" he asked with mock solemnity. "Elizabeth, I have no doubt that my aunt will--within a very short time--grow to love you and value you nearly as much as I do. Or at least it cannot be so very bad as what you imagine! I shall not let her devour you!"

"Let us hope not, for I am certain I should be just as unpalatable to her in that way as in any other."

The carriage was now within sight of the grove at the outer reaches of the park surrounding Rosings, and they both fell silent. But the more Elizabeth tried to take her husband's advice to heart and put all of this from her mind, the more every particular of her last conversation with the formidable Lady Catherine revisited the young bride with perfect clarity, to torment her afresh. Had she really, actually called her ladyship's attempt to intervene `frivolous' and ` ill- judged'? She cringed inwardly. Lady Catherine's last words to her rang in her ears: "I am seriously displeased."

Well, this endeavour was unlikely to alter that. Now he best she could hope for, she believed, was to be received with imperious disdain, in addition to being the recipient of many thinly-veiled references to the pretentiousness of those who married above their station in life-- those impertinent usurpers with no regard for family honour and duty, who gloried in bringing disgrace to noble families. And Elizabeth held forth little hope to be greeted with even this much civility. More and more, the indignant cry of "Unfeeling, selfish girl!" or "Obstinate, headstrong girl!" seemed, by comparison, more full of warmth and goodwill than any of the vitriol likely to assail her ears on this visit.

The sight of the Collins' home struck Elizabeth with the final realization that she was now only minutes away from her fate. She clutched at the sleeve of Darcy's coat. "My love, I do not know now whether I can go through with this!"

He smiled down at her again. "Of course you can, and you shall, Elizabeth! You have managed to survive five months of marriage with the very man whom you proclaimed the last on earth you ever wished to marry. Night and day he has insisted that you never leave his sight! How can this be worse than that?"

"She could refuse to allow me to set foot in her home, despite what Anne wrote, Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth said in a small voice.

"And if that happens, my love, then we shall beg the Collinses to spare us a room in their home."

Elizabeth stared at him incredulously. "You would not!"

"Why should we not? He is your--or our, rather-- cousin. She is a dear friend of yours. I am anxious to see the shelves in their closets--it seems made to order." The corners of his lips twitched as he looked down at her.

She laughed in spite of the knot forming in her stomach. "Well, considering that it would very likely bring on an apoplexy in poor Mr. Collins, as he struggled to reconcile the honour of your condescension with the degree to which his noble patroness would be seriously displeased--let us hope it shall not be necessary."

Elizabeth peered anxiously from the window as they began the long drive up the lane leading to Rosings. For all the world she wished to gaze upon it with the same underwhelming indifference she had had upon her first sight of it a twelvemonth earlier. She doubted that even another rhapsodic account of the window glazing by her cousin could throw her into such a desirable state of detachment. Now she felt nothing but foreboding.

The carriage rolled to a halt on the gravel drive, and Elizabeth peered nervously past the curtains, keeping her face well back. Lady Catherine was just descending from her barouche box. Evidently she had been out driving, and had decided to receive her nephew here.

"Wait here," Darcy whispered as he gave her hand a quick squeeze and kissed his wife's forehead. He smoothed his jacket, straightened his neckcloth, and opened the door of the carriage.

"Nephew! We are so pleased to welcome you to Rosings." The words sent a shiver down Elizabeth's spine as Darcy stepped to the ground.

"Good day, Aunt Catherine. It is good to see you," he said in a carefully modulated tone.

"How was your journey? Are you well?"

"Very well indeed." He turned back and reached into the carriage for Elizabeth's hand. "We are both very well," he said as he handed her down.

Lady Catherine's eyes fell upon her nephew's wife with an astonishment not to be described. She rose to her feet in her own carriage, and for several moments stood opening and closing her mouth like a fish gasping for water. When she recovered herself, she sputtered, "Have you no sense of what is due to your own family, nephew? Has she robbed you of every proper feeling? Is your corruption so complete that you are now devoid of the merest rudiments of honour? Am I to understand that you expect to have this--this creature spend so much as one night under my roof?"

"This lady, madam, is my wife, and I shall not stay under any roof where she is unwelcome."

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes as she cast a cursory but withering glance at Elizabeth, then turned pointedly away from her. Once more she verbally assailed her nephew. "I have not been accustomed to being addressed and imposed upon in this ill-bred manner!" she fumed. "If this is an indication of how you have learned to treat those to whom you owe respect since the unfortunate event of your marriage, I can see I was right to discourage and forbid it!"

"With all due deference, your ladyship," said Darcy, with a slight inclination of his head, "there is another here to whom I equally owe my respect. Given this opportunity, I believe that you will come to regard her as I do. If you will permit me..."

"This is not to be borne! Hear me in silence, nephew. Can you speak to me of respect? What is this," she demanded, throwing out one arm in a gesture that encompassed Darcy, Elizabeth, and their carriage, "if not the basest sort of insolence anyone has ever attempted to perpetrate upon me?"

"Please believe me, Lady Catherine, I meant no disrespect," he said quietly.

It was all Elizabeth could do to restrain the indignant words that sprang to her lips, and to that end she cast her eyes resolutely down upon her own shoes.Ill-bred!, she thought. Insolence! At least here are two topics on which her ladyship can speak with authority! She bit firmly on her lower lip as she stared at the gravel below.

Privately she and Darcy had agreed that nothing was to be gained by allowing themselves to be baited by Lady Catherine, and that every attempt to avoid a verbal battle would be seized or even embraced. Elizabeth had, however, been unprepared to hear such invective. In truth, she owned to herself, she should like nothing better than to launch into a tirade of her own against the formidable lady. She really wondered how her husband could retain such composure under the circumstances. From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched as the muscles in Darcy's jaw tightened and noted that he slowly opened and closed one gloved hand several times.

"Meant!" cried Lady Catherine. She jabbed her parasol in the direction of a hapless footman who scuttled over to hand her down from her own carriage. "There is no telling what you meant, Darcy, for I have never before seen you behave with such a total want of propriety!"

"How, pray, is it improper to wish to present my wife to members of my family whom I have not seen since my marriage?" Darcy asked in a strained voice.

"Do not speak to me of these odious matters! You know perfectly well how!" was her ladyship's rejoinder. She tapped the point of her parasol several times in the gravel at her feet for emphasis, and then gestured once more at Elizabeth. "You will please remember what my objections to her have been, from the first. I am not used to having to repeat opinions which I have already made abundantly clear."

Surely you must be, thought Elizabeth. Or if not, you cover it well. She knew herself to be in great danger of drawing blood from her lower lip if the present onslaught continued unabated. For her part, she knew only too well what were the de Bourgh objections to Elizabeth Bennet, and had enumerated them to herself many times over in the interim between Lady Catherine's unexpected visit to Longborn and Darcy's renewed offer of marriage. Such grievances must, if anything, have been compounded in the past half year, and were certainly all out of proportion to anything she could hope to surmount now.

Darcy spoke again, in that controlled tone which Elizabeth had come to recognize as signaling an extraordinary degree of restraint being exercised on his part. "Aunt Catherine, I feel certain that such objections could not fail to give way in but a very short time in this lady's company." For the first time he looked back to where his wife was standing, his dark eyes flashing a loving message he dare not reveal by word or action at this moment.

No attempt to conceal her displeasure was made as Lady Catherine snorted, "Her company, indeed! Is it not enough that you care nothing for my expressed wishes, and those of the rest of your family? And now you wish to see the rest of us partake in your undoing. I knew how it would be the day I saw how very obstinate, headstrong and unfeeling this--this girl can be. What you have done is the disgrace of the family!"

You warned me that you would carry your point, Elizabeth thought, and indeed you are making every effort to do so. Even though she knew there was no objection to their marriage among the rest of the Darcy/Fitzwilliam clan, she was beginning to grow alarmed at the older woman's tenacity. Not the smallest sign of yielding had yet been shown. Perhaps they would be admiring the Collins' shelves before the end of the day, after all.

"Nevertheless," said Darcy firmly, "Elizabeth is my wife now, and as such is also a member of the family."

Elizabeth and Darcy both drew in their breath as Lady Catherine began to walk towards them. She took her nephew's arm on the side that was farthest from his wife and drew him a few steps away, positioning him so that Elizabeth saw only his profile. Evidently his aunt was taking a different tack.

"If only," said Lady Catherine, "...if only you had not married her, Darcy, we would all be quite willing to accept it. A strong, young healthy man like yourself--it is understandable that your head would be turned by such a creature. And I daresay you might have found a way to have as much admiration of that as you so desired without taking the drastic step of marriage."

Suddenly wishing she had worn a gown with a higher neckline and longer gloves, Elizabeth raised one hand to her throat and stared in open-mouthed disbelief at the vulgarity of Lady Catherine's insinuations.

Darcy, too, had quite obviously had his temperance stretched to the limit and beyond. "May I remind you, madam, that you are speaking of a woman who is not potentially, but is in fact, my wife--the woman with whom I have chosen to spend the rest of my life, and whom I shall proudly present to everyone I encounter as such?"

"Proudly! Hmph! You been so blinded by her arts and allurements that you fail to see reason. Has she rendered you so insensible to what is proper that you openly defy me, and fail to acknowledge it as such? "

"My intent has not been to defy, only to..."

Defiance it is! And as defiance I shall always regard it! You refused to heed my advice. You married her despite my objections, despite my warning. If it is not defiance, it is something worse, for she has robbed you of the ability to think rationally. And now you have the audacity to bring her into my presence?"

"I ask only for the opportunity to present Elizabeth to you as my wife, and to allow you to make up your mind about how you feel about her based on coming to know her in this new role. Your ladyship prides herself on her good judgement, and I am certain you would not wish to be found wanting in that respect, when so many others are not of the opinion you hold."

He reached behind him to clasp Elizabeth's hand and draw her slightly forward. "Aunt Catherine, may I present my wife."

The absolute absurdity of the situation was not lost on Elizabeth as she dropped a deep curtsey before her husband's aunt. The endless retorts which raced through her mind would have flown from her lips without a moment's hesitation had she not been married to Darcy, and yet if she were not, the retorts would be unnecessary. The only thing Lady Catherine had perhaps, long ago, liked about her had been her clever conversation, and during the course of this entire interview Elizabeth had been mute.

All of this was bad enough, but to be obliged to make such an obeisance to such a person-- every feeling revolted! And yet it was imperative that she not, by her very deportment, appear to be justifying those prejudices against her which their visit here was designed to eliminate. There was not a word which she had in her power to utter at this moment that would not seem rather to prove that the wife Fitzwilliam Darcy had chosen would very likely make him `the contempt of the world, ' as Lady Catherine de Bourgh had predicted.

"Yes, yes. I am perfectly well acquainted with Miss Bennet, or as much as I ever wish to be, I assure you." said Lady Catherine in annoyance. "But the fact remains, Darcy, that she was not invited, what have you to say to that?"

With some astonishment, all three of them turned to toward the thin, high voice at the main doorway to Rosings which called, "But Elizabeth has been invited here, Mother."

A contradiction and open defiance in one fell swoop, thought Elizabeth exultantly. The prospect of seeing Anne de Bourgh confront her formidable mother with this very piece of intelligence had been chief among the devices by which she had thus far avoided affronting Lady Catherine's abusive harangue with an outburst of her own. The exhilaration was short-lived, however, for Elizabeth, like her husband, found herself too astonished to speak, and more than a little apprehensive at what her ladyship might say or do next.

"She? Invited here? I have never heard anything so absurd!" cried Lady Catherine

whirling to face her daughter. "Anne, of what can you be thinking?"

Elizabeth looked expectantly at Miss de Bourgh, then anxiously, suddenly aware how much smaller Darcy's cousin appeared than she recalled--and frailer somehow. Yet Anne's thin cheeks blazed crimson as she tilted her chin and met her mother's gaze.

"It is true. I asked her to come." For the first time, Anne looked directly at her cousin's wife, and flickered a shy smile which quite transformed her countenance.

"What? Impossible! Have you taken leave of your senses?" raged Lady Catherine. She bunched her skirts in one hand, and with the aid of her parasol, rapidly ascended half of the steps which separated her from her daughter. As it became clear that Anne intended neither to shrink away from her, nor retract the outrage she had uttered, her ladyship paused in momentary indecision on the landing. "Well, what have you to say, Anne?"

"Only this: Darcy is a married man now, Mother. No respectable married man would wish to make a journey of this sort without his wife. I merely sought to rectify what I felt certain must be an oversight on your part." Anne coughed quietly into her handkerchief but held her ground, staring down at Lady Catherine.

"Oversight!" cried Lady Catherine. "Are you quite mad? My dear girl, he was to be your husband, and you have invited to our home the very creature who has destroyed all your future happiness!"

Anne coughed again, gripping the banister for support. After a moment she met her mother's gaze. "She has done nothing of the kind! You see, I never wanted Darcy for my husband, Mother." She glanced quickly at Darcy. "Forgive me, cousin."

Before he could reply, Lady Catherine began to pace the landing of the stone steps in consternation and demanded, "Where is Mrs. Jenkinson? Clearly you are unwell, Anne."

"I promise you, I have never felt half so well in my life."

If Elizabeth had been speechless before, she was utterly dumbfounded now. Could this be the same Anne de Bourgh she had seen here last spring? It did not seem conceivable. She had not spoken this many words together during the whole of Elizabeth's association with Rosings a twelvemonth since. What could possibly have wrought such a transformation? In bewilderment, she stole a glance at her husband.

Darcy's countenance, too, registered astonishment, but this was tempered by amusement, evident only in a slight twitching at the corners of his mouth and a roguish glint in his dark eyes. At Elizabeth's mute query, he shrugged almost imperceptibly, and with the merest tilt of his head, directed her gaze back towards his aunt.

Lady Catherine, who had appeared nonplused for an eternity of several seconds, now turned her back on her daughter and lined Elizabeth up within her sights once more. "Depend upon it, my daughter would never have contemplated such a deplorable insurrection, had she not been put up to it!" Descending one step, she eyed Elizabeth suspiciously, and demanded, "What can be the meaning of this?"

After such a concerted effort to refrain from speaking for so long, Elizabeth found it difficult to expel her voice from a parched throat. She swallowed before replying, "I know not what it means, ma'am, other than to assure your ladyship that what Miss de Bourgh says is perfectly true. She did indeed invite me to Rosings."

"Then it is a conspiracy!"

"It is nothing of the sort!" declared Darcy, his exasperation beginning to betray itself in his strained tone.

"I have every right to issue an invitation to this estate, even if I have never chosen to avail myself of it until now," Anne interjected.

"I see how it is!" declared Lady Catherine, still glaring at Elizabeth. "It was not enough for you to inveigle my nephew away from his fiancée, but now you have managed to beguile my own daughter as well! You would turn her against me as you have tried to do with Darcy here! Heartless girl! Are you determined to blight the whole of my existence?"

Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning in mortification, and could no longer repress the retort which forced her mouth open.

"Enough!" cried Darcy. He looked back at Elizabeth, and seeing that she had been about to speak, added in a gentler tone. "My wife wishes to address you, Aunt. Will you do her the honour of hearing her with some civility?"

Lady Catherine snorted a begrudging acquiescence, and Elizabeth began, "I only wish to say, ma'am, that you misjudge us entirely, and you are being unjust to your daughter as well as to my husband. We would surely never have presumed to come here without an invitation. It has never been my object to make you feel any particular way. I have already told you, your ladyship, that I have always endeavoured to act in a manner which will secure my own happiness, but this is not calculated to injure others, as you assume."

"Such deplorable insolence!" Lady Catherine charged back down the stone steps towards her nephew and his wife. "I wash my hands of both of you! It is a travesty! This is not to be endured!"

"At last we have found one point on which we must agree, Aunt!" cried Darcy. He gently took Elizabeth's arm and began to usher her towards their carriage. "Come, Elizabeth. This has indeed gone on long enough."

"What are you doing?" demanded her ladyship.

Darcy deliberately took his time handing Elizabeth into the carriage before making his reply. "You have made it very clear, Aunt Catherine, that we are unwelcome here. My wife is not used to being treated so unkindly, and we are going."

"Where are you going? I must know the particulars. I insist that you tell me at once!"

Darcy stepped up onto the running board of the carriage. "You have washed your hands of me, madam. You are not entitled to know any of my concerns."

Lady Catherine froze in her stride as her nephew settled himself into the carriage. With determination, she made her way round to Elizabeth's window. "If he won't tell me, you must, Miss Bennet."

"I do not know, but if I did, I should remain silent in any case," said Elizabeth quietly. " If I am to be an object beneath your contempt, madam, then there is nothing I must do merely because you say it."

Lady Catherine stamped her elegantly shod foot on the gravel. "I shall brook no further refusals! For the last time, where are you going?"

"If you must know," answered Darcy, "we shall be made very welcome at the home of the Collins'."

"The clergyman?" exploded his aunt. "A member of the noble Fitzwilliam family being put up for the night with a clergyman! How can you think it? It is a degradation!"

"Whether my wife and I seeking accommodation at the home of her cousin and her good friend is more degrading than the fact that you have necessitated this by your incivility to Mrs. Darcy, I shall leave it to your ladyship to determine. Depend upon it, we shall not stay at Rosings under these circumstances."

Seeing that they really meant to go, Lady Catherine began clutching her hands in front of her in nervous desperation. "Very well," she sighed. "I see that you shall never be happy unless I am miserable. You may stay at Rosings at my invitation. Both of you. Come, Darcy, what do you say?"

"As difficult as it is to refuse such a gracious invitation, Aunt, I believe the decision must be Elizabeth's."

"Do, please, say you will stay, Elizabeth," Anne implored her from atop the steps to the house.

From her seat in their carriage, Elizabeth looked across at Darcy, who smiled encouragingly at her, and leaned forward to clasp her hands in both of his own, then raised them to his lips. "Your decision, my love," he whispered. "I cannot be disappointed, whatever that might be."

"Well, Miss Ben--Mrs. Darcy," demanded Lady Catherine, her face furrowing and darkening like a thundercloud as all her internal energy seemed directed to forcing out this modicum of discourse with unaccustomed civility, "do you accept, or not?"

Not. It was indeed a temptation. Such opportunities did not often present themselves. What a triumph it would be to refuse to set foot in Rosings, now that the offer had been made! But Elizabeth's notion of triumph had altered in this past half year, as had many other of her dearest biases. Pride herself as she would on allowing her courage rise at every attempt to intimidate her, that fleeting gratification was not worth disappointing Mr. Darcy, even for a moment. Nothing was. He said it was her decision, but clearly would never have gone so far as to bring her here, had he not dearly wished for his wife to make amends with his aunt. Discomfiting him in order to reject the extension of a hand in hospitality--albeit of the begrudging kind--would be no triumph.

Still, after all she had lately endured at the mercy of Lady Catherine's acid tongue, she could not resist a small ploy of her own. Elizabeth's eyebrows arched as she flashed her dark eyes at Darcy, and the dimples in her cheeks creased more deeply--he had come to understand these as private signals that his wife meant to engage an unwitting opponent in some one-sided repartee, or that she meant to begin professing opinions which were not in fact her own.

"I am concerned, ma'am, that I might prove an inconvenience to you here, since your ladyship did not expect me," Elizabeth began, affecting a look of wide-eyed innocence at her husband's aunt.

"Inconvenience! What utter nonsense! Rosings is twenty times the size of the Collins' home!"exclaimed Lady Catherine. "You will be in no one's way, if you stay here."

"Your ladyship is very kind," Elizabeth demurred, "but it has been above several months since I have seen my dear friend Mrs. Collins and my cousin! Why I have not yet seen their baby! Perhaps it would be best for everyone..."

Lady Catherine narrowed her eyes as she struggled to avoid glaring at Elizabeth. "I cannot abide such coyness!" she harrumphed. " What can you mean by it? It is insupportable! You shall both stay at Rosings. An afternoon visit to the parsonage is good enough for the likes of the Collins'! They deserve no such honour as having members of the noble Fitzwilliam family staying under their roof. How could it be supposed? Let it not be said that Lady Catherine de Bourgh relegated her own relations to staying in the home of a common clergyman across the lane from her estate!"

Although her eyes were not on him, Elizabeth felt Darcy trembling with repressed silent laughter across from her in the carriage. A year ago he would have been unable to find humour at either his aunt's ill-mannered behaviour, or the fact that Elizabeth was deliberately goading her. How far they had come! She leaned forward to look out the window at Lady Catherine, surreptitiously giving her husband a tap on the shin with the toe of her own boot as she did so. "You are persuasive, indeed, Lady Catherine. We shall be very pleased to say at Rosings. I thank you."

"Then it is settled. Darcy, come down from there and instruct these footmen about your luggage," she directed, gesturing officiously at several of her servants who lingered nervously nearby. She watched with pursed lips as her nephew clasped his wife about the waist to help her out of the carriage once more. To Elizabeth she said, "You will come with me. Wives are of little consequence when husbands are seeing to details such as horses and carriages."

Elizabeth watched as Lady Catherine swept up the stairs and into the main doors without a backward glance in her direction. Anne remained on the top step, smiling down at her. "I am so pleased you have decided to stay, Elizabeth, " she said, earnestly. She held one thin white hand to her mouth to suppress a succession of coughs. "I have longed for the chance to know you better."

"And I you," Elizabeth replied with a genuine smile. She mounted the stairs herself, and with great pleasure, linked her arm through Anne's as they walked past the door the butler held open for them.

The smile fell from Elizabeth's face at the sound of Lady Catherine's admonitions to a wide- eyed young chambermaid who appeared ready to quail should the upbraiding escalate. "No! Of course not!" her ladyship cried with great severity of tone and countenance. "This is highly improper! Have you observed nothing since I was generous enough to take you into my employ? Such presumption is not to be endured!! It shall be the blue room in the east wing. See that it is prepared forthwith!" The hapless girl dropped a cowering curtsey to her mistress and fairly ran up the main staircase.

"Thank you, Dorothy," Anne called after her, with a questioning glance at her mother.

"Well, Mrs. Darcy," Lady Catherine said, turning to Elizabeth, "I will ring to have someone show you to your chamber. We dine at eight. I dislike to be kept waiting."

"I remember," said Elizabeth, without thinking. She flushed, and stammered, "That is, your ladyship, that the rules of such a well-run establishment as Rosings could not fail to make an impression, and since you were generous enough to invite the Collins and myself to dine here on several occasions, this is something I have not forgotten." She groaned inwardly, aware that in her effort to make her husband's aunt approve of her, she was resorting more and more to Mr. Collins' brand of sycophancy.

"Yes, yes," Lady Catherine said impatiently. " That was evidently not the only sort of impression being made at my dinners last spring. Perhaps I might not have extended quite so many invitations had I but realized..."

"Mother!" Anne cried.

Elizabeth raised her chin and affected an air of not having heard the slight. "Mr. Darcy and I will be ready to dine promptly at eight."

"Knowing your humble means, I said nothing about your attire when you visited here last spring. Something--perhaps a bit more modest would be more appropriate in such a place as Rosings. I presume my nephew has furnished you with some suitable clothing since then?"

There is a stubbornness about me that can never bear to be frightened at the will of others. Elizabeth recited to herself. No doubt she would be uttering this phrase frequently to herself in the ensuing days. To allow Lady Catherine to see that her insults had made an impression would be tantamount to allowing her ladyship dominate the situation. Elizabeth knew she would never allow herself to give way. Aloud she said only, "Your nephew is the most generous and best of men, ma'am. He has already given me far more than I deserve."

Elizabeth steeled herself to receive the inevitable rejoinder, but to her astonishment Lady Catherine's looked softened, and she said, "I would have expected nothing less. I am excessively fond of him." She turned abruptly and climbed up the main staircase.

In the all-encompassing presence of Lady Catherine, Elizabeth had been insensible to her surroundings until this moment. The entrance hall of Rosings was much as she remembered it, although a half year's residence at Pemberley no doubt put her in considerably less awe than she had been on her earlier visits. No, awe was not the right word. She might possibly have mustered up a respectable showing of awe a year ago had it not been for Mr. Collins' incessant narrative, and its tendency to make even the most opulent of surroundings seem banal by the sheer quantity of detail he had to expound on their behalf. Elizabeth had been heartily sick of Rosings long before they had passed the length of one corridor on their first visit here. The overabundance of paintings, vases, and statues ceased to impress her--if indeed they ever had done--and appeared not so much lavish as excessive, like everything else around her.

In a short space of time, Lady Catherine had already vanished from sight, but could be heard dictating to some unfortunate servants on the second floor. The overbearing voice trailed away as her ladyship pursued these hapless souls from their hearing. Elizabeth expelled a sigh of relief, and turned gratefully to Anne, who was still smiling at her. "Miss de Bourgh..." she began.

"It is Anne. If we are to become better acquainted, you must call me Anne," she insisted. "And I will not stand on ceremony either. I shall call you Elizabeth."

"I should like that," Elizabeth smiled. For several moments she remained silent, glancing about her. She was still astonished to be addressed so amiably by her husband's cousin. Mr. Collins had often spoken of Miss de Bourgh's condescension--in fact it had been one of his highest compliments--but never had the heiress of Rosings demonstrated such ease and friendliness. It was no little cause for wonder. And it was even more evident that Anne was delighted at the prospect of having Darcy stay.

Becoming aware that the silence was in danger of growing awkward, Elizabeth said, "I am relieved that this is not my first visit to Rosings. This would be so much to take in all at once!" With these words, she extended one arm to gesture around her and in so doing sent a vase crashing to the floor at her feet.

Elizabeth blanched at the sight of the delicate shards of porcelain strewn about her feet. "Oh no!" she whispered, biting down on her lip. She stooped to retrieve several of the larger gilt- edged fragments of the blue vase in her gloved fingers.

"Elizabeth, you will cut yourself!" exclaimed Anne. She patted Elizabeth's shoulder and motioned for her to stand.

It was only a vase, surely one of several if not dozens in this hall alone, yet Elizabeth felt mortified beyond expression at her own uncharacteristic clumsiness. What a thing to have done before she was five paces inside the door of Rosings! "I shall certainly replace this, Anne..." she began, but broke off at the sight of her husband's cousin biting down on her lower lip.

"I am afraid that might not be possible."

"The expense is no object, Anne, I am sure you must realize."

"Would that it were that simple," Anne said, with a grave shake of her head. She took a handkerchief from her pocket, and with it pried the pieces of the vase from Elizabeth's fingers, then set them gently on the now-vacant table.

The predicament should have been ludicrous in a house so filled to overflowing with bric-a- brac and everything else money could buy, and yet Elizabeth felt unaccountably near tears. She made a quick decision to enlist such aid as could never disappoint her. "Dar--your cousin has no more wish to displease Lady Catherine than I do! Have you any idea where it might have been purchased? When I tell him, he will go to great lengths to help me to obtain another one!"

Anne picked up one of the pieces and stared thoughtfully at a painted spray of pink roses. "I think that might be beyond even his reach."

"Please tell me I have not destroyed something that has great sentimental value to your moth- -to Lady Catherine!" Elizabeth implored her.

Anne nodded. "I wish I could tell you otherwise, Elizabeth, but that vase was perhaps her favourite and it was for that reason she kept it here at the door--in order that it might be among the first things noticed by visitors."

"Good God!" groaned Elizabeth, forgetting decorum entirely as she contemplated her plight. She held one hand to her forehead, hoping to stave off the headache that had begun to gather, and fell into a settee a few paces away. "Wh--where did she get it?"

"Darcy gave it to her, years ago, following a trip he made to the continent. It was hand- painted--one of a kind. I am not certain how much Mother valued the vase for itself--its appeal lies rather in the opportunities it affords for conversation, for she delights in pointing out to those guests she deems worthy that the vase was a gift from her nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley. After that, it seems only natural to point to this one, from her other nephew the viscount." Anne indicated another ornate porcelain vase on a nearby table.

"Anne! I am so sorry. What can I do? I fear perhaps her ladyship will wish to revoke her invitation to me after all, following this."

Anne smiled wryly at her. "Since that would be tantamount to admitting she made an error in judgement, I doubt it, but let us hope not." She patted Elizabeth's shoulder and glanced thoughtfully up the stairs. "It might work..." she murmured, almost to herself.

"What...?" Elizabeth began, her curiosity piqued by the earnest expression on Miss deBourgh's pale face.

"I think I know how disaster might be averted--or at least postponed," Anne confided, with a conspiratorial smile. "Please leave it to me, Elizabeth. The disadvantage to one who must always be apprized of everyone else's concerns is that eventually something within that vast scope must escape one's notice."

Elizabeth was still shaking her head in mute wonder several minutes later when she thanked the maid whom Lady Catherine had sent to show the way and closed the door to her chamber. She could scarcely wait to ask Darcy to tell her more about his cousin, since she had evidently perceived nothing of Anne's real character during her visits to Rosings a twelvemonth past.

She expelled a deep sigh of relief and looked about her as she pulled off her gloves and bonnet, and lay them, along with her reticule, on the dressing table. A glance in the looking glass revealed a high colour in her cheeks, not at all unexpected under the circumstances, but an otherwise presentable appearance. Although her valises had been brought to this room and efficiently unpacked before she arrived, it was far too early to begin dressing for dinner. And she was not entirely certain which gown to choose. Not but whatever she did choose would offend her ladyship somehow. She sighed again. The reassurance of Darcy's presence, and a moment's respite in his embrace would fortify her for the ordeal ahead this evening. Surely he must arrive at any moment?

In fact, Elizabeth thought, it was odd that her husband was taking so long. She had a vague notion of where the stables were situated in relation to the house, but she would not have imagined it necessary for him to venture there himself, particularly when he must be well known to the grooms at Rosings. Of course, he had the carriage to see secured, and perhaps he had been waylaid by Lady Catherine herself on his return. Besides, it had seemed a rather long walk to this room--no startling consequence in so large a house--but how glad she should be to have him show her the way back to the dining room!

With a shrug, Elizabeth began to explore her apartment. She could not but help smiling at the thought that here, in the inner sanctum of Rosings, she was experiencing something which her cousin Mr.Collins could never dare to dream. For all his enumeration of Rosings' several staircases, she doubted he had ever ascended one of them. He would have to take her word, when next they met, that this chamber, too, was fitted with a very fine fireplace--and probably shelves in the closet, she had not a doubt.

But the room itself, although large and impeccably tasteful, was not particularly opulent. Indeed, compared to the corridors and drawing room on the first floor, it was rather sparsely furnished. The bed was simply hung in blue brocade the same as the upholstery of the two chairs near the fireplace. A rather ordinary painting of some pastoral scene adorned the wall above the mantle. The only other furniture was a small writing desk near the window and the dressing table and washstand.

It left Elizabeth rather cold. Was this the room her husband always used here, or had they been put into another chamber because of her unexpected arrival? Absently, she crossed to the window. Darcy had told her on their journey here how it used to frustrate him that he had not been able to see the lane where she had loved to walk from the window of his chamber. He had been obliged to walk often there himself on the seeming chance of meeting her--something, he did not hesitate to point out, he could never have fancied doing for another woman. The blow to his dignity had required daily application of admission to her presence, balm though it was not.

This window certainly did not look upon the lane. Unless she had been more thoroughly disoriented than she realized, it faced quite in the opposite direction. It must be the same room. Elizabeth ran her fingers over the mahogany of the little desk, and picked up the quill, twirling it between her fingers. Here was where he had written to her! How little an idea he must have had then of the results his letter would produce!

It had been dated eight o'clock in the morning, which Elizabeth had since learned was the time he had finished writing, not when he had begun. Darcy had relented on the promise he had extracted from her to have the letter burnt, and yielded to his wife's reason that she considered it a talisman against further misunderstanding between them. She had only to look at it to recall what evils might come of making up her mind without enough good information, and making assumptions rather than considering facts. In fact, Mrs. Darcy had never yet looked at the letter since her marriage, and did not doubt that it would be sometime before it ceased to be etched, word for word, in her memory. This, madam, is a faithful narrative of every event in which we have been concerned together...

Every event up until that day. Elizabeth thanked heaven there had been other days. Her heart ached at the thought of her beloved, sitting here, pouring out a confession such as he had never made to another soul, still suffering at the abuse and reproofs she had heaped upon him, and yet struggling to be charitable to her. Sometimes Elizabeth worried that she was not good enough by half to be married to such a man.

Suddenly, the air in the chamber began to feel very close, and Elizabeth found she longed for some fresh air and to stretch her limbs after the long journey. A quick glance at the clock assured her that if she walked her favourite haunt for an hour, she would still be in plenty of time to dress for dinner. Darcy, of all people, would understand. She scribbled a quick note to him, grabbed her bonnet and set off.

Within fifteen minutes, Elizabeth was strolling under the shade of the trees that lined the lane. As she passed the gate, she turned back to look at the house, and smiled widely to see Darcy taking great strides in her direction.

"I had not thought I would still have to come here to see you, Elizabeth," he called to her, with a smile that matched her own.

Elizabeth waited until he was near enough for her to reply in a more intimate tone, "Nor I you, sir." Happily, she took his arm, and they continued in the direction she had been walking.

"I knew just where I should find you. I am not surprised that you wished to take some air after that encounter." He drew her to him and kissed her. "You did well, my love, very well."

"I confess I did try. You will forgive me for saying how strange it is to feel so confined in so large a house!"

He chucked her affectionately under the chin. "The mistress of Pemberley has become used to something rather on a grander scale?"

"That is not at all what I meant!" she exclaimed, and poked him playfully in the ribs. "It is just that I---I felt restless, and needed to move around!"

"Old habits die hard. I hesitate to make this a habit, but it would seem that this is my place for apologies."

"I was wondering when you would come around to telling me why you never did come up to our chamber!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"Our chamber?" Darcy stared down at her blankly. "Elizabeth, I have been in our chamber this entire time!"

"Our chamber? Were you concealed behind the draperies?" Elizabeth scowled in the direction of the house. "Because I am sure I should have noticed a man in the chamber where I have spent the past half hour!"

The stony, slightly frosty look his wife thought of as his `decorum at all costs' mask descended upon Darcy's handsome features. He took Elizabeth's arm and coaxed her along the path once more. His tone was gentle, but serious, as he said, "I think we can well imagine what has occurred, Elizabeth."

"I knew it was a mistake for me to come here!" The strain of trying to keep her temper was telling in her voice.

"I begin to fear you are right, my love. I apologize for subjecting you to this. But..."

She exploded, "How can she dare such a thing! I do not care if she is the great and noble Lady Catherine de Bourgh? What is the meaning of it? Does your aunt expect that if she continues to insult me and treat me as though I were not your wife, I shall somehow cease to be?"

"Now, Elizabeth, it may well be that Lady Catherine has put us in separate chambers without any malicious intent..." Darcy began.

"Can you really suppose it?" she retorted, suspicion icing her every syllable.

"I should very much like to suppose it--of my mother's sister," he said, silently imploring his wife to allow him to sway her with reason. He did not wish to believe his aunt capable of such manipulation any more than his wife wished to be subjected to it. The muscles tensed along his jaw and he swatted at a low-hanging branch as he spoke. "Because, by God, the alternative, Elizabeth...I have stuggled to avoid becoming angry with my aunt so far, but each time that inclination is subdued it threatens to return in greater force."

Elizabeth was contrite. She reached up to clasp Darcy's shoulder, which felt as rigid as granite beneath her touch. She must bear in mind that she spoke of a woman who had been one of the central female figures in the better part of her husband's life--who had stood as the nearest thing he had to a mother for many years. It was well within her power to aggravate this situation, but to do so would be diametrically opposed to her entire reason for being here. "You are right. Of course there may be an explanation."

"But...?" Darcy prompted her. He stopped walking and turned his wife to face him.

She realized she had left her lips parted as though she intended to finish her thought aloud. "But nothing," she said resolutely, and clamped her mouth shut.

His expression softened as he searched her countenance. "This will never do. Very well, then- -I will say what you have determined I ought not to hear. `There may be an explanation, but--I should dearly love to hear it.' Is that about right?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Elizabeth raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him. Her dark eyes flashed up at him.

"I take up your challenge, madam!" He laughed suddenly, and it was like the sun emerging from behind a dark cloud..

"Do your best--or your worst!"

"For one thing, we are speaking of an entirely different generation, Elizabeth. Your own parents--surely they do not share a chamber? They did not on their visit to Pemberley at Christmas?"

For a brief moment, Elizabeth was too surprised to speak. She felt the colour rising in her cheeks. "My--um-- my parents are hardly to be held up as an example of marital felicity, as you well know. I think the thing my father liked best about visiting Pemberley was that he could stay on an entirely different floor from my mother."

"Well, the Hursts, you know, at Netherfield--they never..."

"Small wonder," murmured Elizabeth under her breath. She bit at the inside of her cheek to conceal a derisive smirk that threatened to rise to her lips. "No--they shall not prove your point for you either, sir!"

"Nor do I need to look so far afield! I can offer you proof right here. My aunt married Sir Lewis because he was knighted, he was wealthy, he owned this place, and most of all because my grandfather told her she must."

"What has that to do with our accommodations at Rosings?"

"As far back as I can remember, my aunt's apartment was where it is now, and my uncle's at quite the opposite end of that wing. In fact, were it not for the existence of my cousin Anne, I might begin to doubt..."

Elizabeth turned on her heel and set off down the path once more, obliging him to follow. She held up her hands as if to fend away her own thoughts. "The less supposition on that subject, the better!"

"Agreed!" Darcy laughed. "Permit me only to say that I can never recall running into Sir Lewis in the corridor!"

She wrinkled her nose in contemplation. "Even so, it is no reason for her ladyship to assume that no one else ever....Your own parents, Fitzwilliam, that was a love match, was it not?"

"It always appeared that way to me," Darcy replied. "Although I should not think that my mother would have--or would have been allowed to have--refused a proposal from the master of Pemberley even if there had been no love in the case!"

"Your mother had more sense than I," Elizabeth murmured, blushing as she spoke.

"No, my love, but I should imagine that my father never proposed to her by insulting her and the entire Fitzwilliam family!"

Neither of them spoke for several moments as each dwelt on recollections made bearable only in hindsight. At last Elizabeth ventured, "And were Mr. and Mrs. Darcy permitted to share a chamber at Rosings?"

"I cannot recall, Elizabeth. My mother was never well enough to travel so far after Georgiana was born, and the other visits were too long ago. At home, they had adjoining chambers--perhaps there was a similar arrangement here. I believe there are several adjoining chambers in that wing. The point is--and you understand that I have no wish to defend my aunt, only to make you feel less slighted, my love--but the point is that perhaps assigning separate bedchambers is an entirely ususal practice--or it was in my aunt's day. I have never been in this position before at Rosings!"

"I should hope not! But I do think she might at least have consulted us first!" Elizabeth protested with a little stamp of her foot.

"Do you indeed?" asked Darcy, looking down at her with barely veiled amusement in his dark eyes. "You would wish to have Lady Catherine de Bourgh prying into your most private concerns?"

"It never caused her a moment's hesitation the last time I was here!"

"Commenting on your apparel, your musical ability, and your conversational quirks is hardly the same as making arrangements of this nature, dearest Elizabeth!" Now he did laugh outright. "But I have a small confession: every evening when you left here last April, I tried to imagine where you were staying in the parsonage, and envisioned what it would be like when I could have you here, at Rosings with me, when next we came."

She cast him a long, thoughtful gaze, enjoying a wife's privilege of being able to scrutinize him as much as she chose--and far more than she would ever have dared when they had last been at Rosings together. "So often last April, I tried to read your thoughts--how little I should have imagined that was what you were thinking!"

"Evidently not!" he agreed brusquely, colouring faintly at the remembrance of how painful such unrequited feelings had been to him then, and how the relief he had sought had proved more excruciating than his affliction. "My own feelings for you were so overpowering that it was inconceivable to me you could not have known."

"I ought to have guessed, perhaps," she allowed. Tenderly she touched his cheek with one hand. "You were asking the oddest sort of unconnected questions. Once when you were speaking of Rosings and my not perfectly understanding the house, it seemed as though you expected that whenever I came into Kent again, I would be staying here too."

"In my mind, I could envision it no other way." He clasped her hand in his own, and kissed the palm of it. "And here we are."

"Yes, Mr. Darcy--here we are. So, what do we do?"

"Well," he said, turning her so that they began to walk back in the direction of the house, "the first order of business is to determine where your room is situated."

"For what purpose?"

"What purpose, indeed," he said, smiling down at her. "Whatever intentions my aunt may have had, she shall not be the one to determine when we are to spend our first night apart. But it might prove a trifle embarrassing to be found walking the halls in search of you after we retire. Which way does your window face?"

"That way, I believe," she said, indicating the direction with her finger. "You cannot see the grove from there."

"Nor can I from my chamber! Very good! We might indeed have adjoining apartments! I know what most of the bedrooms look like. There are two other rooms in the wing that face the same way--a pinkish sort of chamber, and a green one, I believe."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and stared up at him.

"From childhood explorations, I assure you!" he protested, laughing. "What manner of chamber are you in, my love?"

She frowned as she pictured it. "Very ordinary, really. It is decorated in blue."

"Blue?" He considered the prospect. "Lady Catherine may well have redecorated, of course...What sort of furnishings has it?"

"Nothing of note. Dark wood. A little writing desk--I thought that was where you had written to me!"

"No, but I shall be pleased to write you another letter there, if you wish it!"

"To the business at hand, please, sir!" she said pertly, tapping on his arm. "There are urgent matters of great import to be determined here!"

"Forgive me," he said contritely. "Very urgent. Great import. Indeed. But I simply cannot place it, Elizabeth. Is there nothing else you can tell me?"

Now they were turning onto the walkway that led directly to the house. "Only that I came out from that door to go walking." She gestured towards the easternmost end of Rosings.

"There? How long did it take you to walk from your room to that door?" he queried in some surprise.

"No more than a minute or two--why do you ask?" Elizabeth looked up at him just in time to see him carefully masking a dark look and recomposing his features into a rather stiff little smile, purely for her benefit.

"I think I know where you are staying, my love. I shall test my theory by coming to escort you to dinner."

Elizabeth brightened. "Excellent! Now I have only to fret about what to wear to dinner! What shall it be, do you think? The yellow gown, or my new rose gown?"

"The yellow," Darcy replied, without hesitation.

"Really?" Elizabeth was surprised. "I should have thought the rose?"

"Trust me, Mrs. Darcy, the yellow gown."

Elizabeth shrugged and stared up at him. "I suppose I ought to be thankful that you wish to discuss such matters at all. My father could not endure it for a moment!"

"I am willing to endure all manner of hardships for you, dearest Elizabeth," he laughed, and bent to kiss her cheek just before they entered the front doors. "But I am sure the worst of this visit shall soon be behind us."

Surreptitiously, Elizabeth glanced at the ornate little table in the front hallway, from which she had sent the elegant blue vase tumbling to the ground earlier. There was nothing there! Either Miss de Bourgh's plan to conceal her clumsy accident must have gone awry, or the incident had been of far less consequence that she had earlier imagined, and merely magnified in her own conscience. She still found it difficult to believe that even such a formidable mind as Lady Catherine's was so excessively attentive that she could account for each and every trinket that formed the ostentatious display before them.

"Elizabeth, what is it?" asked Darcy. He nodded to the butler who had closed the door behind them, and took her arm gently. "Is something the matter?"

"It is..." she looked up at him, hesitating. She had no desire to conceal this from her husband. Indeed, she should like nothing more than to tell him everything and enlist his protection, if not his assistance. But Elizabeth had no idea what his cousin had planned to do, and had no wish to unwittingly confound that lady's intentions. "It is nothing, my love. It is only that I am feeling rather nervous about being in such a great house with many--so many expensive things about." She forced a bright smile as she patted a rather gaudily upholstered settee which was crammed in between two Corinthian marble columns with intricately carved cornices.

"Are you indeed, O Mistress of Pemberley?" Darcy chided her with a smirk of amusement.

"That is entirely different. It is our home!" Elizabeth protested, with a laugh. "We have not so much ornamentation there that I need live in constant fear of breaking something! And there I know at least that you will not devour me, should I misstep!"

"Are you quite, certain of that, Mrs. Darcy? Perhaps that is only because you have never yet given me cause!" He bent to kiss her forehead. "I assure you, I can be quite as formidable as my aunt!"

Elizabeth laughed at him. "Yes, very fierce. A veritable dragon. That is why I agreed to spend the rest of my life with you."

Darcy's dark eyes twinkled as he let out an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. "You mock me. It is a great pity indeed when a man's wife ceases to be in awe of him."

"Oh, I am in awe, fear not!" She tilted her face up until their lips nearly met. "Or at least I may say that I wonder about you a great deal!"

"Do not wonder, madam. I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours. Ask me, and I will tell you whatever you wish to know." He leaned still closer to her, expectantly. "Pray, what are you wondering, just now?"

"I wonder..." Elizabeth held his eyes with her own just a moment longer than necessary. "I wonder whether we might be so fortunate that her ladyship will invite the Collinses to dine soon?"

"The Collinses!" Darcy sputtered. He straightened and ran one hand through his hair. "Were you really thinking of your cousin just now, my love?"

"Truly, I was, Fitzwilliam. I was thinking that a dose of Mr. Collins droning on about how many hundreds of pounds all of this cost might be just the cure for what ails me."

Darcy shook his head at her, smiling. "Go and dress for dinner. I will come and escort you to the dining room. Your chamber would be that way, I believe?"

Elizabeth looked where he indicated, down the corridor where she had earlier followed one of the maids. She nodded. "I will be ready in half an hour. Heaven forbid that I should keep her ladyship waiting for her dinner!"

She watched as Mr. Darcy ascended the vast staircase, and disappeared into the lofty regions above. The light-hearted exchange had invigorated her. Six months had wrought an astonishing change in her husband's demeanour, and never had she witnessed such playful manners or high spirits from him in this house. He must feel optimistic about this reconciliation, and she must follow his example.

No, she thought as she made her way to her own chamber, there was no need to take all of this so seriously. Whatever Lady Catherine said--however she felt--Elizabeth was still Mrs. Darcy, and nothing could alter that. Even if their sojourn here at Rosings should prove a complete rout, they could take comfort in knowing that it was not through a lack of effort on their part.

In her chamber, Elizabeth loosened the strings of her bonnet, then removed her gloves and laid all these articles on her bed. She looked around her once again. Were it not for the fact that her husband had a different, presumably more opulent apartment somewhere within this vast edifice, she should feel perfectly satisfied with her accommodation. A blazing fire had been laid in her absence and had admirably accomplished its task of warming the chamber. The blue decor and the lack of excessive ornamentation which plagued the main corridor would, in all likelihood, prove a balm to her spirits at evening's end.

Elizabeth drew a deep breath, and opened the door of her dressing room, wondering vaguely whether Lady Catherine had assigned a lady's maid to attend her. The Darcys had chosen to travel with only the servants necessary to look after the carriage and horses, and Elizabeth had been adamant that she would bring no one to attend her alone, not wishing to afford her husband's aunt the slightest provocation to censure the insufferable presumption of her uninvited guest.

.

It would appear that she was meant to dress herself this evening, however. Elizabeth tried to convince herself that this oversight was unintentional. And as soon as she draped the soft folds of her pale yellow gown across her arms, she began to relax. It was elegant in its simplicity, adorned only with tiny white satin flowers embossed over the skirt. She had not yet forgotten her cousin Collins' statement that Lady Catherine was far from requiring that elegance of dress in her guests which became herself and daughter. She was now well enough acquainted with the Rosings family to realize that this meant her ladyship disliked, above all else, to be outshone. The delicate yellow frock could draw no admonishment of this kind upon her. How right Fitzwilliam had been to recommend this over the rose-coloured gown, for Elizabeth was aware--even allowing for some uncharacteristic feminine vanity-- that the rose became her so exceedingly well that she must quite eclipse anyone in the room.

Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth surveyed the results of her efforts in her dressing table mirror. Yellow was indeed her favourite colour, and she exalted a moment in the knowledge that not everyone could wear it without appearing sallow. Her countenance, if anything, was a little flushed, but this she could attribute to the warmth of the fire. She had woven a matching satin ribbon through her dark hair, and only lacked something at her throat to complete the ensemble. Longingly, she glanced down at a string of pearls that had belonged to Lady Anne Darcy, resting on the dressing table. They were just the embellishment her gown wanted, but very likely to draw the unfavourable notice of her hostess. She settled instead for a pair of pearl drop earrings her husband had given her among her wedding gifts. At least Lady Catherine could not question her right to wear those.

She was pulling on her elbow-length white gloves when she heard a soft rap at her chamber door. Without waiting for a reply, Mr. Darcy opened it and slipped inside, his smile widening as he beheld her.

"Mr. Darcy! What if you had erred, and this was not, in fact, my apartment?" she charged him with a laugh.

"I knew it must be, for I could sense your presence within as I stood in the corridor." He executed a gallant bow before her and withdrew, from behind his back, a nosegay of miniature yellow rosebuds, which he presented with a flourish.

Elizabeth laughed again as she breathed in their scent, then tucked them into her bodice. "Once again, sir, you astonish me. What if I had changed my mind and worn the rose-coloured gown instead?"

"I knew you would not. I am not a man to brook disobedience!"

"Disobedience...?" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow at him.

"Forgive me, I forgot whom I address. In any case," he said, smiling, "I supposed that if you had worn the other gown you should be pleased to change it once you saw these flowers. Either way, it was a gamble I could not lose, for then I should be obliged to spend a few more moments alone with you here!"

"And keep your aunt waiting? Never!"

Lady Catherine was already seated at her accustomed place in the withdrawing room when the Darcys arrived. She did not arise to greet them as she had done on Elizabeth's first visit to Rosings, but Anne, patiently trying to ignore the ministrations of Mrs. Jenkinson, did them this small honour, and flushed faintly as Darcy smiled at her.

Mr. Darcy was directed by his aunt to be her escort into dinner and he did not protest, leaving Anne, Elizabeth and Mrs. Jenkinson to trail in their wake. The meal was quite as handsome as anything Elizabeth had eaten on previous visits. Now that she knew her husband's tastes at table, she could perceive that this repast was designed with those in mind. Darcy, however, seemed little inclined to notice what was on his plate, devoting his attention instead to any conversation that passed between his wife and his aunt. The discourse was mundane and superlatively dull, which Elizabeth could only count as auspicious under the circumstances.

"You look very well this evening, Miss Ben--Mrs. Darcy," Lady Catherine observed grudgingly near the end of the meal. "Although yellow is not a colour I have ever chosen to wear myself. It is unflattering to any but the brownest complexion. I consider it rather too weak a hue to complement features of distinction such as Anne's or my own."

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth perceived Mr. Darcy bunching his napkin in one hand, and attempting to compose his features before speaking. Hastily, she gulped her wine and drew a deep breath before making her reply. "I believe it is very fortunate that the same things do not become all of us, Ma'am, for how dreary it would be to see everyone dressed exactly alike all the time."

Ignoring her, save for a hint of a scowl, her ladyship continued, "I do not suppose there is anyone of my acquaintance with a more natural sense of refinement and fashion than my own. Although I do recall several elegant young women of your set, Darcy, when you used to come visit me. They certainly knew the type of attire which flattered them without seeming to cry out for attention. That is not something you approve."

"Certainly not," he agreed gruffly. "In fact I can quite honestly say I never paid much attention to any of them."

A triumphant gleam lighted in Lady Catherine's eye. "I suppose it is long since you have seen any of the young people you used to invite to balls here at Rosings?"

"Once or twice in Town perhaps," he answered vaguely. "It has been a year or more at least. Elizabeth and I did not go to London for the season this year."

"No, I should imagine not," his aunt concurred with a sour smile. "How very unfortunate that you have not made an opportunity to present your wife to any of those you were wont to class as your peers."

Elizabeth's resolve to let this slight pass unremarked lasted but an instant. "Mr. Darcy and I have received a great many guests at Pemberley in the six months we have been married, your ladyship. And in the remainder of that time, I assure you we have lacked neither occupation nor desired to have other company."

"Perhaps not. But I feared my nephew might find it rather a dull party at Rosings this year-- particularly when I was under the impression that he would be visiting here alone. You will not, I trust, be disappointed to learn that I chanced to meet some old friends of his in the village last week, and have invited them here tomorrow evening."

"Indeed?" Darcy asked, mild interest lightening the frown on his countenance. "Who might that be?"

"Lady Gwendolyn Woodvale," she replied. "And her husband, of course."

The clatter of Anne's fork hitting her plate drew Elizabeth's attention in alarm at that moment, and in the time it took Mrs. Jenkinson to persuade Miss deBourgh to take a glass of water, she was unaware that Darcy had risen from his place at the table.

He was white-lipped as he threw down his napkin. "Tell your butler I will take a glass of port out on the terrace!" he snapped.

"Nephew! " Lady Catherine exclaimed. "This is highly irregular! Have you forgotten every rule of etiquette since I last saw you? It is the ladies who are meant to withdraw from table! And we have not finished dessert!"

"I assure you, madam, that I am unfit to remain in the presence of ladies a moment longer!" And with that, he stalked from the dining room without a backward glance.

Gwendolyn Woodvale. Her name hung in the air as the four women gaped at the door through which Mr. Darcy had just vanished. It seemed to shudder in his wake.

The one small solace granted Elizabeth following this distressing episode was that she appeared to recover her wits sooner than any of the others. By the time Lady Catherine fixed a jaundiced eye upon her, Mrs. Darcy was mistress of herself enough to affect an outward semblance of unconcern, even disinterest, much as she yearned to run to her husband's side. This, she knew, must vex her ladyship exceedingly-- which was reason enough to maintain the pretense. In any case, Elizabeth would not allow Lady Catherine the satisfaction of witnessing how really alarmed she was.

Either her hostess had been displeased by her nephew's reaction and hoped to see the others similarly malcontent, or she had known before speaking that her revelations would upset Darcy, and therefore his wife. The intelligence given by Lady Catherine and the triumphant manner in which she had at first related it to them all were so evidently by design that it seemed the latter must be true, but even she must have been taken aback by Darcy's abrupt departure. For once, her ladyship seemed at a loss for words.

Elizabeth's hand trembled as she tried to raise a spoonful of syllabub to her lips, then discreetly lowered it, reaching instead for her goblet of wine. Her astonishment was beyond expression. She had never seen anything like this display of temper from her husband in the whole history of their acquaintance. Not even Wickham had engendered such wrath! The name she had heard meant nothing to her. But whoever Lady Gwendolyn Woodvale was, she could be no common and indifferent acquaintance of Mr. Darcy's.

There could be no doubt that Miss de Bourgh certainly had been apprized of something of this history, for she was apparently suffering to a degree much greater than that of Elizabeth herself since her cousin had quitted them. Two great gulps of water which Mrs. Jenkinson had at last pressed upon her instigated a spasm of coughing that began to alarm all of them before it showed signs of abating.

At length, although disdaining to remark upon the stupidity in which their meal had ended, Lady Catherine harrumphed and rang a small bell next to her place. "We will have coffee in the sitting room," she ordained imperiously, and swept from the dining room with every expectation of being obeyed.

Through the doors leading to the terrace, Elizabeth glimpsed Darcy's rigid profile as he stared out at Rosings Park. Who is Gwendolyn Woodvale, and why has the mention of her name discomposed you so? she wondered. She still longed to go to him, but realized it would be best to allow him to rejoin the party when he was ready.

Before Elizabeth could protest, she found that a card table had been laid in front Lady Catherine and the other two ladies were looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to join them. Any mindless distraction must be for the best, she told herself, accepting a chair with her back to the window. Mrs. Jenkinson dealt them each four cards, and with some dismay, Elizabeth realized that Lady Catherine was to be her partner.

The 8, two 4s and the Queen which lay in the centre of the table swam meaninglessly before Elizabeth's eyes.

To her left, Anne coughed quietly and whispered, "You are to begin, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth placed an 8 from her own hand on the table and captured the 8 in front of her, then rested her cards.

"Miss Bennet!" Lady Catherine cried disdainfully. "You do know how to play Cassino?"

Elizabeth winced at the sound of her maiden name. "Have I played something amiss?" She reached in confusion towards the Queen at the centre of the card table. "8 and 4 are 12, so..."

Her partner clucked her tongue in exasperation. "No, no! What can you be thinking? The 8 will also take both 4s, do you not see? But only a Queen can triumph when there is another Queen. The lower cards mean nothing! The two must be of equal rank! "

"I have never professed to be much of a card player, ma'am."

"What? You do not play cards at Pemberley? My nephew is excessively fond a game of cards," Lady Catherine declared with a sour look. "We have often played cards by the hour here at Rosings!"

Elizabeth, who was well aware how much her husband loathed to pass an evening in this manner, forbore to correct his aunt's assumptions. "It seems we find ourselves much occupied at Pemberly, even without such pleasures as are to be afforded by such a stimulating pass time as this, your ladyship. I will be sure to suggest it to him when next we find ourselves without entertainment of an evening."

"See that you do!" Lady Catherine watched as her daughter laid down a few cards, then played her own hand. "You have received none of the friends he knew before and you do not play cards! Whatever do you do? I dare say Darcy finds the evenings long and dull! You will be gratified to see how young people of my nephew's own rank pass a civilized evening when his friends dine here tomorrow!"

It had been a brief respite, but this mention of the company who were to wait upon them tomorrow set Elizabeth's anxieties racing again. It was not until she was able to plead a headache and retire to her chamber alone, half an hour later, that she could even begin to feel tolerably composed.

Darcy had not rejoined them. One moment he had been on the terrace, and when Elizabeth next glanced over from the game, he was gone. And neither was he here.

With a sigh, Elizabeth peeled her gloves off and cast them on her dressing table, then crossed purposefully to her dressing room. When she emerged minutes later, clad in a dressing gown with her hair loose about her shoulders, she was astonished to see Darcy reclined on her bed, smiling at her.

He sat up. "At last. I thought this day would never end."

"What are you doing here?" Elizabeth asked, in some confusion. His countenance bore no trace of his earlier displeasure.

"I should think it obvious, my love. I told you that I would not allow my aunt to dictate the manner in which we are to pass our time."

"Would that you could have been there to rescue me from a stupefying game of Cassino, in that case!"

He laughed and rose from the bed. "Oh Lord! She did not force you to play cards?"

"She did!" Elizabeth insisted in indignation. She had exerted herself to be patient all day, but had now reached her limit. Why did he not speak of what must be on both their minds? In agitation, she picked up a brush from the dressing table and began pulling it through her hair. "However did you bear spending your evenings here?"

"Now that I am here--with you--I cannot imagine it, dearest Elizabeth." He crossed to stand behind her, and kissed her shoulder. Their eyes met in the looking glass.

"When are you going to tell me, Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy stared at his own reflection as he pulled his neckcloth loose. "Tell you what, my love?"

She turned to face him, grasping his unfastened neckcloth in her hands "Come, sir! It is unlike you to be coy! Have you forgotten that you profess to abhor disguise of every sort?"

"It--it is not a disguise, Elizabeth," Darcy stammered. The consciousness of her meaning was plain in his look. "It is only--that is, I think this is best left untouched, that is all. No good can come from pressing this inquiry, I assure you."

"And what am I to suppose, if you will not tell me?"

"Do not suppose anything, dearest Elizabeth. I promise you, Gwyn--Lady Woodvale, is not worth a moment of your concern!"

"You will forgive me if I tell you that your actions do not give credence to your words, sir." She pushed herself away from him and began to pace the chamber. "How, pray, am I to remain unconcerned after witnessing your reaction to the very mention of her name?"

Darcy stared helplessly at her, and held his hands towards her, beseechingly. "It is only--she is--she is not the type of woman I would have you know, my love."

"Come! How is the acquaintance to be avoided? I will be dining with this woman tomorrow night, and this is all you have to say?" She stopped pacing and turned to fix him with an unwavering gaze.

He opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. Elizabeth could see the hard set of his jaw as he turned and walked to the window, where he stood staring for several moments before she heard his voice. In a low, determined tone he said, "You are not going to be dining with her, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth could only stare at her husband agape for some moments. "I am not to dine with her! How do you propose to prevent me?" she cried. Raising her hands to flushed cheeks, she felt them beginning to burn with pique and mortification. Thus far she had contained such sentiments but did not bid fair to continue.

Darcy turned from the window to face her, his own countenance inscrutable as he said gravely, "Elizabeth, please listen to me! I have thought upon this all the while since I quitted the dining room. This is the best way."

"Best for whom? For your aunt or for the enigmatic Lady Woodvale?" Elizabeth asked icily. "You seem to take an eager interest in that woman's concerns!"

He took a few steps towards his wife. "That is unfair, Elizabeth--you must know that."

"Why must I know it? You will tell me nothing of her except that you wish me to know nothing and you have decided that I am unworthy to eat in the same room with her!"

Now he closed the distance between them in two long strides and grasped Elizabeth by the shoulders. "I never said anything of the kind!" He paused, staring down at his wife, and tried to draw her closer. "My love, I had no intention of confronting you with it in this manner..."

"You could not possibly have imagined that after an outburst such as we witnessed in the dining room, I would have no curiosity!" she exclaimed, pulling away from him again. She began to pace her bedchamber. "You know me too well to suppose me capable of holding my tongue in such an instance. Why should this person arouse such vehemence in you? Your reluctance to tell me has done nothing to allay my concerns and everything to provoke them. I demand an explanation!"

"Elizabeth, I misspoke. What I meant to say is that we, neither of us, will be here at Rosings for dinner tomorrow night. I cannot permit it."

The myriad emotions at war within Elizabeth caused a peculiar twitch of her countenance at these words. "Cannot permit?" She exclaimed, her eyebrows arching in astonishment as she stopped pacing. "Cannot permit? You may be my ` lord and master', but `cannot permit' is an expression I choose not to comprehend, sir. As for the other--allow me to say that while I am gratified not to be alone in my banishment from the dining room, your solution to this problem raises rather more suspicion in me than it removes! You have no wish to see Lady Woodvale either?"

"Indeed I do not!" he scowled. Darcy volunteered nothing further. He drew one finger around his neck, then loosened the top two buttons on his collar , as though it was preventing him from breathing as deeply as he wished.

Darcy stood there with his dark eyes flashing in a manner that appeared alternately glowering and smouldering, but remained resolutely silent and frozen in place. Barely concealing her exasperation, Elizabeth determined to try another tack. Whether or not they would actually absent themselves from Rosings on the morrow remained to be seen, but first she must learn what was behind his stony reticence on the entire subject. Darcy's ability to withhold the information she desired could not long withstand the means she had at her disposal to draw if from him. Contemplating her next words, Elizabeth walked slowly back to her dressing table and took up her brush again, drawing it through her hair half a dozen times before she spoke. "Why do you suppose Lady Catherine invited her here, since you obviously despise her so much, Fitzwilliam?"

"Good God, how should I know?" he retorted. He stalked away from his wife and flopped down on her bed despondently, staring up at the canopy. "The woman is evidently irrational!"

Elizabeth pounced quickly on this offhand remark. "Who? Your aunt or Lady Woodvale?"

"Aunt Catherine, of course!"

"My love, her ladyship may be a great many things, but she could never be accused of being unaware of her own motives! She must have some design in selecting these people for our evening's entertainment, and if you cannot determine what that might be, I shall ask her outright!"

"What?" Darcy sat bolt upright. "Elizabeth! You certainly shall not!"

She set her brush back down and turned to him slowly and deliberately. "When have you known me to be deterred from my course, once I had set my mind to something?" she asked with an arch little smile. "Dissuade me with some information at once, Mr. Darcy, or I shall know what I must do!"

His eyes widened, making Mr. Darcy look like nothing so much as a little boy being compelled to confess his transgressions as he sat there on the edge of her bed. "Very well," he sighed morosely. "Lady Woodvale is something of a misnomer for Gwendolyn, which I am rather surprised my aunt did not mention. In truth she is more properly Viscountess Longmuir since the death of her husband's elder brother three years ago. One day her husband will be an earl and she will be a countess. I do not know this for a certainty, but I can only think that my aunt meant to intimidate you by her rank. In fact, perhaps that is why she did not call her by her proper title-- hoping to catch you off guard when you meet her."

"But she would not have succeeded. You know how I react to attempts to intimidate me." She rose and began to cross the chamber to him.

"It is more than that, my love. I know you can hold your own, but after the insufferable impertinence you have had to endure today, I have no wish to subject you to more of the same. She would exert attempt in her power to make you feel inferior to these people."

"She could not make me feel inferior without my consent," Elizabeth said softly. She was now only a few feet away from Darcy, staring down at him.

"Nor would there be any justification in it!" he declared, reaching out to clasp his wife's hands in his own. "But that is immaterial. Lady Catherine would revel in your discomfort, and I will not have it. We will not give her the opportunity. Let us put it out of our minds for now, my love."

Elizabeth did not allow Darcy to pull her down next to him. "And that is why you propose to have us flee Rosings tomorrow? To spare me the discomfort of your aunt's attempts to prove me inferior to Lady Wood--to Viscountess Longmuir? That is the whole of it?"

"Of course!" Darcy said shortly. "Is that not reason enough?"

She raised an eyebrow at his tone, but said only, "Where are we to go?"

"I did intend to consult you on that point, of course."

"Thank you," Elizabeth retorted drily, releasing his hands.

"It does not signify where, Elizabeth."

"I think it does."

"I will take you back to Pemberley without a moment's hesitation if you wish it, my love. Or instead, perhaps we might dine with Mr. and Mrs. Collins?"

"You astonish me!" Elizabeth sputtered. "Would not our absence, far from proving a point to Lady Catherine, serve rather to confirm her impression of my inferiority? Can you imagine how she would explain our departure to her guests? I can if you cannot. She would tell them you were so ashamed of me that you could not bear to present your wife in their company."

"Gwyn--the viscountess would never believe that." An unreadable expression flickered across his countenance for the briefest of instants. He stood and clasped Elizabeth by the shoulders again for emphasis. "Never."

"Why should she not? What is to prevent her? She may believe anything she chuses to believe about a woman she is never to meet!"

At her words Darcy appeared dangerously close to losing whatever tenuous control he had over his emotions since she had raised this subject. "Elizabeth, please! Trust in my judgement and be reasonable about this!"

"I will trust you when you tell me the real reason you do not wish me to meet this woman, sir!" Elizabeth folded her arms in front of her and stared up at him, challenge flashing in her eyes.

Darcy's countenance blanched beneath the flush that had risen high on his cheekbones and he stood motionless, weighing his decision. At last he took Elizabeth's arms again, more firmly this time, and backed her toward her bed. "Very well. But now I do insist that you sit down, madam. And remember that you did ask."

For one moment, Elizabeth would willingly have taken back everything that had transpired between them in the past half hour. Indeed, his extreme reaction to the mention of Gwendolyn Woodvale had been uncharacteristic, even distressing--but what must Mr. Darcy now suppose by her own behaviour towards him since then? The nature of what she suspected was all too obvious. Elizabeth bit her lip in chagrin and frustration. It had gone too far already.

"Sit down, Elizabeth," Darcy repeated, in a grim monotone.

More than passingly dismayed by the intense expression that creased Darcy's brow, Elizabeth offered no argument, but did as he bade her. She sat on the edge of her bed, perching there expectantly, and tilted her head even further back to look up at him.

He coughed slightly, gazing down at her with a sombre expression in his dark eyes. "I do not wish to injure you, Elizabeth. Telling you about all of this was the very furthest thing from my mind when we undertook this journey..." he began.

She wrestled with the words that sprang to her lips, and in the end, Elizabeth could not help herself. "You meant to conceal this from me, then?"

"Conceal? No! No..." Darcy threw his hands up helplessly. "You know me better than that, Elizabeth--or I had hoped by now you did. I say it was far from my mind, because I had forgotten all about it. Or I wanted to forget. I never wished to be reminded of her--of any of this again, if you want to know the truth."

"That is all I have ever wanted to know," Elizabeth said quietly.

"It is rather a long story, my love..." he faltered. "I am grieved and shocked indeed that my aunt could employ such cunning..." Darcy drew the back of his hand across his lips, then began to fidget absently with his gold signet ring. "Gwendolyn Woodvale is a name I would as soon never have uttered again." He cast his eyes anxiously about the room.

Hoping to make him more at ease, Elizabeth slid up to the head of the bed and sank back against the cushions. "What is it that you seek?" she whispered.

"I suppose it would be too much to hope that my aunt had left so much as a flask of sherry or port in this god-forsaken part of the house?" Darcy said, shortly. His eye alighted on a decanter of dark amber liquid and several small snifters on a tray to one side of the mantle. He strode towards it and wrenched open two more buttons on his shirt..

Elizabeth sat up. "Fitzwilliam, I do not know whether that is..."

"It is of no consequence," he interrupted. His glass was already full, and he threw back a draught with a grimace.

Although she was beginning to grow really alarmed, Elizabeth attempted to lighten the mood. "Perhaps I ought to join you?" She smiled and held out one hand.

Darcy raised his eyebrows, but turned back and filled a second glass. "Perhaps you ought," he said hoarsely. He strode back to the bedside and proffered it to his wife, who dutifully raised it to her lips.

He paced the length of the chamber once more, then turned to look back at her. There seemed to be no further means by which Darcy could delay his next words, so he began: "You know that it has been my custom to visit Rosings each year in the spring, ever since I was a boy."

Elizabeth nodded her affirmation without interrupting, watching him intently as he picked up and turned over everything on the mantlepiece. At last he ran his fingers over and appeared to be most engrossed by a small blue vase, less ornate but not unlike the one she had shattered earlier in the entrance hall.

"I suppose I ought to have realized that something like this would happen one day. She never was the sort of woman whom one could disregard, however much one might wish it. She is--or rather she was ..." he glanced over at Elizabeth and suddenly drew his hand back from the vase. "No, I must go farther back. When my father...after I lost my father six years ago, I felt more than usually anxious to travel, but more particularly to be away from Pemberley We had lost our steward--Wickham's father--not so many years before my own father's passing, and suddenly Pemberley seemed like a foreign country to me. Once the period of formal mourning for our father had ended, Georgiana was sent off to school. Most of my own friends were in London, and the very thought of rattling about in that great house alone was insupportable."

"I can well imagine it," murmured Elizabeth. "Ever since I have known Pemberley, it has been filled with activity and life. I should find it intolerable otherwise."

"Precisely so. I should feel quite lost without you there, dearest Elizabeth." He flickered a slight smile at her and set the vase down. "So I took it into my mind to travel to the continent, which proved an unmitigated disaster in retrospect."

"A disaster?"

"As much as I desired to escape Pemberley, there could be nothing worse than to be so utterly alone as a stranger in a foreign land, heartsick and with no prospect of respite in view. I can think of only one other time in my life when I have felt so lost or known something so near despair."

Elizabeth cast her eyes down under the weight of the penetrating stare which he fixed upon her. She still found it arduous to dwell upon that pain she had so unwittingly inflicted upon him at the time of his first rejected proposal. "My love, I regret..."

"You have nothing to regret, Elizabeth, for I deserved everything you said to me and I brought it upon myself! I hope I will never again in my existence give you cause to reproach me so. But that time, as I traveled, I was not the author of my own suffering and therefore had not the wherewithal to forsee any dénouement to which I might be reconciled. I saw nothing and felt nothing. It was too new and too strange and my grief too fresh to make me feel anything but numb. The manner in which I attempted to elevate my low spirits was not..." he broke off abruptly, and pulled a hand through his hair.

"Was not...what?" she prompted.

Darcy shook his head. "That is not relevant to this story. The point is that I longed above all else for familiarity and comfort, so at last I returned to England in time for my annual spring sojourn at Rosings--but this time with renewed purpose."

"Then you did not meet her on your journey?" ventured Elizabeth.

"Good God, no!" Darcy exclaimed. He paced the length of the room again as he spoke. "Perhaps, if I had, none of the rest of it would ever have occurred."

Elizabeth sighed and flopped forward onto her stomach on the bed. "Am I to meet the countess at some point in your saga?"

"Patience, Elizabeth." Darcy glowered at her a moment, and then resumed pacing. "I arrived here at Rosings determined to make some significant changes in my life. The months I had spent on the continent had shown me how self-destructive I was capable of being, and I had no wish to repeat such folly. Perhaps my motives were too transparent."

"I should never call you transparent," Elizabeth murmured. "And I cannot imagine you being self-destructive."

He turned to face her. "You have not always known me, Elizabeth. And remember that the man you first met was not someone you greatly desired to know. I cannot but think that if you had met me then, I should never have had my second chance with you."

"What did you do that was so dreadful?"

"Quite simply, I rushed headlong into the most unsuitable connection I have ever sought."

She sat up very straight. "Gwendolyn?"

"Yes," he said grimly. "She attended a ball here that spring, and despite every instinct that ought to have warned me away from her, I pursued her for all I was worth. She and I..." he paused, imploring her with his eyes. "You cannot wish to hear more of this, my love!"

Elizabeth felt her cheeks burning--whether with jealousy or some other emotion, she knew not. "Oh, you must--and indeed you shall continue, now that you have begun!"

Darcy stared at his wife. "I--I hardly know what else to tell you about Gwendolyn Woodvale...Perhaps we ought to retire for the night, and we can continue this conversation in the morning?"

"I find that I have not the least inclination to sleep just now," Elizabeth rejoined.

"Sleep? Well, I had not...oh, very well," Darcy acquiesced. It was pointless to resist Elizabeth once her mind was made up. He took another draught of port. "I will tell you about Gwen--the viscountess, but I cannot see that anything I have to communicate will materially alter our situation."

"In which case, neither can it do any harm."

Darcy stared at her skeptically and drew a deep breath. "As I said, I first met her at a ball my aunt gave here at Rosings. That evening, I was both feeling particularly withdrawn and unusually anxious to make new acquaintance. I felt utterly alone here."

"Did not Anne attend the ball?"

He coloured and turned away from Elizabeth. "Yes...that is, not precisely...er...my cousin Anne was...she was not feeling well that evening, and the other guests were strangers to me."

Poor Anne! Elizabeth felt yet another stab of pity at the thought of her husband's cousin. It was evident that even Darcy felt uncomfortable at the mention of the unfortunate Miss deBourgh. To lack even the vigor for a party in her own home must have been dreadful for a young girl. "I rather wonder at Lady Catherine throwing a ball when her own daughter was indisposed!"

"It came on rather unexpectedly," Darcy said brusquely. He walked to one window and stared out into the darkness, averting his eyes from Elizabeth. "Anne had meant to attend when the invitations for the ball were sent. By the time she became---unable to attend, it was too late to put a stop to the whole undertaking. I went, with no thought of seeing or meeting anyone who might please me. Assemblies, dances--that sort of thing--these are not the sorts of entertainments I would choose for myself."

"So I recall."

"Elizabeth," he said with an inflection of mild reproach in his voice, "it has always been thus. My disinclination was not founded in Meryton. Even were it not for my tendency to be taciturn in such situations, I have never been able to abide the sort of social circumstance that seems predicated upon interacting with complete strangers as though they were close friends. And that evening, I was in even less of a humour than usual to partake of the charade. So, I was taken somewhat aback by my own reaction. Among the guests was Gwendolyn. I first noticed her while she was dancing, and later, I saw that she looked at me a great deal from across the room. I found that I could not take my eyes from her."

"I may assume that she was more than `tolerable'?" Elizabeth asked, archly.

Darcy appeared not to comprehend her inference, and continued as though his wife had not spoken. " She was...I found her quite...stunning."

Elizabeth blinked. "Stunning? In what way? Her looks? Her manner?"

"Both. Everything. I had never seen anything like her before."

"I see," said his wife, pressing her lips together. She plumped one pillow rather vigorously, then hugged it to her stomach.

"Elizabeth, you said you wanted to hear this..."

She was contrite. "I know. Go on."

"Then I thought her quite striking. It was perhaps not so much the way she looked as her bearing--the way she laughed, and the way that others seemed to gravitate to her. It had been so long since I had seen anyone who seemed so--so alive, and that was precisely what I needed. So I screwed up my courage and asked her to dance with me."

Elizabeth felt a surge of tenderness for her husband at that moment. He once had confided to her the anxiety he had felt in making a first application to any woman to dance with him. No matter that, wherever he went, he was among the most sought-after gentlemen in the company, and regarded as a highly desirable partner. She was, herself, perhaps the only woman who had ever declined the honour. "And you were successful in your application, evidently." she said. "But you said the connection was unsuitable?"

"Well, I had never in my life been accustomed to merely asking a handsome woman to dance without first being formally introduced to her--without knowing anything about her. So asking her to dance, just like that, was imprudent at best."

Elizabeth laughed at him. "Imprudent? She was a guest in your aunt's home, not a cutpurse or a brigand. What had you to fear?"

"That is not the only type of danger one might encounter at a ball, Elizabeth." He turned to cast her a long look, then looked away again .

"But was only a dance, Fitzwilliam! You did not attempt to propose to her!"

With his back to her, she could not observe her husband's countenance, but he did drain away the remainder of his port and remain silent several moments before speaking in a voice Elizabeth had to strain to hear. "One never knows how attracted one might become to someone during the course of a dance together, my love. It is best to carefully consider that possibility before asking."

Something in his tone sent a shiver through Elizabeth. "Did you feel yourself to be in danger, then?" she whispered.

"I had not then any real idea of danger, madam. But danger, as I have since learned, can appear in many guises." He walked quickly back to her and seated himself tentatively at the foot of Elizabeth's bed. "Please, my love, I grow weary of this subject. It is enough for you to know that I met her that evening, and that the connection which began that evening, while of short duration, was an experience I would never have willingly repeated. Even before I met you."

Darcy fixed his dark eyes upon her, silently imploring his wife to relinquish her inquiries. His explanation had done little to satisfy Elizabeth's burning curiosity, and much to pique her concern. But tomorrow... tomorrow she would meet this woman who had inspired such feeling and judge for herself precisely what more needed to be disclosed about Gwendolyn Woodvale's connection to the young Fitzwilliam Darcy. Her intuition told her the matter was far from over.

She smiled at Darcy. "We need not discuss it further." Not tonight "Shall you have difficulty making your way back to your own chamber?"

He pulled the pillow away from Elizabeth and slid closer to her. "I rather think not..."

After a far more agreeable conclusion to her first night at Rosings than she would have deemed possible, Elizabeth was awakened on the morrow by gentle but persistent rapping at her chamber door. Drowsily, she propped herself up on one elbow and directed a less than charitable glance in the direction of the unwitting tormentor who had caused another day in the deBourgh household to begin. She had slept very little and was not anxious for any of it. But, at the happy thought that her visitor might be Mr. Darcy, returned from his own accommodation to meet her for a promised morning ramble through the park, Elizabeth brightened and bestirred herself.

She was therefore astonished to discover, before parting the bed curtains, that her husband was indeed not at the door, but lying next to her, an amused smile playing at his lips although his eyes were no more than half open.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, giving him an energetic prod. The knocking had not subsided.

"I should think that was obvious," he countered.

Elizabeth threw up her hands. "You said if I allowed you to remain, you would make your way back to your own chamber during the night!"

"I did say that, but, upon reflection, I decided that I greatly preferred the accommodation here. I did not wish to disturb you once you finally slept. Should I have awakened you to apprize you of my decision?" He held up an arm to deflect the pillow hurtling in his direction..

"You ought, sir, to have kept your promise!" Elizabeth eyed the door. Whoever was rapping did not intend to cease until she answered. "Now, pray, what am I to do?"

"Open it?" came the impudent suggestion.

Mrs. Darcy was on her feet in a moment. "Who could it be? What shall they think if they see you?"

"The first may be determined by following my suggestion. As to the second," Darcy stretched and gave a recalcitrant shrug, "whoever it may be will think that your husband is in your bedchamber, madam. Not an everyday occurrence at Rosings, I will grant you, but hardly scandalous."

By now his wife was halfway to the door. Suddenly, she halted her progress and retraced her steps in agitation. "What if it is your aunt?"

"I think I can safely promise you there is no chance of that. She does not concern herself with this part of the house." He winced as the import of his last words became clear to him. "Forgive me, Elizabeth...I meant..."

"I know what you meant, but I was rather under the impression that Lady Catherine was wont to make everything that goes on her business." With a sigh of resignation. Elizabeth snatched a robe from the chair next to her bed and drew it on. She contrived to open the door just wide enough to allow a wondering chamber maid a glimpse of her face.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth forced a smile. Orders from the mistress of the house had evidently indicated this was a proper form of address for the guest in this far-flung wing. "It is Mrs. Darcy."

"Oh--oh, I--I did not..." the hapless girl stammered, flushing a deep scarlet. "If you please, ma'am, I have your breakfast tray."

The maid's discomposure of a moment earlier gave way to stunned silence when Elizabeth stepped into the corridor and took the tray from her, then edged her way back into the bedchamber, pushing her door closed behind her with one foot.

"Well, at least I have managed to salvage my reputation for the time being," Elizabeth declared. She glowered at Darcy as she set the tray down on a table near the fireplace.

Her husband had propped himself against the headboard and now regarded her with evident amusement. "Mmmmm. I daresay she thought nothing at all amiss when you wrested her burden away from her and dove back in here."

"What was I to do, pray? Allow her in here and see you there--like that--when you are supposed to be in an entirely different part of the house? She did not even realize that I am married to you!"

"But you disabused her of that false notion," Darcy said matter-of-factly. He leaned over the side of the bed and retrieved his shirt from where it had been cast to the floor.

"What if she had told your aunt that you spent the night here?"

"What if she did?" he rejoined. "I told you yesterday, Mrs. Darcy, that I'll not let my Aunt Catherine dictate to me how I am to behave--not in the smallest measure. That is part of the reason I did not go to my own chamber last night. Part of the reason. I swear to you that the first night we part company shall not be here. And as to this girl--Elizabeth, we do permit servants to enter the sanctuary of our bedchamber at Pemberley."

"Not when we are undressed!" Elizabeth felt hot colour rising to her cheeks and turned away from him. His efforts to be reasonable made her more flustered, and she could not think why.

There was a rustle of garments and bedclothes and a moment later Mr. Darcy came up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "It would have been of little consequence to her, I think. That is, I should be astonished if my aunt had employed any gossiping chamber maids. She would as soon have boxed the poor creature's ears as to hear such from her. And you, my love, have not so entirely dispossessed me of my dignity that I should have been insensible of how to behave in those circumstances. I would have remained very unobtrusive and modestly beneath the counterpane, and she would have left your breakfast and departed. Perhaps now she might wonder what you have to conceal?"

Elizabeth whirled to face him, but the retort on her lips melted beneath the warmth emanating from his dark eyes. She had only herself to thank for this impertinence. Had not teaching him to see the humour in situations as she did been one of her fondest objects ever since they had been married? How well he had learned.

But still, she was not easy. She had not forgotten their discussion of the previous evening, nor did she intend to give way on the matter of dining in company with Lady Gwendolyn--Baroness Longmuir--and that lady's husband this evening. Nothing should be concealed from her, if she had her own way--and she meant to do just that.

She extracted herself from the circle of her husband's arms, and inspected the breakfast tray. "I have just now realized the significance of this gesture."

Darcy gave her a quizzical look. "What do you mean?"

"A tray. Sent to my room. I am not welcome in the breakfast room at Rosings. Am I to be banished here, then?"

"Elizabeth," he chided, "You read too much into this. I frequently have my breakfast on a tray here. In fact, I welcome the respite it affords me."

"So there is, perhaps, someone knocking on your door at this moment, with a tray for you?"

Darcy laughed, and glanced at the clock on the mantle. "It is but nine, so I rather doubt it. I was not known to keep such early hours on my previous visits. I cannot imagine that anyone would venture near my door for another hour at least."

"Which gives you time, sir, to make your way up there and attire yourself properly. We both know whose fault it will be seen to be if you appear in rumpled garments evidently from yesterday. Let us never forget that my design in marrying you was to make you the contempt of the world."

"I am happy to have done with yesterday," he sighed. "And I beg your forgiveness for the treatment you received. Shall we leave here, Elizabeth?"

She truly gave pause to consider it, but answered, "Indeed we shall not--not before tonight. I will meet this Lady Gwendolyn tonight. I am quite resolved to do so."

Darcy's dark eyes seemed to cloud over, but his earnest expression was immutable. "I think it is a mistake, Elizabeth. It will give me no pleasure whatsoever to meet with her again, but I will not attempt to prevent it, if that is what you wish. It would seem to be the least I can do under the circumstances."

"Indeed, yes," she allowed. "But there is one other thing I should wish you to do for me."

He held out his arms, as if in supplication. "Command me as you will, madam. Let me make all of this up to you."

"I wish to see Charlotte today."

"Undoubtedly," he nodded. "You have my consent to go, of course."

"Your consent? Happy thought. Do I indeed?" Elizabeth's mouth twisted into a wry smile and her eyebrows raised. "Gratified as I am to have your consent, I will also require your attendance, Mr. Darcy."

"What?" He glowered at her for a moment before composing his features. "Elizabeth...must I.."

"Yes, you must. And the favour I ask you is this: I wish to converse with my friend without the inconvenience of my cousin. And I should like you to keep him occupied."

An hour later, Elizabeth was waiting for her husband in the front hall of Rosings. For now, she was content to sit as quietly as possible. So much had happened in the short space of just one day. The prospect of a pleasant half hour on her favourite walk was all that could be wished for at present, although she would have paid dearly to witness Mr. Darcy skulking through the corridors of Rosings, in the rumpled attire in which he had last been seen at dinner, assiduously avoiding the scrutiny of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. He might protest indifference to his aunt's opinions as much as he wished, but Elizabeth knew how little he desired such an encounter. For her own part, well, she would be rather chastened by the assumptions Lady Catherine would surely make if she espied her nephew thus, but she did not suppose it was possible to sink herself any lower in that lady's estimation.

Or at least not until her ladyship discovered that her favourite vase had met its demise at the hands of her unwelcome guest. Elizabeth sighed and glanced at the now vacant table. When did Anne plan to attempt her solution? If nothing had yet been done by the time they returned from visiting Charlotte and Mr. Collins, it would be necessary to confide in Mr. Darcy and seek some other means of recompense.

"At your service, Madam, and ready to do as you bid me."

These words from her husband, so sudden and so near at hand and as if in answer to her thoughts, caused Elizabeth to start and gasp. "Wh-what?"

Darcy gave her a quizzical look. "I am ready for our excursion. I must advise you, if we do not depart momentarily, I am in danger of losing what little desire I have to make this visit."

"Oh!" Elizabeth laughed. "I thought...It is of little matter. I would by no means run the risk of forsaking your company."

She took his arm and they did not speak again until they had stepped on to the sheltered path along the open grove edging the park. Darcy was the first to break the silence. "I have been thinking, Elizabeth. When we return from the parsonage, I will ask my aunt to have your things moved to the bedchamber adjoining mine."

"Do you not think she would be most seriously displeased by such a request?"

"It is of no consequence. You know how I abhor disguise of every sort. I do not wish to partake of a charade such as we were enforced to act this morning."

Elizabeth cast him a sidelong glance. "I was rather under the impression that you were enjoying our clandestine adventure. Did I err in this assumption?"

"No." He turned to take both her hands. "That is not the point. You are my wife, and when I take my leave of the company this evening to retire, you shall accompany me. I will not be seen to go to a chamber in one part of the house while you go to another."

"Surely we shall not retire before our guests have left?"

"Certainly not. But I cannot promise that my aunt has made them no offer to stay the night. Their estate is at least an hour's drive from Rosings Park."

"Oh." She had never considered this. "And is the Baroness likely to accept such an invitation?"

"Viscountess, my love."

"Forgive me." She turned back to the path and resumed walking. " I persist in thinking of her as `Lady Gwendolyn' and am trying to become used to the proper form of address before we meet tonight." When Darcy made no response, Elizabeth continued. "Is the Viscountess likely to accept such an invitation from Lady Catherine?"

Darcy's jaw tightened as he quickened his pace. "Ask me that again after you have spent five minutes in conversation with the woman."

"I shall defer to your knowledge of her on this point. Do as you think best," Elizabeth agreed, biting her lip when Darcy looked away from her. He was not being forthright with her. Why is it so important for her to see me accompany you upstairs? she wondered. Or is it that you do not wish her to think you alone?"

Now, as the path sloped gently downward, it was possible to see the front of the parsonage through an opening in the trees that bordered the park. Elizabeth felt a mingled rush of anticipation at the prospect of seeing Charlotte and a twinge of guilt over the circumstances into which she was about to force her husband. "Tell me the truth. You do not find this so very distasteful?"

Darcy stopped walking and gaped at her in astonishment. "What?"

"Visiting Mr. and Mrs. Collins. After all, you were the one who proposed that we stay here instead of Rosings," she teased.

"I am beginning to wonder if that might not have been a more desirable circumstance than what we went through yesterday."

"One thing I may certainly say on my cousin's behalf is that he does sincerely endeavour to be a gracious and solicitous host. And your remarkable condescension in visiting him like this--I dare say it will provide months of conversational fodder for him! But I give you my solemn word that we shall not stay past tea time and I will not leave you alone with Mr. Collins for more than half an hour."

His countenance softened into a smile. "Well, if it is your solemn word. What damage could he do in half an hour?"

"You ask that only because you have not yet had the pleasure," Elizabeth laughed, rolling her eyes. " I have only once spent any length of time alone with Mr. Collins, and I promise you it is an experience I would not willingly repeat."

"No, but I think I am safe in assuming that he has no plans to ask me any questions of that sort."

Elizabeth squeezed his arm and laughed. "Indeed, no. Perhaps, if you are fortunate, you will not have to say much or listen to him much at all. He has always been rather in awe of you."

"I have never yet seen any indication that awe has had any restraining effect on your cousin's tongue, dearest Elizabeth."

They walked in companionable silence for the rest of the short distance. Mr. Collins, who had been working in his garden, fairly leapt at the sight of them, then abruptly turned on his heel and scuttled toward the parsonage crying, "My dear Charlotte! Make haste my dear! Make haste!" He disappeared into the parsonage. This commotion was punctuated by the wail of an infant and moments later Charlotte, swathed in a voluminous white apron and babe in arms, emerged.

"Lizzy!" she exclaimed, then clamped her free hand to her mouth. "Mrs. Darcy!"

Elizabeth quickened her step to approach her friend, and called out, "Do not dare to stand upon ceremony with me, Charlotte. I am always Lizzy to you." As she reached the doorstep, she extended both arms and hugged her friend.

"Why did you not tell me you were coming?" Charlotte asked, tucking a stray wisp of hair into her cap. She shifted her baby from the crook of her arm to resting over her shoulder and began patting his tiny back to soothe his cries.

"The trip was undertaken rather suddenly," Elizabeth explained.

Darcy, who had advanced at a more sedate pace, arrived at the gate, and tipped his hat to Mrs. Collins. "Good day to you, ma'am."

Now divested of his gardening apron, Mr. Collins joined them on the doorstep. "Cousin," he said to Elizabeth with an obsequious bow. "We are honoured to receive you at our humble abode." He turned to Mr. Darcy. "And you--cousin."

Mr. Darcy's eyebrows shot up at this mode of address, but he recovered admirably with a gracious incline of his head. With a searching glance at Elizabeth, he coughed slightly and continued, "I have been admiring your garden as we approached. Would you do me the honour of touring me about?"

"Sir, it is you who do me great honour," exclaimed Mr. Collins, his words surging over each other in a tumult of unparalleled fervour as he punctuated every third word with a deferential bob of the head. "Such noble condescension is rarely to be seen! I flatter myself that the gardens will not fail to disappoint even such a discerning eye and such estimable good taste as..." He raised one hand to his mouth to stifle the flow of verbiage as he perceived that his audience was rapidly proceeding out of earshot.

Elizabeth smiled indulgently after her husband before turning to follow her friend into the house.

Charlotte had her tiny son nestled in her arms once more. He had fallen asleep almost as soon as his father left them, and now had his tiny fingers curled around his mother's finger, and one small thumb in his mouth. For a moment, Elizabeth was speechless with wonder as she bent over him. This little boy, she thought, will one day be master of Longbourn. Then an harrowing thought occurred to her. She might well have held the future heir of Longbourn in her own arms under very different circumstances. If this had instead been her child--hers and Mr. Collins'-- would that prospect make her as content as it apparently made Charlotte? Pleased as Elizabeth was to see her friend so satisfied, she knew this life would not have made her happy.

But she did envy Charlotte, too. She smiled silently as her friend indicated that she was going to put the baby in his bed. The last infant she had held had been one of her young Gardiner cousins, years ago. She expected daily to hear of Lydia and Wickham's new arrival, and Jane and Bingley too were to become parents in the late summer. How elated she would be when she, too, could give her husband the welcome news that he could expect to become a father. But thus far, other than the felicity of making such an announcement to Mr. Darcy, when she had considered their future child, Elizabeth had mainly thought in terms of securing the inheritance of Pemberley by providing an heir. Perhaps because she was overly anxious that it should be so, she had never contemplated the reality of a baby. A tiny, perfect, helpless creature who would be the embodiment of the love she shared with his father.

When Charlotte returned to the parlour, Elizabeth was observing the spectacle of Mr. Collins enumerating the minutia of every leaf and pebble in his garden to her husband, who was, she had to admit, successfully feigning something resembling interest. "I asked Mr. Darcy to help me find a few moments alone with you, Charlotte," she explained, turning to her friend.

"I'm so glad, Lizzy. It is wonderful to see you!" Now free of her precious burden, Mrs. Collins embraced her. "Can you stay to dinner?"

"I would love to, Charlotte, but we are dining with guests at Rosings Park this evening."

Charlotte nodded and motioned for Elizabeth to join her on chairs by the fireplace. "When did you arrive?"

"Only yesterday afternoon," Elizabeth said. She could not prevent a small sigh from escaping her lips.

"And Lady Catherine has invited guests to dine already? That is a good sign."

"Would that it were, Charlotte. But Mr. Darcy seems to think that these guests were chosen expressly to discomfit me."

Charlotte raised her eyebrows. "Really? Who are they?"

"A Lady Gwendolyn Woodvale and her husband."

"The name is not familiar," Charlotte said, frowning. "Do they live in the country?"

"Yes. That is they have a residence here and they are here now. It seems that Mr. Darcy knew Lady Gwendolyn when he was younger, and I keep calling her by that name. She is actually Viscountess Longmuir now."

"Lizzy, you cannot be serious!" Charlotte exclaimed. Her eyes darted furtively to her husband outside, gauging his distance from the parsonage.

"I am sure that is the right name," Elizabeth replied. Charlotte's evident agitation alarmed her. "What is the matter with her?"

"If we are indeed speaking of the same woman, then there is something you ought to know."

p>Something I ought to know. Of course there must be. As soon as the words had fallen from Charlotte's lips, Elizabeth had sensed a certain inevitability about whatever it might be that her friend meant to impart. Had she not been aware, ever since her husband came to her chamber last night, that Darcy was keeping something from her? One thing was certain: Gwendolyn Woodvale was certainly no common and indifferent acquaintance of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

To Charlotte, Elizabeth said, "I confess I am most eager to learn anything that I can about the viscountess. Please tell me whatever you know."

Again, Charlotte's eyes flickered surreptitiously towards the windows, and at the sight of their two husbands, occupied for the time being at the farthest end of the garden, she leaned forward conspiratorially to clasp Elizabeth's hand. "I do not know whether I am right to confide this to you, Eliza. You know I have never been one to gossip."

At this, Elizabeth had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing outright. How often had she and this same dear friend chewed over the latest news in Meryton? Had Charlotte not been the first one to suggest to her the true nature of Mr. Darcy's feelings towards her? In fact, had it not been for the gossiping correspondence between Hunsford and Lucas Lodge, Lady Catherine might never have heard the precipitate rumour of her nephew's impending engagement to the unsuitable Miss Bennet--not that her ladyship's displeasure would have been lessened in any perceptible degree, no matter whence the source. But, in such circumstances as Elizabeth now faced, a friend with a proclivity for gossiping was an unmatched ally and not to be dissuaded.

"I would make a distinction between gossiping and passing along necessary information," Elizabeth said. "Might I assume that you wish to tell me something more than merely for the sake of interest? Something you feel I need to know?"

"Indeed," Charlotte nodded emphatically. She released her guest's hand and glanced at the window once more. "Particulary if you are to pass an evening in company with this--this person. It is so easy to say the wrong thing when one does not have all the facts."

Elizabeth was growing impatient. "I agree. So what should I know about Madam Viscountess, then?"

"First--just how well does Mr. Darcy know her?"

Precisely and succinctly what I should like to know! Elizabeth thought. "From what I understand, he knew her quite well for a short while, but it was many years ago. They have not, to my knowledge, been in any sort of contact since then."

Charlotte nodded, and smoothed the folds of her frock with her fingers. "So Mr. Darcy would be unlikely to have heard anything else about her, in all probability? No news of her since her marriage?"

"I doubt that very much. Mr. Darcy was reluctant to say much about her."

"And they have no mutual acquaintance?"

"None of which I am aware, excepting her ladyship. But, as you know, Lady Catherine would hardly be likely to convey any information to me!"

"But there might be someone else? And that could mean that Mr. Darcy has heard something, could it not?"

"Charlotte!" Elizabeth pleaded. She did not wish to admit to herself that her friend might be right. Darcy had never mentioned this woman to her before yesterday. He had sworn he would take little pleasure in meeting with Gwendolyn Woodvale again. But none of this meant that the Viscountess Longmuir was now all but a stranger to him. In fact, one might reasonably conjecture quite the reverse. "For mercy's sake, just tell me!"

"I suppose, Eliza, that you will no doubt find the lady very charming--and beautiful."

Or stunning. That was what Mr. Darcy had called her. "Is that your opinion of her?"

"Mine? Oh no! No!" Charlotte exclaimed. She leapt up and began moving around the small sitting room, picking up figurines and books and then setting them back down in identical locations. "I would not...that is, I have never actually seen her before, myself."

Now Elizabeth felt growing exasperation towards her friend. "You have not? Then how, pray, ..."

"It sometimes happens that Mr. Collins, in his position as curate of the parish, happens to...to hear certain things about people, from time to time..."

"Of course," Elizabeth allowed.

"And sometimes members of his congregation--well they confide things to him, Lizzy. Particulary if there are issues which raise a sort of-- moral dilemma."

A moral dilemma? Involving Gwendolyn Woodvale? Although every instinct told her to force the rest of this from Charlotte at once, Elizabeth could see that her friend was struggling to communicate whatever it was she knew to her. She concentrated on keeping her tone calm. "And does Mr. Collins, in turn, confide these things to you?"

Charlotte flushed. "Not as a rule. But this time he felt he must. It is most perplexing. This woman is a friend of Lady Catherine's, and therefore it would be most unfortunate if I did or said anything which would offend her. On the other hand, it would not do for the curate's wife to be openly civil and friendly to a woman with the Viscountess'-- with her--reputation-- should we ever chance to meet."

"Her reputation!" Elizabeth felt a sudden chill ripple along her spine and up the back of her neck.

"I am afraid so." Charlotte swallowed and ran her tongue over dry lips. "And you might find yourself in the same situation this evening. You must never let on to Mr. Collins that I have told this to you, but you see, Lizzy, Viscountess Longmuir is a known..."

At this inauspicious moment, young Master Collins let out a loud wail which propelled his mama to her feet and halfway to the door before she recalled that she had been in the middle of a sentence.

"I shall return in a moment, Lizzy," she called over her shoulder as she made hastily for the staircase.

Elizabeth expelled a sigh of frustration and fell back against her chair. What was it about Gwendolyn Woodvale that left everyone so deprived of their powers of speech? After several minutes, the baby's cries had shown no signs of abating soon, and Elizabeth moved to the window.

There, her eyes were greeted by a sight she would not soon forget. Her cousin, in full bee- keeping regalia and fairly dancing with excitement, was holding forth a netted hat and gloves to Mr. Darcy and evidently beseeching him to don these garments. Darcy, who Elizabeth could see even at this distance was struggling valiantly to retain his composure, was attempting to gracefully decline, and not meeting with much success. Elizabeth glanced at the clock on the mantle. The promised half hour alone with Charlotte had nearly elapsed. Did she dare leave her husband to Mr. Collins long enough to extract the intelligence about Gwendolyn Woodvale?

A moment or two--a mere two words more from Charlotte's lips would have sufficed in explanation! Lady Gwendolyn is a known--what? A known friend of Lady Catherine de Bourgh's, for one thing, which was perhaps censure enough. But what else could Elizabeth's dear friend Charlotte Collins possibly have been in a position to have learned about a woman who, by Darcy's own admission, he had once admired so exceedingly? And why would whatever it might be have been called to the attention of Mr. Collins by members of his congregation? How could it pose a `moral dilemma' for Charlotte to associate with her?

Elizabeth refused believe that Mr. Darcy would keep anything truly serious from her, although he had been less than forthright so far. And Charlotte's behaviour had made it clear enough that the revelation might be a dangerous one-- certainly not one of which the Reverend would approve. There would certainly be no further opportunity to ask once they were rejoined by their husbands. Elizabeth stamped one foot impatiently and clenched the white organza curtain in her fingers. Hurry, Charlotte, she thought, frantically.

But, the wails emanating from the chamber of the young Collins olive branch had still not lessened in any perceptible degree. It might be half an hour before he relinquished his mother. Despite Elizabeth's burning curiousity to be apprized of the intelligence (or scandal!) Charlotte had to impart with respect to the enigmatic Viscountess Longmuir, she could not, in all conscience, allow Mr. Darcy to further endure the agonies he must surely be suffering under the ministrations of her cousin.

A final surreptitious glance from the parlour window confirmed the course she must take. Mr. Collins, having failed to persuade his eminent guest to don the beekeeping apparel, had now approached one hive alone. He tapped it enthusiastically and then slid up the front panel. The resultant exodus of angry insects caused him to caper energetically about the stone path, looking for all the world as though he were prancing once more about the ballroom floor at Netherfield-- had it not been for the netted hat and gloves. Mr. Darcy stood helplessly by in evident exasperation at the spectacle before him. His composure was not to be eroded by a swarm of disgruntled bees, but he appeared nevertheless to be at a loss as to how he might remedy the situation.

Elizabeth snatched up her bonnet with a sigh and fastened the ribbons under her chin as she made for the door leading to the garden. She had a plan to extricate her husband from his predicament. The last time she had been at Hunsford, it had not escaped her notice that her host, while an unparalleled purveyor of vacuous fawning himself, seemed incapable of discerning when such wiles were at work upon him, lack of opportunity notwithstanding. Certainly neither his wife nor his noble patroness could never be accused of perpetrating anything like flattery-- sincere or otherwise-- upon Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth meant to use this to rescue Mr. Darcy.

It should not even prove too difficult, Elizabeth surmised, to lavish heartfelt praise upon his garden. Again she noticed how large and well laid out it was, and she begrudged Mr. Collins no admiration in consideration of the fact that he had attended to the cultivation himself.

The gentlemen were at first unaware of her approach, but at the sight of her, Mr. Darcy's smile of palpable relief broadened into a wide grin. Elizabeth stifled an uncharitable impulse to laugh and thought, not for the first time, how singularly ill-suited she would be as a clergyman's wife.

Mr. Darcy advanced rapidly along the path towards Elizabeth with Mr. Collins (and presumably several bees) in pursuit. He regarded his wife earnestly, making no attempt to conceal the solace afforded him by her timely arrival. Unable to keep pace with Darcy's long strides, their host arrived before them moments later, breathless and still swathed in voluminous netting.

"I trust I have not interrupted anything," Elizabeth asked, raising her eyebrows and glancing from one man to the other."

"No!" Darcy exclaimed. "Not at all!"

"Indeed, no," agreed Mr. Collins. "How exceedingly charming of you to favour us with your fair presence in our gardens, Cousin," he said, bowing.

"My expectations were indeed raised by the view from your parlour window, and I could hardly stay inside another moment!"

"That is very generous of you, Mrs. Darcy!" As he spoke, Mr. Collins divested

himself of his beekeeping attire.

"Not at all," Elizabeth smiled and twirled to look all around her. " `Upon my word, a master has been at work here!'" She carefully avoided Mr. Darcy's sidelong glance, but was obliged to take the arm he offered her.

Mr. Collins bowed again and extended one arm to motion his guests along the garden path he wished them to follow. "I would not be so bold as to suggest that these humble flowers are `worthy of Paradise', but in return for your compliments, Cousin, I will observe that your taste and discernment are indeed worthy of Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself!"

"Oh, even her ladyship cannot claim such a garden as this!" Elizabeth insisted. "I found the Rosings garden somewhat overdone when I visited last year. The profusion of flowers there left no room for the eye to wander in contentment. Even the little bee prefers to be allowed to seek out flowers, you know, no matter how many might grow near his hive."

"Ah...indeed...I..." This comment appeared to have left their host at a loss, for the paucity of compliments which came his way left him disinclined to decline the smallest of them, yet neither ought he appear to agree with anything that cast his noble patroness and her estate in a negative light.

Darcy took pity on him. "In many ways, Elizabeth, one might suggest that the garden here is an extension of my aunt's garden at Rosings."

"Yes! Yes, precisely!" Mr. Collins face broke into a wide grin of relief. The well-timed reprieve seemed to revive and accelerate his discourse to no small degree. "And I take no heed that the gardens at Rosings are more ornate than my own, for one must preserve the distinction of rank. Indeed, Lady Catherine herself most graciously offered me her advice on every particular of this garden. And often have I expressed my sincere gratitude to her for such sublime condescension. For, as I remarked to her Ladyship and Miss de Bourgh the last time they honoured me with their attendance along these petal bestrewn avenues, `What man can pretend to notice, with discernment, any flower, even the fairest among them, when its presence is entirely eclipsed in present company?' Ladies perforce have better judgement on such matters."

Elizabeth took a moment to commit this speech to memory that she might include it, in its entirety, when she next wrote to her father. The three strolled along in companionable silence until they reached the door of the parsonage.

Charlotte was waiting for them and her eyes, as she looked at her friend, hinted eloquently that she wished to continue their interrupted conversation. "I thought perhaps you might all enjoy a glass of lemonade. Would you like to help me with it, Eliza?"

Elizabeth was on the point of accepting, when Mr. Collins, agape in horror, burst out, "My dear Charlotte, what can you be thinking! We do not permit guests to wait upon themselves in our home!" With that, he ushered his wife toward the kitchen, and fragments of his admonishments to Charlotte drifted back to the Darcys. "...your friend and my cousin...must not forget...respect that is due to her...the niece of Lady Catherine de Bourgh...."

"Evidently I am of greater consequence here than I was on my last visit," observed Elizabeth with a shrug of her shoulders. "Would that it were the same in your aunt's house."

"Dearest Elizabeth...do not..." Mr. Darcy stared down at her, his eyes full of love and concern. "You are of the greatest consequence in the world to me--never forget."

She really thought she could forgive her husband any thing when he regarded her in that manner. Half an hour later, she was still thinking of it as she and Mr. Darcy made their way back to Rosings. There had been no further opportunity to resume her conversation with her friend before they took their leave. As they departed, Charlotte had pressed her hand and whispered, "Take care, Lizzy. Come again tomorrow, if you can." Her eyes had darted toward Mr. Darcy and back to Elizabeth again. "Perhaps there will be no cause for concern, after all."

"Did you enjoy your visit with your friend?" Mr. Darcy asked, interrupting her reverie.

"Yes. Thank you for allowing us some private conversation. It was..."

"I would say it was my pleasure," he smiled, "but you would accuse me of insincerity. But I am happy to have been of service."

"And I am happy to have rendered a small service to <ě>you, sir, "Elizabeth laughed. "Had I come a moment later, you would have been swathed head to foot in netting, too."

"For which escape, I promise you, I shall be eternally grateful." Darcy laughed and shook his head. "But you ought not to have taunted the poor man like that, Elizabeth."

"Taunted him!"

"Do not pretend innocence, you minx!" Darcy laughed. "You know he probably has never read any Gilpin, so the references to his thoughts on gardening would have passed right over your cousin's head."

"True enough. I cannot expect every man to be as perceptive as you were when I quoted Gilpin to you!"

"Let us simply say that I would have been unlikely not to have realized that I was being compared to a bovine, however `charmingly group'd' I might have appeared with Bingley's sisters. And then to use it all to compliment him while calling my aunt's taste into question at the same time..."

"Forgive me," Elizabeth said, blushing. "You know my tongue can get the better of me."

"No, no! I could hardly keep from laughing myself. But I feared you might induce an apoplexy in poor Mr. Collins."

"He might count it fortunate, then, that I declined to marry him."

"I know I do," Mr. Darcy murmured, bending low to her ear. "Every day."

As he straightened, Elizabeth felt his arm suddenly stiffen, and she followed his gaze upward to the second story of Rosings. There was a flash of colour at one window--then nothing. "Fitzwilliam, what is it?"

"They have arrived," he said, tersely. "Good God, she--they are here." His pace quickened, and he fairly dragged his bewildered wife along with him until they were mounting the main steps to Rosings. He stared directly down into her eyes. "I will see you in the drawing room precisely at seven, my love. Wear the rose coloured gown."

That Viscountess Longmuir proved to be entirely unlike anything she had hitherto imagined was but small comfort to Elizabeth as she withdrew from the dining room with the other ladies following dinner. From the corner of her eye she took a last look at Darcy, who did not appear at all pleased at the prospect of being ensconced with Lady Gwendolyn's husband the viscount--even for the duration of a post-prandial glass of port.

No more than I desire to take tea with her ladyship, Elizabeth thought, grimly. I am of so little consequence to her--perhaps she would not notice if I slipped away? Tempting as the thought of escape might be, she did not wish to unduly distress Mr. Darcy when the gentlemen rejoined them. And--she would admit it to herself, albeit not without a modicum of chagrin--she did not wish to be absent while Gwendolyn Woodvale was present.

Ahead of Elizabeth as they made their way down the corridor, the glow of reflected candlelight glinted from the white-blonde curls of the viscountess' coiffure and from the folds of azure satin draped around her petite frame. She could not but acknowledge that the lady was possessed of a kind of ethereal beauty to which not even her own dear sister Jane could lay claim.

`Stunning' had been the word Darcy used last night, and truly--although a wife could not reasonably be expected to overlook such a pronouncement--his description had not done her justice. Much as she would have rejoiced to find half so favourable an account to be a gross exaggeration, Elizabeth could see why he had not simply declared Lady Gwendolyn to be `beautiful', for the word was entirely inadequate. If the breath Darcy had involuntarily drawn in at the sight of her were any indication, neither did it appear that his memory had embellished his recollections. Quite the reverse.

Under the circumstances, it would have been comprehensible if she had loathed Lady Gwendolyn. In fact, although she rather suspected it signified a rather less than admirable littleness in her own character, Elizabeth had been perfectly disposed to despise the woman on sight. Following Darcy's announcement that their guests had already arrived at Rosings, the first indication which did not bode well was his behest that his wife appear in what was far and away the most becoming gown she had brought with her on this journey. He wishes to display me to my best advantage, Elizabeth had thought, rather uncharitably, as she began to make her toilette in her own chambers. The task had never seemed half so daunting at Pemberley.

Still without the assistance of a lady's maid, the preparations had taken longer than anticipated, and Elizabeth had not been above half finished when she was obliged to answer a rap at the door herself. Even now, several hours later, she recalled how her pulse had fluttered at her throat in anticipation of admitting Darcy to her chamber. They must, by no means, keep Lady Catherine and her guests waiting for their dinner, but ardour might, on occasion--and of necessity- -proceed with alacrity when circumstances warranted.

Fortunately, Elizabeth had had the perspicacity to draw her dressing gown more closely about her before responding to the summons, for it had not been Darcy but a young serving girl at the door. Timidly, Darcy's emissary had curtseyed and proffered a small box to Mrs. Darcy before departing in haste. Now Elizabeth reached up tentatively to pat the small circlet of pink rosebuds arranged around her coiffure. They certainly set her gown and dark tresses off to advantage--as Lady Catherine's snort of disgruntled admiration had indicated when Elizabeth had arrived in the drawing room precisely at 7 o'clock. Her husband's aunt surely had not failed to notice the other adornment that had been delivered to her chamber with the roses--an exquisite diamond-encrusted comb which held the flowers and her curls in place. It had, according to the brief billet- doux which accompanied it, once belonged to Lady Anne Darcy--and to her mother. Left to her own devices, Elizabeth would never have had the temerity to appear in such an ornament before Lady Catherine. But neither would she willingly disappoint her husband, however much she disliked the tacit proprietorship the comb seemed to imply.

And now the ladies were back at the scene of that earlier encounter. Mrs. Jenkinson was already employed in arranging Miss De Bourgh's footstool before her and making ceaseless enquiries as to the desirability of the temperature in the drawing room, all of which Anne bore with equanimity. Lady Catherine had taken her customary seat near the hearth and which afforded the most commanding view of the drawing room.

"You will sit here, next to me, my dear." Lady Catherine smiled at the viscountess and indicated a small settee.

Elizabeth, in receipt of no such compliment herself, was faced with the prospect of sharing the seat with Lady Gwendolyn, taking the chair at the farthest end of the room, or situating herself opposite their enigmatic guest. She chose the latter.

Again she was arrested by the inscrutable expression worn by the viscountess. Her eyes, the deepest blue Elizabeth had ever seen, projected both warmth and an utterly convincing fascination with her surroundings. Considering that she, who had grown up in much less lavish surroundings at Longbourn, had nonetheless on her first visit been unable to muster more than a semblance of the awe Lady Catherine expected Rosings to inspire, Elizabeth really had to wonder how Lady Gwendolyn contrived to do it. Her husband had his own opulent seat in a neighbouring county, and Viscount Longmuir's father was an earl. Neither the edifice nor the company at Rosings could arouse such admiration. Or, at least not present company.

Following the introductions and the renewals of acquaintance in the drawing room before dinner, Elizabeth had remarked how constantly Lady Gwendolyn's eyes had been upon Mr. Darcy and how, after a few moments' muted conversation punctuated by her low, lilting laughter, the viscountess' elegantly gloved hand had faintly brushed against his arm as they conversed. Or, rather she conversed and Darcy stood rigidly erect, his features composed in the precise mask of haughty civility Elizabeth had witnessed when he had first been introduced to her at Meryton.

For her part, Elizabeth had been nearly speechless at the spectacle before her. She could scarcely have envisioned a feminine form more the opposite of her own in every respect. Lady Gwendolyn was as fair as Elizabeth was dark, as serene and soft-spoken as she herself was high- spirited and even her figure was as delicate and petite as Elizabeth's tended to be voluptuous. Had Darcy sought the antithesis of his erstwhile love, his wife seemed to be the embodiment of it. Was it possible his aesthetic principles had undergone such a complete transformation since that time? Yet this woman had so captivated a despondent and reticent young Darcy that he had been drawn to her side from across a crowded ballroom.

And, for all her composure, their guest did indeed exude a kind of allure that was at once very engaging and impossible to ignore. It was, as Darcy had characterized it last night, as though she seemed so much more alive than anyone around her.

Even during their dinner earlier in the evening, the viscountess had commanded everyone's attention without seeming to exert any effort in so doing. Lady Catherine had commanded that Darcy himself take Lady Gwendolyn into dinner while she was escorted by the viscount. Elizabeth, entering the room next to last, watched her as husband, at his aunt's direction, seated their guest in the place of honour next to his own place at the end of the dining table. Relegated to her position of neglect between Mrs. Jenkinson and the superlatively vapid, though dashing viscount, Elizabeth had been unable to catch more than fragments of the private conversation at the far end of the table.

Elizabeth's attention had first been arrested as she stared fixedly down at the ornate plate which had been laid before her, contemplating the fact that it not been used on any of the occasions she had dined here with the Collins a year ago, nor even last night when she and Mr. Darcy arrived. In the midst of these ruminations, a clear peal of laughter rang out and Elizabeth looked up to see Lady Gwendolyn setting down her soup spoon while Mr. Darcy fidgeted with his napkin. He reddened as his dinner companion raised her wine glass to her lips in what appeared to be a kind of cryptic salutation.

Their hostess had been, at the same moment, regaling a consummately blasé viscount with the minutiae of her recent improvements to Rosings' gardens. But, curiousity at Darcy and Lady Gwendolyn's exchange proved altogether too much for Lady Catherine to endure with equanimity, and, in her usual officious manner, she called out, "What is it that you are saying, my dear Viscountess? I must have my share in the conversation!"

Darcy's eyes flickered across to his wife, then swiftly away again, and he raised one hand to cough quietly.

"We were reminiscing about the manner in which we used to ride about this magnificent park, your ladyship."

Lady Catherine beamed at her. "Although I do not ride myself, I have always felt it was important to make Rosings eminently suited to equine pursuits. There is no one in the county with a park more happily situated."

"That is very true," agreed Elizabeth, pleased to have gained admission into the conversation at last. "Mr. Darcy has said he will take me out riding while we are here. He is still very fond of it."

"I can well imagine. I was very new to the sport back then, although I have since become a far more accomplished horsewoman. But, as for Mr. Darcy," Lady Gwendolyn laughed and looked at him again, "I was remarking to him that I have never forgotten the fall he took one afternoon in particular. It was certainly unexpected, but I am pleased to see that he suffered no lasting ill effects." She turned to smile at Elizabeth.

Elizabeth, who could not envision the circumstances in which her husband would fall from a horse while riding with a lady, had nevertheless been grateful for some acknowledgment of her existence at the table. Unfortunately, the company fell silent again as the next course was brought in. Although she felt the viscount's eyes upon her a great deal, Elizabeth was still unable to elicit from him more than monosyllabic responses, and these under the full weight of Lady Catherine's ill-concealed disapproval at any of her handsome guest's attention being diverted from herself. On the other side of Elizabeth, Mrs Jenkinson was principally employed in scrutinizing how little Miss De Bourgh ate, pressing her to try some fish or roast duck. Anne, for her part, appeared dumbfounded by the presence of their guests, and the chief of her interest was divided between casting anxious glances at her cousin and his wife. With a sigh of resignation, Elizabeth directed the remainder of her attention to her meal.

In some ways it had been a relief to have dinner over with although now that the ladies were in the drawing room, the conversation remained stilted. Why did Fitzwilliam make such a fuss about this? Elizabeth wondered. Thus far, except for her unfavourable situation at the dining table, this evening had been no different than a dozen others she and Mr. Darcy had spent dining in company. Other than the incivility of her loveliness and the suspicious circumstances of being firmly entrenched in Lady Catherine's good graces, the viscountess seemed in every way unobjectionable. What of the notorious woman who posed a moral dilemma to Mr. Collins and his wife? Or the woman Mr. Darcy did not wish to discuss in the presence of a lady?

At that moment, the gentlemen entered the drawing room. The viscount deposited himself on a chaise longue at the far end of the chamber, signaling the butler to bring him some brandy. This left the only remaining seat on the settee next to the viscountess. Darcy, tugging at his neckcloth, stood awkwardly at the door.

"Anne, dear, do you feel well enough to play cards?" asked Lady Catherine. When her daughter shook her head, she continued. "Very well, then we shall have just one table. You play cards, my dear Viscountess? We will play Casino."

"I will be most obliged--on one condition," she smiled. "I should like to have Mr. Darcy as my partner."

Mr. Darcy as her partner! Elizabeth had been watching her husband stand awkwardly at the entrance to the drawing room, but now her attention was swiftly redirected to the viscountess. The countenance of that lady, however, remained as serene as it had been all evening as she smoothed a minute wrinkle from her azure satin gown with one white-gloved finger. She did not even glance at Darcy. Surely no one could affect nonchalance so entirely?

"Thank you, I prefer not to play games," Darcy said, leveling an inscrutable gaze at Lady Gwendolyn.

Elizabeth watched their eyes lock briefly before the viscountess impassively redirected her attention to the tea she held, and raised the cup to her lips. Darcy's carefully controlled tone had revealed nothing overt, but the atmosphere in the drawing room was rife with barely-suppressed animosity--most of it emanating from her husband-- and something else she could not decipher, seeming to imbue the entire chamber.

Evidently, she was not alone in her perception. "Darcy!" Lady Catherine exclaimed indignantly. "What are you saying?"

"I am saying," he stated as he began to traverse the room towards Elizabeth, "that since I have neither the inclination nor the type of prowess that would suit the viscountess, no doubt another partner would be more to her liking."

"I cannot imagine that to be true," said Lady Gwendolyn with a slight shrug of her shoulders. She set her teacup down on the small table in front of her. "You were always my first choice when I used to come here."

Darcy faltered slightly in his next step. "We are not always granted our first choice, madam, and sometimes this proves to be for the best. But be that as it may, you always seemed to adapt easily to new partners."

"Nephew," replied her ladyship, in an angry half whisper, "have you forgotten where you are? Do you pretend to be ignorant of the type of courtesy which is extended to guests here at Rosings?"

He stood behind Elizabeth's chair and placed his hands on her shoulders, "Indeed, no, Ido not."

Elizabeth was in a quandary. Darcy's distaste for card games was no secret, certainly. They both found it an insipid sort of entertainment which precluded any sort of interesting conversation, and they had never once found it necessary to pass their time in this manner at Pemberley. There were any number of more stimulating ways to spend an evening in the company of real friends, and doubly so when they chanced to be alone.

But, as a guest, Elizabeth had done her duty last night at the card table and Darcy too would play--without complaint--when the occasion seemed to demand it. He had once confided to his wife that he found cards infinitely preferable to any other sort of interaction with Miss Bingley, for example, and this was generally also the case with his aunt. And tonight--if he despised Lady Gwendolyn as much as he purported to do, would it not be preferable to pass the evening engaged in some occupation rather than to be obliged to converse for the duration of several hours? In a game of Casino, he might limit his remarks to the card play--or say nothing if he so chose. It was only one evening. The Longmuirs would depart and tomorrow the entire matter would cease to be a concern. But there was nothing she could say aloud to convince him in present company.

Neither would it be possible for her to comment on his incivility. To her certain knowledge, Mr. Darcy was eminently capable of speaking with either politeness or disdain, as he saw fit, but it was unlike him not to preserve the distinction of rank no matter what his personal feelings. Elizabeth cared little for rank herself, but even less for the kind of awkwardness which now permeated the drawing room. The sooner this evening would be at an end, the better. As the lull in the conversation lengthened uncomfortably, Elizabeth determined to act.

She smiled and addressed Lady Gwendolyn directly. "I play cards very ill, Ma'am, but I will if you require a fourth."

"Excellent!" the viscountess exclaimed, with a slight flicker of her gaze up at Darcy. "How obliging, Mrs. Darcy! This will amuse me for hours, I dare say."

In a sudden movement, Darcy took his hands from his wife's shoulders and stalked to the sideboard, where he uncorked a decanter of brandy.

"The butler should do that, Darcy," sniffed Lady Catherine. "Or is your household so poorly run that your staff know no better?"

"My household is precisely as I would have it in every respect," he said evenly, "for I would never hesitate to rid myself of whatever was not to my liking. And I am quite capable of acting for myself." He poured the liquid into a snifter, and raised the glass to his lips.

Before her ladyship's pointed remark, Elizabeth had been about to implore her husband with an eloquent look indicating that he might relent and appease his aunt by playing. It is a hopeless business. I can say and do no right in Lady Catherine's eyes. Instead, she turned to face Viscount Longmuir who remained languidly draped across the chaise longue surveying the scene with unaffected indifference. "Do you play, Sir?"

He sat upright and flashed a dazzling smile at Elizabeth. "Do I play?"

"Yes..." Elizabeth felt flustered beneath the sudden intensity of his gaze. "Cards--do you play cards?"

"Oh! Lord, no!" he laughed. "Stakes an't high enough for me at a house party!"

"No," allowed his wife with a perceptible tightness in her throat. "He would not dream of playing unless it were possible to lose more money than an honest man can earn in a year. I have nothing against making a wager, but that sort of risk is not to my liking. With high stakes I would wish to be quite convinced that I stood to win."

"Even you cannot win all the time, my love," the viscount declared with a slight curve of his handsome lip. He looked pointedly away from her and raised his snifter of brandy. "If you cannot find another partner, Mrs. Darcy, I will be pleased to make an exception and play this time."

"That will not be necessary," Darcy announced. He set his glass firmly on the sideboard.

"Indeed, no!" exclaimed Lady Gwendolyn. "It is such a simple game, really. Perhaps we will not bother to keep score at all. That can be so tiresome."

Darcy gave no indication that he had heard her speak. "I meant to say that I will be Mrs. Darcy's partner. Aunt Catherine, perhaps you would like to play as Viscountess Longmuir's partner?"

"Very well," said Lady Catherine, pursing her lips. She cast a sour look at Elizabeth as she rose from her chair.

Mrs. Jenkinson, having assured herself that Miss deBourgh stood in no immediate danger of taking a chill, fainting from the heat or expiring from hunger and thirst, had busied herself in setting out the card table, chairs and cards in front of Lady Catherine and now dropped a curtsey to her ladyship. The others gathered around the card table and a footman leapt forward to assist in seating them.

Darcy, standing to his aunt's right, faced Elizabeth across the table and watched Lady Gwendolyn approach the chair at his own right. He glanced warily at her fingers as they grazed the corner of the table closest to him, and held up one hand. "Upon reconsideration," he declared, "perhaps I will take you up on the offer to play as your partner, Viscountess. Would you mind Elizabeth? I fear we shall put these ladies at unfair disadvantage otherwise."

Surely she could not be imagining it? Elizabeth blinked and glanced up at the ornate clock across from her on the mantle once again. No, indeed. The hands had not budged even incrementally in the last three times she had consulted it. Five minutes before midnight it had been and five minutes before midnight it remained. Ad infinitum. If the Viscount and Viscountess Longmuir had had any notion of departing at midnight, it now began to appear as though they, along with the rest of the company, would be spending the remainder of their natural lives mouldering away in this drawing room.

Elizabeth was, however, grudgingly willing to concede that the stultifying conversation and her inordinate desire to watch the door closing behind the departing backs of Lady Gwendolyn and her husband had perhaps seemed to decelerate the passage of this interminable evening. What might have seemed merely an eon had thence evolved into an eternity. She stifled another yawn and regarded the deep crimson glow of the reflected firelight in the glass of claret next to her. Viscount Longmuir had just refilled it and pressed it upon her with an intimately mellifluous, "If there is any other way--any way at all--that I might be of service to you, Mrs. Darcy, I hope you know you have only to ask."

Then take your wife home, and yourself with her, Elizabeth thought. She bit down on her lower lip. The claret was an unfortunate temptation, and that would never do. That glass would be her third, after all, and she could not afford to do anything that would interfere with her ability to keep her wits about her. Not only had she been rather unwillingly sharing a settee with the viscount since the completion of the card game three quarters of an hour earlier, but she also realized herself to be in rather imminent danger of toppling over asleep where she sat. Considering the unsettling proximity of Longmuir's shoulder to her as they now sat and the baleful glances Mr. Darcy had more than once cast in his direction, this would prove unwise at best.

But, Elizabeth really could not blame herself for her fatigue. The journey to Rosings just yesterday had been arduous and the particular method Darcy had employed last night of assuring her that at least one person was very glad had undertaken it had left her with a deficit of some several hours of sleep. She felt a high flush beginning to rise on her cheeks. There was some doubt as to whether that would be rectified soon, or possibly at all, even once the guests finally took their leave. Tonight, if and when they eventually retired, Elizabeth would be in the chamber adjoining Darcy's. Or at least her things would be.

With this uppermost in her thoughts, Elizabeth caught Darcy's eye across the room. He raised his eyebrows almost imperceptibly and his gaze flickered across to the mantle clock, then back at his wife as the hint of a smile teased the corners of his lips upward. By all appearances, the evening now stood every chance of drawing to a satisfactory conclusion after all.

It had not seemed so propitious when they sat down to cards earlier. Elizabeth had frozen when her husband had announced his sudden change in inclination. After first declining to play at all, and then offering to be her own partner, his seemingly capricious declaration that he wished to be Lady Gwendolyn's partner had come as a decidedly unpleasant shock. Equally astonishing was the notion that in so doing, her husband had also deliberately set her up as his aunt's partner! Put his aunt and the viscountess at an unfair disadvantage? she had thought as all of this transpired. I scarcely know how to play the game and Lady Catherine took pains to reprimand me for it only yesterday! It had taken Elizabeth several more moments to realize that Mr. Darcy's proposition, necessitating that she exchange places with Lady Gwendolyn, would put the viscountess across the table and farthest from Darcy and herself immediately next to him. She had happily acquiesced, and claimed her new place instantly.

Lady Gwedolyn, for her part, gave no indication that this turn of events deviated in the slightest from what she always intended, and she had turned her brightest smile upon Darcy as she moved to face him across the card table. "This arrangement will suit very well. Thank you for lending him to me, Mrs. Darcy. I shall endeavour to return him to you unscathed--unless, that is, you play as well as your husband says you do."

"I--well--I do not...," Elizabeth had stammered. But, although the viscountess was purportedly addressing her, she did not take her eyes from Mr. Darcy.

"But the stakes will suit me very well, I think" Lady Gwendolyn continued, seemingly unaware that Elizabeth had spoken.

"Are we to wager, then?" Elizabeth asked. Mr. Darcy, who had heaved a nearly inaudible sigh of relief as his wife seated herself next to him, was by then deliberately avoiding eye contact with everyone at the table.

"We need not. What does everyone think?" Lady Gwendolyn's blue eyes widened as she glanced around the table. "There is other satisfaction to be had, I'll warrant."

"Indeed, I should prefer not to," snorted Lady Catherine, wrinkling her nose in Elizabeth's direction.

Of course, playing as Lady Catherine's partner had been a distinction she would just as soon have foregone. That lady took it upon herself to scold and censure Elizabeth at every turn, while at the same time applauding Lady Gwendolyn for even the most mundane capture of an insignificant card. Mr. Darcy knew better than to deliberately play either to his wife's advantage or to the detriment of his own partner, but each time he laid or captured a card, his aunt would remark to Lady Gwendolyn, "Although I, myself, am an excessively proficient card player, rarely have I been privileged to witness harmonious play! It is as though you can read each other's thoughts!"

On one such occurrence, a low laugh bubbled from the viscountess' throat. "Perhaps there is something in that! I cannot allow that it is half so fortuitous as it appears, my dear Lady Catherine--for I never leave anything to chance!"

And on another, "Mr. Darcy may say what he likes, but you can see his protestations that he is ill-suited to be my partner are entirely without foundation!"

Through all of it, Elizabeth had sat tight-lipped and silent, mechanically laying cards before her hot eyes, focusing only on the wine-coloured velvet cloth in front of her. What choice was there? Anne had pleaded a headache and gone to her room before they had played half an hour, so there was no other conversation to be had and the only rash alternative to cards as the evening wore on would be to risk a tete-a-tete with the viscount, who had already proposed that Mrs. Darcy take a turn with him on the terrace after the first disastrous hand of Cassino. Mr Darcy had warned her about this evening but she had insisted they be present, and now she must suffer her comeuppance in silence.

At last, during the final hand of the game, Elizabeth had peered over the single card she clutched at the others splayed out on the card table, and looked up in time to see her partner, lips pursed in disapprobation, squinting formidably across at her. It had been a calculated risk, and Lady Catherine would have been most seriously displeased if it had availed them nothing, but Elizabeth had known she must make the attempt. She had counted and watched so carefully-- could anything have escaped her notice? With a trepidation entirely disproportionate to the importance which she conferred upon card playing in general, Elizabeth had said, "I will trail this one." And she laid a ten of diamonds on the table.

Her manoeuver was greeted by a snort of disgust from across the table, a slight gasp of pleasure from Lady Gwendolyn to her right and a start from Darcy to her left.

Lady Catherine had been the first among them to voice her thoughts. "Foolish girl! You play the grand cassino right into their hands! Imagine giving it up, just like that for the taking! It is little wonder you claim to be no card player! Have you paid no attention to the pains I have taken to instruct you in this game?" She flipped her fan open in exasperation.

Darcy spoke at almost the same moment. "No! It was the right move, for I have only this eight myself!" He placed it next to a two on the table with a shrug of his shoulders and smiled at Elizabeth. "Well done, my love!"

For the first time, the smile slipped from Lady Gwendolyn's countenance and she stared open mouthed at the cards before her. "I built ten there because I was certain you would capture what I played for you!" she exclaimed with a scowl.

"Perhaps it would be wisest not to presume to know what I am thinking--or what I will do," he returned evenly.

It had been then that Lady Catherine noticed that she herself held the card which would capture all those that were before her on the table, and she triumphantly laid it in front of her without a word of acknowledgment to her partner. The outburst from her guest seemed to have entirely escaped her attention.

Following the card game, Lady Catherine and the viscountess had become engrossed in an exclusive conversation and there they remained, apparently oblivious to the others in the room.

Elizabeth had just raised the glass of claret to her lips when the clock struck midnight at long last. Expectantly, she looked first to Lady Gwendolyn and then to Viscount Longmuir, neither of whom gave any indication that they had either heard the chime or had given any thought to departing. In a fit of pique, she tipped back her glass to drain the remainder of the wine, but was interrupted by a slight cough from Darcy.

He rose to his feet and held out one hand to her, taking the claret from her with the other and setting it back on the table. "It has been a long evening, and we are unaccustomed to retiring so late at Pemberley. Mrs. Darcy and I bid you all good night," he said curtly, and tucked Elizabeth's arm under his own without waiting for a response.

They were at the bottom of the main staircase before she recovered herself enough to speak. "Believe me I have no wish to linger, but we cannot take our leave and go to bed before the guests have even gone home!" she exclaimed.

"They are not going home, Elizabeth. Before you came down to dinner this evening, my aunt invited them to stay here. Forgive me--there has been no opportunity to inform you."

"No opportunity! In more than four hours?"

Darcy winced. "We have not been out of her hearing all evening. I did not want to witness your reaction to the news in front of Gwen--Lady Gwendolyn."

Another retort sprang to Elizabeth's lips, but she held it in check. It had been a long enough evening already, and this was not how she wished it to end. She took two steps up and held out her hand to her husband. "Come, let us put her--put all of them from our thoughts! You see, I have not forgotten that tonight I can accompany you up these stairs, for my things are now in the chamber adjoining yours."

"No," he said, hoarsely. "I am afraid that chamber is no longer available, Elizabeth."

"The room is no longer available! That--it--it is insupportable!" Elizabeth sputtered. She continued to stare open-mouthed at her husband two steps below, her cheeks uncomfortably flushed with this unanticipated chagrin. Not a hint of this had been evident in the drawing room, although there seemed to be no need to ask why the chamber adjoining Mr. Darcy's would now be inaccessible to her.

Gripping the banister with such force that his knuckles turned white, Darcy lunged upward in one swift motion so that he stood on the same step as his wife. With his eyes, he implored her not to excite the curiousity of the household staff--or worse--that of the occupants of the drawing room. "Dearest Elizabeth," he breathed, leaning down so that his brow was just inches from hers. He captured her hands in his own. "My love--please--allow me to relate how this unfortunate circumstance came about..."

But Elizabeth, having so abruptly lost the one object which had made all the evening before somewhat bearable, was not so easily to be appeased. "Unfortunate circumstance! You astonish me! What does it matter how it came about?" she hissed, her dark eyes flashing up at him. "She is to sleep in the room next to yours and I am not! Let me understand this rightly-- we are speaking of Lady Gwendolyn, are we not?"

Darcy reddened and scowled as he shifted his stance. "Yes, but..."

Her eyes widened. "But? How can you possibly think to excuse this?"

"No excuses, Elizabeth, I swear it, only..." He broke off, taking one more step up and tugging gently on her hands as he held them. Meeting some unexpected obstinance in that quarter, Darcy glanced behind him up the staircase, then below. In one fluid movement, he caught his wife up in his arms and proceeded to the top of the staircase before Elizabeth could protest or even realize what had just occurred. Several more paces brought them halfway down a deserted corridor, its rich paneling and columns only dimly perceptible in the faint light thrown from tapers high in wall sconces.

But she was not at liberty to look about just now. Darcy set Elizabeth on her feet, clasping her by the shoulders and fixing her with a regard of compelling earnestness. Only briefly did he glance in the direction from which they had come. "You have every right to be incensed, but I give you no alternative but to hear me out," he whispered.

Elizabeth endeavoured, with futility, to avoid his gaze. She would not be reasoned out of her displeasure! This day--and this evening--had taxed every ounce of restraint she possessed and at this moment her indignation wanted ammunition, not assuaging. But she kept her voice low as she charged, "I cannot imagine what you could have to say that would rectify this situation!"

"Good God! You cannot--Elizabeth! It is impossible that you should accuse me of complicity in any of this!" In the ardour of this speech, Darcy pressed Elizabeth so that she now stood with her back against the wall.

"If you knew of it and did nothing to prevent it, is that not tantamount to your tacit approval?" She winced as the charge left her lips, for it was undeserved. Willingly would she rather have hurt any other occupant of Rosings than the one who stood so near to her that she could see the muscles tauten along his jaw. Silently, she condemned Lady Catherine for provoking an inevitable quarrel and herself for succumbing to such machinations.

But there was no opportunity to take back her words. "Let me leave you in no doubt as to how I approve of what has happened, madam." This time Darcy did not look around him, but instead bent to close his mouth on Elizabeth's in a manner which indicated anything but ambivalence. If it were possible to exhibit displeasure for one person by demonstrating the opposite sentiment to another, then Darcy left his wife in little doubt that he harboured extreme animosity toward at least one of the other inhabitants of Rosings at this moment.

When she found herself able to speak at last, Elizabeth was contrite. "I never meant to accuse you--but we are still no nearer to a solution," she whispered. She traced her fingers across his brow. "I still cannot comprehend this turn of events."

"I have a solution." Darcy arched one eyebrow as he spoke, then inclined his head to brush his lips against the base of her throat. With that, he relinquished his grasp from around her waist and pulled Elizabeth away from the wall.

A few paces farther down the corridor, he threw open a door and drew Elizabeth into an elegant little parlour. "This is my chamber." He closed the door behind them and turned a brass key in its lock.

Elizabeth glanced about her at the luxurious sofa and armchairs, their rich brocade glowing invitingly in the soft firelight and she felt the thick pile of the carpet sink beneath her slippered feet as she stepped forward. She had been rather surprised yesterday at the lack of ostentation in her own suite, but evidently there were chambers in Rosings which more than compensated for what hers lacked. Her eyes fell on a door to her right, tightly closed, and another near the window, slightly ajar.

Following her gaze, Darcy remarked, "The bed and the rest of the chamber are through there." He indicated the open door with one hand and held out his other as if to lead her in that direction.

It was evident that Darcy's intended solution to their dilemma was predicated upon action rather than words, and it would have been very easy to follow him without comment. But Elizabeth was not yet willing to surrender an opportunity to understand precisely the scheme that had brought these circumstances about. She had been distracted by what had just taken place in the corridor, but her indignation, although redirected, was far from appeased. "And that door?" she asked, turning back to her right.

Darcy coughed and dropped his hands to his sides.. "That leads to the adjoining chamber. It is a mirror image of this one, with a little sitting room and then the-- all the rest of it opposite."

"And staying there will be someone other than your own wife! I cannot believe your aunt has done something so--so--no, I will say it! So vulgar as this!" Elizabeth fumed. "What could she possibly propose by it?"

"Elizabeth! I know you are angry, and rightly so, but I do not believe this to be Lady Catherine's doing!"

Her mouth fell open. "Are you saying that Lady Gwendolyn chose the room that adjoins yours of her own volition? Please tell me that it cannot be so!"

"It may be that it was not by design..." he hesitated.

"Do you believe that?"

He coughed again. "I would prefer to believe it. It is a very sordid business otherwise."

"Indeed," Elizabeth huffed, crossing her arms in front of her.

"Listen to me," he implored her. "They arrived while we were visiting the parsonage. It is customary to give guests who have traveled a room in which to freshen up, and I suppose she chose that one, as it is familiar to her."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "She used to stay in the chamber next to yours?"

Darcy scowled in the direction of the door. "For God's sake, Elizabeth! That is the most finely appointed chamber in this wing of the house and she is a friend of my aunt's. She has probably occupied that room on every occasion the Longmuirs have come to Rosings."

"Then, would not the viscount have stayed in this chamber?"

He regarded her seriously. "Did it appear to you this evening as though they would be anxious to have adjoining rooms?"

"No," Elizabeth shook her head, reflecting upon the thinly-veiled animosity she had observed between the couple throughout the evening. Viscount Longmuir's attentions to herself had been uncomfortably evident, but even at this his wife had betrayed not the slightest hint of jealousy, or anything superior to cold indifference to him. "I pity them."

"I do not," Darcy declared with a shrug of his shoulders. "They have reaped what they have sown."

Elizabeth looked questioningly at her husband, but he deflected her inquiry with a wave of his hand. Absently, she walked to the door that led to the chamber she was not to occupy and noted that it, too, was locked.

"I have the key, safely stored away," Darcy commented, gesturing toward the other room in his suite. "I looked in there earlier to see what might have to be done to make the room ready for you, and that was when I noticed a few of her things scattered about her sitting room. She had not locked her own side of the door--probably never gave a thought to whether this side was occupied."

"I wish I could believe that," Elizabeth sighed. "But now it is time for me to make my way back to my own chamber."

"No! Spend the night here, with me!" Darcy crossed the small parlour and caught Elizabeth around the waist.

"I--I cannot do that!"

"Why not? You know as well as I do that you occupying that other chamber was only a pretense. You never supposed any more than I did that you would sleep in that bed, did you?" Darcy asked, an impudent smile playing about his lips.

Elizabeth flickered another glance at the door to the adjoining chamber. "But I could not! Not with her there!"

"She will not be able to hear anything--I promise you!" Darcy laughed.

"I will refrain from inquiring just how you have the confidence to make such an assertion, sir!" Elizabeth teased. "But, in all seriousness, if I spend the night here with you, how am I to go wandering about the hallways tomorrow morning in my evening gown? It does not seem possible that your aunt could hold a worse opinion of me, but that would certainly accomplish it!"

Darcy gently removed the small circlet of roses in his wife's hair and set it on a table next to one armchair. Then he pulled out the diamond comb that fastened her tresses and watched as her dark curls cascaded past her shoulders. "I suppose it is my duty--as your husband--to help you preserve some outward semblance of respectability..." he whispered, with an affected, put-upon sigh.

"I am pleased you see it that way," Elizabeth laughed.

"Let me go down to your chamber and bring back a few things for you to wear in the morning. If I go myself and take care to go stealthily, not even the servants need know what we are about. Which gown would you prefer?"

"The green and white, I think," Elizabeth replied. She raised a hand to her throat and felt her pulse flutter there as her heart began to beat a little faster. "And I will also need..."

"I can imagine what other things you will need, my love," he said, his dark eyes sparkling as he gazed down at her. "In fact, I have been imagining it. I have been very observant."

She turned him toward the door and propelled him forward with a gentle push. "You shall be well repaid for your impertinence, sir!"

While Darcy was gone, Elizabeth settled herself on the sofa and glanced about her again. It was ridiculous, but she felt too uncomfortable to proceed into the bedchamber without him--as though she were somehow intruding. And, if I were to go in there, I might fall asleep on the bed while I wait, she thought. The three glasses of wine she drank downstairs were making their presence known to her, and the last thing she wanted was to be asleep when Darcy returned. She rose and went to the glass doors which opened out onto a balcony, then stepped out into the cool night air. With a sigh of relief, she breathed it in and stared up at the stars for some moments. It was impossible to see the vast expanse of this side of Rosings by moonlight alone, but she could readily observe that Lady Gwendolyn's chamber was in darkness. Either the Longmuirs were still downstairs with Lady Catherine, or she had already retired and extinguished her lights.

That thought caused Elizabeth to wonder just how much time had passed since she and Mr. Darcy had retired from the company, and upon re-entering the chamber she was astonished to read that it was a quarter of one by the mantle clock. How long had Darcy been gone? Perhaps he had had difficulty making his way to her chamber unobserved? Or perhaps, once faced with the prospect of gathering all the garments his wife would require, he had found the errand more challenging than he imagined?

With no clear idea of what she might do to remedy the situation, Elizabeth turned the key in its lock and peered out into the dimly lit corridor, resolved to attempt something. She heard Darcy's chamber door close softly behind her as she made her way down the hall, but she was no more than ten paces along her way when Elizabeth realized that she was uncertain of her bearings. Now that she stood alone in the corridor, the possibility loomed that she might be entirely turned around and moving in a direction opposite to what she intended. Indeed, she had paid very little attention when Darcy had carried her up here, and even less during the interlude when he held her against the wall.

She was startled by the sound of a footfall. It might be Darcy, but he was not the only occupant of these rooms. Panicking, Elizabeth began to walk quickly back down the corridor, then froze in her tracks. Was Darcy's door the second or the third from where she had stopped? Hesitantly, she approached the door nearest to where she stood and extended a tentative hand. She whirled at the sound of a small murmur of amusement.

Viscount Longmuir was staring down at her. "Have you lost your way, Mrs. Darcy?"

Elizabeth snatched her hand away from the door handle as though it had scalded her. Please, God, let this not be the door to the viscount's bedchamber! she thought in desperation, yet with the sinking conviction that he would not presume to stand so near to her and look down at her in this manner were it not the case. Closing her eyes tightly, she pressed her fingertips to her forehead, as if to ward away the unpleasantness which must follow. Only once did she venture to glance upward, but even in the dim light thrown from the tapers in the wall sconces, what she thought she read in his countenance seemed evident enough. By no means could she force any sort of reply from her throat.

Viscount Longmuir leaned closer to her and whispered, "I confess I am surprised to see you here."

His proximity to her caused Elizabeth's eyes to fly open once more. Without another moment's hesitation would she have fled his presence, but he stood so near that it would be necessary to push him aside in order to make good her escape, and in any case, she had not the least idea which other door in this unfamiliar hallway she ought to try next. "Please, sir...I--I did-- not..." Her voice trailed off as the utter futility of formulating intelligible speech in this circumstance became apparent.

He did not reply immediately, but instead glanced down the length of the corridor to either side with a slight frown, then inclined his head to meet Elizabeth's eyes directly. "You were the last person I should have thought to encounter roaming the corridor at this late hour!"

The initial shock was beginning to dissipate, and Elizabeth was at now at some pains to conceal the panic she felt rising within her. Her impression of this man had undergone so rapid a transformation in the past few hours that she knew not what to make of it. Indeed, she had not failed to notice from the first how strikingly handsome he was, albeit with fair wavy hair and blue eyes, in a manner so very different from that which she admired in her own husband.

But at dinner she had merely considered the viscount vapid and singularly unworthy of the effort it required to hold up her end of the conversation. Then suddenly, his deportment had altered after the gentlemen had joined them in the drawing room. Perhaps it had been some clever remark of her own which had roused him from his languid ennui, but he had suddenly begun to look at her a great deal, attempt to engage her in conversation and even chanced a few remarks which would no doubt have prompted more than just scowls from Mr. Darcy, had he heard them. Now he was different again. There was at once in his manner an earnestness and an apparent candour which were unsettling to Elizabeth in the extreme. What could he mean by it?

No sooner had Elizabeth formed the question in her mind than she was struck by an urge amounting to a compulsion to take her person as far away from Longmuir as could be contrived-- in all haste. It would be deluding herself to pretend ignorance of what his words and actions signified. She extended one hand to the wall and attempted to slide past him, but there he remained--unyielding. "Sir! I beg you!" she hissed, hot colour flooding to her cheeks in her chagrin.

"No need for that, I think."

Trembling, Elizabeth gasped at the implication of his remark. Rendered nearly speechless with indignation, she sputtered, "Forgive me, b-but I--I..."

"Madam--pray, do not apologize!" he exclaimed in a low voice, with a slight upward turn to one corner of his lip as he regarded her.

This infuriated her still further, but she drew a deep breath struggled to retain control. "I have done nothing for which I would apologize!"

Longmuir's eyebrows shot up, and then the rest of his countenance relaxed into a slight smile. " So much the better, Mrs. Darcy." he whispered. He reached around her and put his own hand on the door handle. "No regrets--that is always the best way."

Now it was Elizabeth's turn to search to the far ends of the hallway. Where was Darcy's bedchamber? How could she possibly disentangle herself from this situation when the viscount seemed capable of turning even her rebuffs to his own advantage? And where was Darcy? While her head was turned, Elizabeth felt a movement beside her and did not dare look over to where the viscount stood.

Her heart was pounding in her chest and it was necessary to concentrate in order not to expel her breath audibly. She choked down what would have emerged as a sob mingled with a cry. Despite all her suspicion to the contrary, surely--surely the viscount had not formulated a design of opening that door and pull her in behind him? Things like this were not supposed to happen in a respectable home! Or to the adored wife of a man like Fitzwilliam Darcy! Her determination to extricate herself from this situation without rousing the entire household rapidly gave way to the conviction that if he so much as moved to touch her, she would let forth a scream that would reverberate to the very foundations of Rosings. Making her explanation to Mr. Darcy--and his aunt, presumably--loomed as not half so distasteful a prospect as the alternative.

And it would be decidedly unpleasant--giving her account of this whole catastrophe . It had been monumentally foolish to wander a darkened corridor to which she had paid no heed the only other time she had been in it. Despise as she did her cohort in this debacle, Elizabeth could not but censure her own behaviour as well as his. The distasteful probability that this was not the first time the viscount intended to entertain a lady in his chambers who was not his wife left very little reason to suppose what he presumed when he found her here. Without a doubt, Lady Catherine would assume the worst when she heard of it.

When she dared encounter his gaze again, Viscount Longmuir was staring down at Elizabeth with marked concern shadowing his countenance. The door swung slightly open as he released its handle, but he paid it no heed. He frowned again. "You are trembling. It would appear that you require some present relief, Madam. Please believe that I am absolutely--and discreetly--at your service."

"Thank you, no," Elizabeth returned, shaking her head vehemently. Furtively, she swiped a tear away from her eye. There were still no means by which she could move away without either touching the viscount or demanding that he step aside, for which exertion she now began to summon her courage. Bringing her hands down to clench in front of her, she perceived from the corner of her eye the masses of her own dark curls falling past her shoulders, loose since Mr. Darcy had released them from the comb which held them a short while earlier. In her agitation, this had completely escaped her recollection.

Elizabeth's hand flew to her throat. Apparently, it was not enough humiliation that she should encounter Viscount Longmuir with her hand on what was evidently the door to his bedchamber, but she must also be seen by him in a state of dishabille! Good God--he must think her truly a wanton! Frantically, she tried to remember whether any other aspect of her attire had been similarly altered or unfastened by her husband before he departed in search of her clothing.

Another solitary tear spilled onto Elizabeth's burning cheek. I am making such a fool of myself! And she despised herself for allowing Viscount Longmuir to make her feel helpless and victimized. Where was her much-lauded courage that rose with every attempt to intimidate her when she needed it most? This could be remedied in an instant. It was her pride alone that kept her from admitting that she did not know where her own husband's bedchamber was located.

"Will you not permit me to assist you in some manner?" the viscount repeated. He withdrew a handkerchief from the pocket of his waistcoat and pressed it into Elizabeth's hand. "It grieves me to see a lady in such distress."

She pressed it to her eyes and released a muffled sob into the folds of white linen. "Sir..." she gulped down a great breath. "This...this... is my first visit to Rosings. Or rather--my first time tostay here. I never was above the first floor until yesterday and..."

"So--you were lost, then?"

Elizabeth winced as she nodded and bit down on her lip. She nodded toward his chamber. "Truly, sir, I had not the least intention of...of...I did not know where Mr. Darcy went, and I..."

Viscount Longmuir flickered a glance at the door of the chamber to the left of his own and then back to Elizabeth with a frown. "Were not you and he...That is, the two of you retired from the company at the same time, so one might presume..."

"Oh no! He was with me! He only went on a small commission for me, and was supposed to have returned long since. I grew anxious and came out into the corridor here without thinking or getting my bearings in this light. That is all."

"I see." He made a slight bow to Elizabeth and glanced quickly again at the door to the left. "Mrs. Darcy...I beg that you would forgive me for assuming...Once one has been used to participating in these sorts of intrigues, one tends to forget that dissipation is not yet become a way of life to everyone. How I envy those whose pursuit of happiness has never led them down that path!"

She could make no answer to this, but felt some astonishment at the gentleness of his tone, and an echo of something she could not quite discern in his voice.

"The chamber you seek is that one," Viscount Longmuir whispered, indicating the second door to his left. "I hope--I trust your husband will make his way there soon. And Madam, if he does not demonstrate to you until the end of your days how fortunate he must feel himself to be, then he is the greatest fool alive!" He nodded to her and slid into his chamber, closing the door softly behind him.

Although mystified by this parting remark, Elizabeth lost no time in scurrying to Darcy's bedchamber and shutting herself in. She kicked off her slippers and it was not until she was halfway across the small sitting room that she realized she still clutched the viscount's white linen handkerchief.

Hurriedly, she made her way into the part of the suite which held the bed and quickly found her husband's dressing room. Inside, there was a chest of mahogany drawers, of which the bottom two stood empty. Elizabeth shoved the square of white fabric into one, and then began to fill the rest of the drawer as she removed her own clothing. Her rose-coloured gown she hung carefully next to Darcy's green waistcoat, and she selected one of his white shirts to pull over her head. Once she gathered the rest of her things, she would climb into his bed and await him there, secure in the expectation that he would awaken her when he returned.

She was still fastening the shirt as she stepped into the sitting room to retrieve her slippers and comb, and gasped as the door swung open. Darcy, in rumpled shirt sleeves and bereft of his waistcoat, started and stared at his wife's fingers on the buttons of the white shirt she wore. He frowned as he pulled one hand through his hair, which was already in disarray. "Elizabeth," he said, pushing the door closed behind him and turning the key. " I have had a most unexpected encounter."

Perhaps it was the lingering shame and culpability she still felt over her ignominious confrontation in the corridor minutes earlier, but Elizabeth's first reaction to Darcy's declaration was alarm. Unsure how to respond, she watched as her husband pulled one hand through his hair again. He shuffled from one foot to the other, and was scrutinizing his wife with a frown. Elizabeth swallowed and pressed her lips together as she regarded him intently. Surely--surely to heaven he had not... No! It was impossible! She had seen Viscount Longmuir enter his own chamber and watched close the door behind him. The hall had been absolutely deserted as she made her way back here--had it not? "An--an encounter?" Elizabeth stammered, clutching at the open collar of the shirt she wore. She backed up one pace. "With whom?"

Darcy did not answer her directly, but began to pace the small sitting area of his suite. As he walked, he pulled off his neckcloth, which was already unfastened, and shook his head. "I blame myself for not noticing this before..."

This did nothing to elucidate the situation for Elizabeth, and she dared not speak before she fully comprehended the impetus to the behaviour she now witnessed. What could Darcy have failed to notice? There could be no doubt that he had remarked the viscount's pointed attentions to herself earlier in the evening, although he had perhaps never considered the degree to which their guest was willing to act upon those. Did Darcy know or only suspect what kind of proposition had been made to his wife? But was it not beyond imagining that he should suspect her of any complicity in what had taken place? She prayed that it must be so. "Permit me to..." Elizabeth began, but her throat was so tight that her words were barely audible.

Darcy raised one hand to forfend further discourse and shook his head again. "God help us, I was afraid something like this might happen."

Elizabeth could not argue with this. Indeed, he had warned her--even tried to dissuade her from being present at the dinner this evening. Emphatically so. But she had then supposed his exhortations against receiving their guests this evening referred to Lady Gwendolyn and not her husband. Now that she reflected upon it, Darcy's animosity towards the gentleman had been evident since the ladies withdrew after dinner.

But this did not seem to answer. Appraising his present behaviour-- if Darcy had seen--or overheard--aught of what had just transpired between his wife and Viscount Longmuir in the corridor, then this reaction seemed exceedingly moderate! True, she had never witnessed her husband in the throes of any sort of passion of this nature, but Elizabeth had firsthand knowledge that he was capable not only of great feeling but also in demonstrating the same, unreservedly. If he so much as suspected that another man was trying to lure his wife into infidelity, would Fitzwilliam Darcy not appear to be a great deal worse than merely displeased and perplexed? And it was worse than an intent to lure, for this evening Longmuir had all but snared his unwilling quarry earlier before the latent decency that had been her means of escape had surfaced. And yet Darcy--if indeed he had ever been seething with unbridled rage over any of this--appeared to have exorcised it rather completely.

Or--another thought struck Elizabeth--perhaps he was making no reference to what she had done at all! Narrowing her eyes, Elizabeth surveyed again Darcy's appearance and now began to consider, rather than merely remark, her husband's missing waistcoat, unfastened cravat, and unkempt hair. Viscount Longmuir had not been the only person to demonstrate a marked preference in a forbidden direction during the course of evening! But how could she suppose Darcy capable of responding--in even the smallest measure--to any advance Lady Gwendolyn might have made to him? It was inconceivable! He had barely managed to conceal his contempt for that lady tonight.

"D--do you mean to say you were expecting it?" she ventured. Even as the words left her lips, she could not give them credence. Darcy had given her to understand that he despised the viscountess. There could be no doubt that he had anticipated that something untoward would occur during this meeting, and he had striven to prevent it. How then could he now stand here and so calmly inform his own wife that this same loathed creature had made her own desires known? And--judging by his present appearance-- that she had managed to express these wishes in more than words?

Darcy raised one eyebrow and shot her a quizzical look. "Well, one never precisely expects this sort of thing, does one? Or at least one ought not to. Even so, there is always some means to be found of making the best of it--would you not agree?"

Elizabeth's mouth fell open and her eyes roved again from his rumpled shirt sleeves--devoid of waistcoat-- to his dishevelled hair. Make the best of it! Is it possible that he can speak such things to his wife?

Before she could make any intelligible reply, Darcy folded his arms in front of him and advanced two paces towards her. He coughed. "When were you going to tell me, Elizabeth?"

"Wh--what? I!" she exclaimed.

"You were not planning to keep this from me, I hope?" he pressed.

So it is what I have done! Elizabeth's hand flew to her own tousled hair and she flushed, wondering to what degree her appearance must betray her discomposure. What must he be thinking of her at this moment? His countenance was inscrutable. Had Mr. Darcy witnessed the viscount's hand reaching around her to open the door to his bedchamber? Had he heard any of the insinuating remarks in their whispered conversation? Why this interrogation? Why not just ask her outright? She could not imagine that he would enjoy toying with her. Never had she intended to mention her accidental meeting with the viscount, but neither could she be untruthful to her husband. Swallowing hard, Elizabeth whispered, "I--I did not know how to broach the subject. I am s-so mortified!" She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.

"Elizabeth..." Darcy was swift to cross the remaining distance between them in the small room and gather her into his embrace. He stroked her hair with one hand as his cheek rested on top of her head. "Elizabeth--I am not blaming you! And I am not angry at you! I am only asking why you would not have told me about this?"

His question bewildered her. It had not been more than a quarter of an hour since Viscount Longmuir had quitted her and sent her back to this chamber. "There was no opportunity!" she protested.

Darcy sighed and stroked her hair. "I do not see the point of waiting. If I am to do something about it, the sooner I know the better."

Do? Of course he will feel compelled to act upon this knowledge! Fear constricted Elizabeth's throat. "Wh--what are you going to do?"

"It is already done--that is, at least as much as I can manage for now."

It is already done... Even as Darcy held her fast in his embrace, Elizabeth quailed at the mere thought of what `it' might be. She had seen him level more than one murderous glare in Viscount Longmuir's direction over the course of the evening but never, until this moment, had she envisioned her husband acting out any of that thinly-veiled animosity towards Lady Gwendolyn's husband.

And, although Elizabeth could not bring herself to regret that a man who had none too subtly made known his illicit designs upon her had apparently now met with her husband's wrath, she could not help but feel a pang when she recalled the viscount's real compunction in the face of her distress at his door. Longmuir, by his own admission, was but too accustomed to seeing his invitations meet with greater success but had never had an intent to injure her. Until she had summoned the courage to explain her circumstances, the viscount had presumed he was acting with her implicit consent, however improper. And now this--whatever it was-- had occurred.

But what did Darcy mean that he had done as much as he `could manage' for now? Elizabeth pulled back to regard him again. His habitual fastidiousness had evidently deserted him at some point during his absence, but he bore no sign that he had engaged in fisticuffs of any sort. She did not doubt that he could readily best Viscount Longmuir--or anyone of such ilk, for that matter-- but would it not be more apparent if such had occurred? Her ignorance in these matters was complete.

And there could have been no duel in so short a time! She had always presumed this was the stuff of sentimental novels--did gentlemen actually duel? Had he called the viscount out for the morrow? She clutched at her loose tresses as she pressed her palms to her temples. "Tell me," she whispered. "What have you done? And--what remains to be done? Is it too late to put a stop to it?"

"A stop to it?" Darcy wrinkled his nose and cocked his head at her with an air of mild amusement. "I cannot put a stop to it now, Elizabeth. And why should I wish to? This is the only remedy that comes to mind. It will be better this way."

"I am so--so profoundly sorry about this," Elizabeth said breathlessly, clasping her hands in front of her. "But it cannot be worth it if anyone is injured--or worse. Is there no way for me to explain or to make amends?"

A low bubble of laughter floated up from Darcy's throat and he shook his head. "No explanation is necessary. I can picture precisely how it happened. And she is going to be most seriously displeased, I'll warrant, but I do not suppose she will actually kill you when she finds out, my love. With any luck we shall have departed before that can occur. And as for amends..." He stepped closer to Elizabeth and lightly grasped the two sides of her open collar, then gently pulled them apart as he bent to kiss her neck.

"She?" Elizabeth gasped once she was able to speak. She caught Darcy by the shoulders and raised him away from her so that she might see his eyes. "She?"

His brow furrowed in consternation--whether from bewilderment or being arrested in his pursuit, Elizabeth did not venture to ascertain. "Yes, she. My Aunt Catherine. Whom did you suppose I meant?"

Elizabeth clamped one hand to her mouth. Darcy's laughter confused and frightened her, but there was no escaping his meaning. Lady Catherine was to be made aware of the situation? The woman who could forgive Elizabeth nothing could surely never be brought to pardon a presumed dalliance between the husband of her dear friend and guest and her nephew's wife. The prospect of her learning of this was horrifying. The rift between Darcy's aunt and herself would progress from daunting to irreparable. Without daring to raise her eyes to her husband, Elizabeth ventured, almost inaudibly, "You will not tell her?"

"Of course not."

"Then, m-must she find out?"

"You know that nothing escapes her notice, Elizabeth," Darcy replied softly. He pulled a strand of hair away from her eyes. "It cannot be long, I think. I am surprised she did not notice earlier this evening."

Elizabeth frowned up at him. All of the comments rife with licentious innuendo had been from Viscount Longmuir to her, and had not been audible to the company in general. Darcy had remarked some of it, but she would swear to it that Lady Gwendolyn had heard and seen nothing of what transpired, and as Lady Catherine had devoted nearly all of her attention to her friend and barely deigned to acknowledge Elizabeth's presence other than to insult her, it did not seem possible that her ladyship could have overheard anything either. For her own part, Elizabeth knew she had either pointedly ignored Longmuir or made innocuous responses that could not possibly be construed as leading or suggestive in any manner--even by Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself. How could she censure Elizabeth's conduct in the drawing room? "Earlier this evening? There was nothing to notice earlier this evening!"

Now it was Darcy's turn to regard her with confusion. He dropped his hands from her shoulders. "That is not what Anne told me. I thought this happened when we first arrived yesterday?"

Anne? Yesterday? Realization washed over Elizabeth like a warm bath. He spoke of the vase she had broken in the entrance hall! Little had she then imagined that she would feel relief when he learned of it, but in these circumstances her assuagement was almost palpable. "Oh yes!" she exclaimed. "The accident did occur then, but there was nothing on the hall table to notice this evening."

"Do not suppose for a moment that my aunt would fail to notice something missing, either, dearest Elizabeth."

"How did you learn of it?"

Darcy began to pace the small sitting area. "Just now. In order to reach your bedchamber unnoticed, I was attempting to make my way down the servants' staircase at the back of the house. I all but sent my cousin toppling headlong before me, and with her the means of your salvation!"

"Anne! I should have thought her asleep hours ago!" Elizabeth exclaimed. She followed her husband's movement about the room, but in her astonishment at this turn of events, made no attempt to fall into step with him.

"As did I. I fear a rather deplorable oath escaped my lips as I collided with her, but fortunately I had the wherewithal to catch her--and her vase."

"Her vase?"

"Yes. I brought two of them back with me from that excursion to the continent. They are hand-painted and therefore each is unique, yet similar enough that my aunt might not immediately realize that an exchange has been made." Darcy turned back to his wife with a smile. "By that time, I shall endeavour to have you safely back at Pemberley!"

"But--your aunt? Would she not notice Anne's vase to be missing? Does she not frequent her daughter's suite of rooms? I fancied her always attempting to coddle the poor girl with some posset or concoction."

"In all probability, yes," Darcy admitted. "But in this case she would notice nothing amiss. It has been long since Anne would have kept such an object on display."

"Why ever not?" Elizabeth asked. "If it is as much like the other as you say, it must be a very beautiful piece, indeed."

Darcy pulled away from her and turned to stare out through the darkened window. "It has--it has to do with--it is not important, Elizabeth, and I should prefer not to discuss it. Let us just say that as a souvenir, it is much more to my aunt's taste than to my cousin's."

Something in the way he slowly shook his head and hunched his shoulders forward caught at Elizabeth's heart. Why should it bother him so much if Anne did not care for a trinket--albeit a costly one--her cousin brought back from a long ago continental sojourn? True, the other women in his life--herself, Georgiana and Lady Catherine among them, tended to cherish whatever gifts he bestowed upon them, but even so...best to talk of lighter matters. She walked up behind her husband and leaned her head against his back as she hugged him about the waist. "Now then," she murmured, " am I to learn what became of your waistcoat, sir?"

What became..of my waistcoat?" Darcy extended his arms and looked quizzically at his rumpled white linen sleeves, as if noticing for the first time that he lacked the garment which habitually covered these.

"Yes, you were wearing it when you left," Elizabeth prodded. Although still very much relieved that Darcy knew nothing about her encounter with Viscount Longmuir in the corridor, she wished she could be as unconcerned about all of this as her husband appeared to be.

"Ah, yes. Well, there would have been no necessity of removing it at all had it not been for..." He frowned and broke off. "Elizabeth, this is not a pressing concern. I wish to ask you about another matter."

Her throat went dry. She must divulge to him what had transpired with Longmuir, of course, but she quailed at the mere contemplation of it. No matter how she chose her words, Darcy could not but be angry. And if he had something to impart to her about Lady Gwendolyn and himself, she could anticipate no more complaisant a response. The manner in which Elizabeth had hoped to pass these next hours with her husband would then stand no hope of reclamation. Would not tomorrow morning be soon enough for confessions? Once Lady Catherine's guests departed?

She had but one means at her disposal to divert this conversation. With a deep breath, Elizabeth raised her eyes to her husband's. "Every article of your clothing is a pressing concern to me, sir."

His frown vanishing in a heartbeat, Darcy clasped his wife's hands and began to back through the partially opened door to his bedchamber. "In that case come with me, and I shall tell you all about it while I finish undressing."

"Finish undressing? Do you mean to say that you when you mislaid your waistcoat you had begun undressing?" Elizabeth said this archly, with a smile on her lips, hoping that this might mask the real twinges of alarm which plagued her at present.

"Hardly. This is the only room in Rosings where I have ever undressed--this and your chamber last night, madam," he laughed.

"I am pleased to hear it," Elizabeth rejoined. She flashed him an impudent smile and seated herself on the bed. "I suppose you never undress very quickly in this chamber?"

Darcy's eyebrows shot up in amused surprise. "I--I have never particularly had cause to do so, but...?"

His wife shivered and gathered the counterpane around her bare legs. The shirt she had chosen from Darcy's closet earlier furnished little in the way of warmth. "I ask only because there is a chill in the air here, of course."

"Evidently," Darcy murmured. He unfastened his cufflinks, dropping them onto the top of a high mahogany chest of drawers, then undid the top two buttons on his shirt. "But that can be remedied."

Elizabeth glanced around the sumptuously appointed chamber. She was by no means unaccustomed or unwilling to receive her husband's attentions, but in these unfamiliar surroundings and considering that Lady Catherine had pointedly made it clear that she disapproved of this arrangement, it seemed almost as though they were about to engage in a sort of clandestine tryst. Her eyes fell upon the coals glowing dimly through the grate of an ornately carved black marble fireplace. "Does not the manservant who attends your chamber stoke the fire before retiring?"

"He would have," Darcy acknowledged, following her gaze. "Had I not informed him that I was not to be disturbed here upon any account tonight, and not until he is summoned tomorrow."

Elizabeth felt herself blushing in the near darkness. She laughed softly."That is fortunate, for it spares me the obligation of remonstrating your aunt about the inferiority of her domestic staff."

"That I should dearly love to see," Darcy smiled. He knelt before the fireplace and scooped several pieces of coal into the grate, then stood and crossed to the door of his dressing room. "However, the remedy I had in mind to appease your plight involved neither coal nor the upbraiding servants. Excuse me for a moment, my love."

She watched as her husband disappeared into the closet and shivered again. Throwing aside the counterpane, Elizabeth quickly slid to the head of the bed and snuggled beneath the coverlet. It truly was cold. And little wonder! The ceilings in this room were so high that they disappeared up into the semi-obscurity.

Tomorrow, when the sunlight streamed in through the windows, she would examine her new surroundings properly. How many hours had Darcy spent in this very chamber thinking of Elizabeth and imagining their life together before she dealt him the unimagined blow of a refusal? Insofar as it was in her power to erase such painful memories, she intended to try tonight.

A sudden sound jolted Elizabeth upright. Was that a drawer closing? Until this moment she had not given another thought to Viscount Longmuir's handkerchief which she had placed among her own garments in the bottom drawer. Darcy would never presume to go through her things, would he? But he had not spent last night here and he did not know that his wife's clothing was in his bureau! He might happen upon all of it by accident and...

Elizabeth's panic was arrested by the emergence of Darcy from the dressing room, clad in a wine-coloured dressing gown. By no means did he give any indication that he might be in the least distressed.

Although she knew he could not discern her expression in this light, Elizabeth pulled the coverlet up more snugly and hid her face until she could compose her countenance once more. "Is it always so cold here in the spring?" she whispered as he approached.

"I recall that it seemed a great deal colder here last spring." Darcy sat next to his wife on the bed. "But, speaking of coldness, you remind me that I have not yet kept my word."

Elizabeth reached for him and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down next to her. "About your remedy against the chill?"

Darcy snorted a small laugh and kissed her forehead. He slid an arm around her and drew her close. "No, about my missing waistcoat--although I must say I am perfectly willing to delay that explanation and address your other concern..."

"No, tell me about the waistcoat. As you see, you have my undivided attention."

"Well, as I was telling you earlier, Anne and I had just placed her vase on the table in the front hall when we heard the doors to the drawing room opening. There was not time enough to make for the staircase, and in any case we had no wish to be apprehended together in those circumstances, or by those people, as you might imagine."

Elizabeth struggled to piece together the events her husband recounted. Did he meet with the viscount, or had he already gone up to his chamber by then? "Wh-who did emerge?"

"Gwen--Lady Gwendolyn, Longmuir, my aunt, I suppose...I am not precisely certain." He shrugged. "I pulled Anne outside the front door before we encountered them. We wished to be absolutely certain they had gone before we came back in, but when I saw my cousin begin to shiver there in the night air, I put my waistcoat about her shoulders. I had not given it another thought until you asked."

"Ah." Elizabeth expelled a small sigh in the darkness. Why did it seem as though Darcy was not telling her everything about what had occurred?

Without further prompting, he continued. "I could not let her--she is not strong, Elizabeth. And I have never---I felt like such a fool for allowing it to go as far as it did."

"So, Anne has your waistcoat in her chamber, then?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"And what about my clothing for tomorrow?"

"Anne promised that she would send her own lady's maid for it in the morning. She will be discreet. I told her what you wanted--but I requested that it not be delivered too early."

"Did you, indeed? Insufferable presumption!" Elizabeth whispered in mock indignation. "So I am to be left wearing this shirt of yours until then?"

"Perhaps," Darcy breathed, very close to her ear. "And now I have done talking of waistcoats and gowns vases and servants...but I believe there was one other promise I made to you."

As it happened, Elizabeth could not fault him in any measure for the manner in which this same was fulfilled. They had no idea what hour it was when sleep finally claimed them, but were awakened rather abruptly some while later by a most persistent knocking at Darcy's chamber door.

"What in God's name...?" Darcy raised himself groggily on one elbow and glowered at the door which led directly from his bedchamber to the corridor.

Elizabeth, waking for the first time in these new surroundings and forgetting for the moment how she had come to be here, was unable to furnish any sort of coherent reply. Instead, she pulled the bedclothes up to her chin, and blinked at her husband, wide-eyed, while the clamorous knocking at the door continued unabated. "What time is it?" she whispered.

Darcy squinted through the dim light. "It is difficult to say before the curtains have been drawn," he muttered, peering towards the mantel. "It is half after ten! I generally arise earlier than this, but who the devil would...?"

With a gasp, Elizabeth sat bolt upright, hugging the bedclothes to herself. "Oh! You do not suppose that something has..."

But she was unable to articulate the remainder of her alarmed speculation before the knocking was further punctuated by an unmistakable voice. "Nephew! Fitzwilliam Darcy! Do you pretend not to hear me? I insist that you come out here and speak to me at once!"

Elizabeth flopped back against her pillow, stifling a laugh with one hand to her mouth. "Oh dear Lord--Lady Catherine? I cannot believe this!" she hissed.

"I can!" Darcy rolled his eyes, then bent to brush a kiss against Elizabeth's shoulder before laying his head next to hers on her pillow. He drew the blankets up over their heads. "Perhaps if we remain exceedingly quiet, my aunt will just...go away."

"Darcy? Darcy! This is insupportable! You ought to know that I am not accustomed to being ignored in this manner in my own home!" This time the knock on the door was louder, as though it had been struck by the lady's walking stick.

"Perhaps not!" Ensconced here beneath the counterpane with her husband Elizabeth shook with barely suppressed laughter. She gasped, "Oh God! What in heaven's name are we to do? You do not think she would come in here and... and...?"

"And what?" Darcy whispered. He nestled closer to his wife and kissed her neck. "And find us like this? Or worse?"

"Darcy!" Lady Catherine's voice thundered again. "It is positively indecent that a young man your age would not have roused himself by this exceedingly late hour!"

"My aunt says I am being indecent," Darcy whispered. He cast a withering glance at the door with one arched eyebrow, then directed an impudent smile back down to his wife. "What say you, Mrs. Darcy?"

"I say, pray, do not be so uncharitable as to force me to agree with her! Go, I beg you, and find out what she wants before she breaks the door down discovers me here!"

Darcy sighed and shrugged into his dressing gown as he stood. When he was next to the door, he called out, tersely, "Yes, Aunt Catherine? What is it?"

"Open this door at once! I must speak with you!"

"Forgive me, I must have overslept." Darcy winked at Elizabeth as he spoke. "I am not yet presentable."

"Not presentable! This is excessively irregular! Attire yourself at once and come to me in the small summer breakfast parlour within the quarter hour."

There was no opportunity to protest, for Lady Catherine was heard to depart in high dudgeon, and her nephew could only sigh, shake his head and walk back towards his wife with hands extended in a conciliatory gesture. "It would appear that I am summoned."

"Then you must go, certainly."

Darcy shook his head. "I--I wish I did not have to leave you here, my love."

"Well, perhaps I could join you, if you like. Would you prefer me to come attired in last night's dinner gown, some articles of your own clothing, or draped with this sheet?"

"I will not stay any longer than I must, Elizabeth." He crossed quickly to his dressing room and emerged a moment later, shirt, breeches and waistcoat in hand. Tossing his robe aside, he began dressing quickly as he continued to speak. "I will ring for Anne's maid to come with your things directly and then you might be in time to join us?"

"Perhaps," Elizabeth demurred. She sat up against her pillows and drew her knees up to her chest. "Is there likely to be anyone else in the breakfast parlour?"

Her husband froze in the act of buttoning his shirt. "Such as the Longmuirs? I hope to God not. I haven't the stomach for such a thing so early in the day."

"Nor am I in any hurry to see them," Elizabeth agreed. "So Miss deBourgh's maid need not hasten here on my account."

Darcy shook his head again. "No, that will not do because I wish to make the point to my aunt that you are to be treated with the respect due to my wife and in accordance with my wishes in every respect. She has no right to extend to me an invitation in which you are not included-- even if it is only to breakfast. Which brings me to one other point..."

"Yes?" Elizabeth asked, mildly curious. As her husband approached the bed, she wrapped the counterpane tightly about her and knelt up in order to begin tying his neck cloth.

"Once I have spoken to my aunt, I think we should leave here. Today."

"What?" Elizabeth cried, dropping the half-fastened cravat and staring up at him.

"Yes. It is evident that our efforts to reconcile Lady Catherine to our marriage are in vain and are likely to continue to remain so. I can not endure my aunt's protracted efforts to insult you by every possible method. At every moment I am in danger of casting aside all civility and..."

"Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth interrupted him. She raised herself on her knees again to bestow a kiss upon his cheek. "I cannot pretend that I should not very much wish to see that. But I cannot leave today! I promised Charlotte yesterday that I would come and see her this morning."

"But you just spoke with her for hours!"

"Indeed, it might have seemed like hours to you out in the garden with Mr. Collins, but it was in reality not above half an hour, my love. You recall that I had to cut our conversation short to rescue you from my cousin's enthusiasm for his beekeeping? I do wish to speak with her again today."

Darcy pursed his lips. "Is it so urgent? Could it not be said in a letter?"

Could it? Elizabeth did not know. Charlotte seemed to be trying to warn me about something--a moral dilemma of some sort. There was something I `ought to know' about the viscountess. But if they left here--did it matter whether she learned of Lady Gwendolyn's ignominious secret--whatever that might be? Much as she disliked to admit it to herself, Elizabeth realized her curiousity in this matter to be immoderate--particularly now that she had met and seen this infamous woman and had some inkling of her shared past with Mr. Darcy. "I--I feel that I ought to keep my word to Charlotte."

He tried another tack. "Come--if we depart today, we could journey up and make a tour of the Lakes! You were disappointed to have missed that last summer with your aunt and uncle!"

"Well, in hindsight, perhaps not so very disappointed. There were other compensations." Elizabeth laughed. She picked up the ends of his cravat again and accomplished the tie. "Go and see your aunt. I want to see Charlotte today. We can take our leave tomorrow. What more could happen in that time?"

Once Mr. Darcy reluctantly departed to obey his aunt's summons to the breakfast parlour, there seemed little else for Elizabeth to do but wander around his bedchamber, examining her surroundings in the daylight, and contemplate how long it might be until she were able to make her own escape. The room, although opulently appointed and furnished with every sort of comfort and convenience, seemed scarcely to have been occupied--with the notable exception of the rumpled bedclothes. It left her rather--cold.

Of course, Elizabeth's husband had spent one of his two nights at Rosings in her far- flung bedchamber and then the whole of yesterday had been occupied with their visit to the Collins' home, dinner with the Longmuirs--followed by its aftermath in the drawing room-- and finally the late night escapade with his cousin Anne to replace the vase Elizabeth had broken in the front hall. Aside from dressing and undressing, Darcy had hardly passed a moment in these rooms, so it was not so unnatural that they should evince little sign of his presence---this time.

Had it been different last spring, Elizabeth wondered, when Darcy's Easter visit at Rosings had extended to several weeks? She smiled at the memory of Colonel Fitzwilliam informing her that his cousin had postponed their departure twice in that span! Little had she then conceived Darcy's motives in so doing! And how far she had then been from imagining either Darcy's bedchamber or anything else he might be doing while they were apart. Now she did try to envision what personal effects Darcy might ever have strewn about this room. Boots awaiting polish from his valet? A book by his bedside? Quills, ink and notepaper on the mahogany writing desk? A waistcoat or neckcloth draped on a chair, perhaps? Did he ever feel at home enough at Rosings to effect such disregard? It was difficult to imagine. Only now was his wife beginning to see him relinquish some of his fastidiousness when they were together at Pemberley. The resplendent domicile of Lady Catherine de Bourgh was unlikely ever to inspire such abandon in him.

And yet, this was apparently not the case for everyone who visited Rosings. Darcy said he had realized that Lady Gwendolyn occupied the chamber adjoining his when he had looked through the unlocked door into the small sitting room and observed her belongings scattered about mere hours after her arrival. Elizabeth had been so angry when she learned that her ladyship was to occupy the chamber adjoining Darcy's that she had not paused to consider the implication of her husband's discovery. What had he seen? Elizabeth thought of her own modest room in the far wing of the lower floor. With no lady's maid attending her she would not swear to it that she had not left her dressing gown draped across the foot of her bed or a bonnet and gloves cast upon a chair. But really--what sort of articles would Darcy recognize as certainly belonging to the viscountess?

Instantly, Elizabeth clamped her mind shut against such conjecture. It was not right to entertain it, even for a moment. Yes, Darcy had a history with Lady Gwendolyn and he had acknowledged the existence, although perhaps not the extent, of it. But to suspect him presently of...of...anything where that woman was concerned was to do her husband a great injustice. Was it not reasonable for Darcy to assume that any articles of female attire he had espied and which were certainly not his wife's must therefore belong to the viscountess? Yes. That had to be it. Anne and Lady Catherine would not have any of their personal belongings in that chamber. There was no reason--no reason at all--to suppose...

Elizabeth's thoughts were cut short by a rap on the chamber door, and before she had time to jump to any alarming conclusions, a soft female voice inquired, "Mrs. Darcy, ma'am--are you there?"

Ought she to answer? But it was by no means Lady Catherine addressing her in such words and such a tone. "Yes!" Elizabeth called softly. She drew the bed sheet she had been trailing around the room more closely about her and released a small sigh of exasperation. As if any amount of rearrangement in the world would impart an air of propriety to this! "Yes! Who is there?"

"It is Dorothy, ma'am--Miss de Bourgh's maid," the girl whispered hurriedly. "I have some things for you, if you could please let me in."

Dorothy appeared the more relieved of the two as Elizabeth opened the door to her, and she ducked into the room with a wary glance back over her shoulder. Once the door was safely closed behind her, she moved to deposit the small bundle she carried on a table near the fireplace. Only then did she venture a glance up at Elizabeth and, taking in her attire, blushed and returned her attention to the things she had brought. Carefully, she smoothed out a green and white gown and several other garments Elizabeth immediately recognized as her own.

"My clothing!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "I had no idea it would be brought to me so quickly! Oh, thank you!"

"M-Mr. Darcy--I saw him at the top of the main staircase and he said I was to go to Miss Anne directly and find out what to do for you, ma'am. I trust I found the right articles?"

"Yes! Yes, absolutely!" Elizabeth held out one hand to receive her gown. She felt the full weight of her own embarrassment to be seen in such compromising circumstances by a servant, but the girl appeared to have been much more discomfited by her journey hither than by anything to do with Mrs. Darcy herself. "I so appreciate you rendering me this service, Dorothy. I will not keep you longer from Miss de Bourgh.."

"Oh no, ma'am," the girl exclaimed, dropping a curtsey to Elizabeth. "Miss de Bourgh said I was to stay as long as you needed me, and that I could dress your hair for you as well---if you wished it."

Elizabeth touched one hand to her hair, which was still tousled and hanging loose about her shoulders. It had received none but her own attention for three days now and must only too obviously be in want of a more practiced hand. Since becoming Darcy's wife, she had scarcely needed to arrange so much as a single curl of her own, unless she wished to, and knew herself to be sadly out of practice in that regard. Indeed she did not at all relish the prospect of appearing downstairs today if left to her own devices once more, particularly not next to the polished and immaculately coiffed Viscountess Longmuir.

"Indeed, I do wish it--and I thank you again, Dorothy," Elizabeth smiled. "But only on the condition that this will not inconvenience your mistress in any way."

The girl bit down slightly on her lip and turned away to a dressing table, where she began fidgeting with a silver brush and mirror laid out there. "No, ma'am. Miss de Bourgh---I fear she feels rather unwell this morning and does not intend to come downstairs until later in the day."

"It is nothing serious, I hope?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"She cannot..." Dorothy shook her head. "I trust not, Mrs. Darcy. I believe she took a bit of a chill last night, but she swears she is only temporarily indisposed. In fact, she asked me to convey to you her wish that you might join her for tea later this afternoon."

"Please tell her that nothing at Rosings would give me greater pleasure."

Twenty minutes later, Elizabeth tentatively pushed open the partially closed door to the breakfast parlour, and drew in a small breath as she steeled herself for what must surely be Lady Catherine's less-than-receptive greeting. To her surprise, however, the lone occupant of the silent room was Mr. Darcy, his dark hair just visible above the high-backed chair.

He did not immediately turn to greet his wife, but instead heaved a sigh, thrust his napkin to the table, and abruptly pushed his chair back to stand. "Gwendolyn...I just told you that now is not..." as he spoke, he turned, and his words froze on his lips at the sight of Elizabeth. For the space of several moments Mr. Darcy was at an utter loss, then recovered himself enough to extend his hand and step towards her. "Dearest Elizabeth...loveliest Elizabeth..."

She allowed herself to be led towards the table a few paces before she spoke, looking up at him earnestly. "A very pretty compliment--but perhaps not the most subtle change of subject, sir."

A flush rose on his cheek, but he did not attempt to look away. "Forgive me Elizabeth....I---I thought..."

"Evidently, you thought that Viscountess Longmuir meant to join you here," she stated, carefully endeavouring to excise all cynicism from her voice. She doubted that she had been successful, and cast her gaze down as colour flooded her own face. If, in fact, Lady Gwendolyn was anticipated in the breakfast parlour at this moment, Elizabeth would not give her the satisfaction of witnessing a marital squabble between Mr. Darcy and herself.

Darcy scowled in the direction of the door, then caught his wife gently under the chin. "My love, you quite mistake the matter," he said hoarsely. "When I left you upstairs, I had not passed ten paces down the corridor when she emerged from her own chamber, inquiring my direction. When I explained that my aunt had invited me here, she proceeded to invite herself to join us at breakfast, whereupon I took no displeasure in informing her that I believed my aunt wished to see me alone."

"Oh! Then neither should I be here!" Elizabeth exclaimed, attempting to wrest herself away.

"Elizabeth!" Darcy grasped his wife firmly by both shoulders and obliged her to look up at him. "You err in your assumptions. I told her that because I have no wish to take breakfast with Lady Gwendolyn ever again! I swear I nearly bit my tongue off, refraining from asking her why she is still here at all!"

Elizabeth could not suppress a small laugh, but instantly reverted to solemness. "But the question remains--ought I to be here, do you think?"

"I do think, my love. If we accomplish nothing else on this journey, my aunt will be made to comprehend that as you are now part of my every thought and breath, every invitation to me henceforth must necessarily and implicitly include you. It would take a catastrophe of far greater magnitude and significance than my aunt's displeasure to separate me from you, dearest Elizabeth."

His wife brushed her fingers against his cheek, and followed them with a kiss. "I care not to imagine what that might be! But why is your aunt not here?"

"Ah!" he whispered, escorting Elizabeth to the place next to his at table and pulling out the cumbersome chair for her. "I believe I am being punished for my insolence earlier this morning and being made to wait, you see. No one keeps Lady Catherine waiting--it must always be the reverse."

The recollection of Darcy pulling the bedclothes over their heads and all but taunting his aunt as he spoke to her through the door brought another smile to Elizabeth's lips. "Insolence, indeed! I am sure that her ladyship was quite put out!"

Before Elizabeth could seat herself, a commotion was heard in the passageway and a moment later Lady Catherine herself was admitted to the breakfast parlour by a cowering footman. Lips pursed, she advanced upon her nephew, speaking brusquely. "So! Here you are at last, Darcy! You ought to know that I---" At this juncture, she espied Elizabeth and drew herself to an abrupt halt. Her eyes narrowed as she perused the younger woman's attire.

"Good morning, Lady Catherine," said Elizabeth, dropping a slight curtsey to her hostess.

"Morning!" harrumphed Lady Catherine. Scowling, she looked to her nephew and then back at his wife. "Perhaps this is what you have been accustomed to calling `morning' among your-- your people, but it is much nearer to noon! At Rosings, we have never been in the habit of lolling half the day away in our bedchambers!"

Darcy coughed slightly, attracting his aunt's attention. "I have invited Elizabeth to join us, Aunt Catherine."

"Indeed?" Lady Catherine waited as the footman pulled out her chair, and then seated herself at the table. "Considering that I directed you to be here within the quarter hour, I wonder that you took the time to walk to Miss Ben---Mrs. Darcy's quarters as well!"

By now Darcy and Elizabeth were also seated, but he avoided glancing at her before replying to his aunt. "In fact, I was easily able to reach my wife and tell her of my plans before making my way here."

Lady Catherine fixed another suspicious look at Elizabeth. "Well, I suppose you must stay, now that you are here," she sighed. "Did no one bring breakfast to your own room or were you still asleep when they came with your tray?"

"I--Well, I---" Elizabeth stammered, looking helplessly at Darcy.

"I stopped at the kitchen yesterday evening and directed them not to bring Mrs. Darcy breakfast this morning ," he explained. He regarded Elizabeth earnestly for a moment, then directed his gaze back to his aunt. "It was my intention to have my wife take her breakfast with me--in my chamber."

"Mr. Darcy, you need not..." Elizabeth started, blushing deeply.

"No, Elizabeth, permit me to finish. This is my wife, Aunt Catherine. We have been unaccustomed to spending the-- time apart since we have been married, and we--well, most assuredly I found the arrangements here to be not at all to our liking."

"I have never been accustomed to telling a hostess how to arrange matters for her guests!" Lady Catherine sputtered, rattling her teacup back to its saucer. "Your dear mother..."

"My mother," Darcy interrupted in a pointed tone, "always allotted you the most elegant accommodations we had to offer at Pemberley, Aunt. There was no need to request matters to be arranged otherwise. And were you to visit Elizabeth and myself there, you would find your reception would be no less gracious."

Lady Catherine turned her gaze upon Elizabeth. "And you--what say you to all of this? Is it your assertion that you are dissatisfied with the treatment I have shown you? Come, I know you to be in the habit of expressing your opinions most decidedly!"

"I was perfectly content with the chamber to which you assigned me, your ladyship," Elizabeth returned, "but not with the prospect of an enforced separation from my husband."

"Enforced separation! Of what can you be speaking? Have I not permitted you to join us for breakfast this morning? Are you not sitting here together at this moment? And tomorrow you may accept the invitation Darcy offered you today! If you are wilfully determined to act in this manner, so be it! You shall not find me so obstinate as others are apparently determined to be! But there are other guests at Rosings who are not so ill-disposed and who have expressed nothing but pleasure at every arrangement I have made."

Darcy set down his knife and brought his other hand down firmly upon the table. "That will suffice, Aunt Catherine! Please recollect that you address my wife! There is no one here at present whose affairs concern me in the least other than my wife's! Mrs. Darcy certainly shall partake of her breakfast with me tomorrow morning--and then I feel that it is best that we depart!"

"Fitzwilliam Darcy!" Lady Catherine exclaimed, regarding her nephew open-mouthed, as if poised to launch immediately into a scathing diatribe. One more glance at his countenance, however, effected an apparent change of mind, if not heart. "Certainly you will not depart! Who ever heard of taking leave after a mere two days? Ridiculous notion! In fact, the reason I asked to see you this morning was to apprise you of an entertainment we-- that has been arranged for later this week. You shall not refuse to stay, I think, when you hear what has been devised."

An `entertainment'! Oh, very entertaining indeed, Elizabeth mused as she set off along the sheltered path which would bring her to Hunsford and Charlotte. Evidently, what constituted a diversion for Lady Catherine de Bourgh did not coincide in any particular with Elizabeth's own views, but given that endless evenings of playing cards and drinking tea while listening to their hostess pontificate on all and sundry were what generally passed for entertainment at Rosings, this latest development was comprehensible in some small measure.

Elizabeth drew in a deep gulp of the fresh April air. She had held her tongue for so long indoors that she felt as though she must burst. A solitary ramble was just the restorative she required. How liberating it was to be here on her favourite walk through the open grove edging the park and out from beneath her ladyship's scornful gaze! Even better was the prospect of tea, freindship, and the much-anticipated gossip which awaited her as balm to her spirits. A quarter of an hour would see her in Charlotte's parlour.

But just half an hour earlier in the breakfast room, Elizabeth had sat dumbfounded while Lady Catherine explained that the entertainment intended as an inducement for Mr. Darcy to remain at Rosings was in fact a gathering of all the friends he had been used to seeing here during his annual visits in his youth. It was planned to take place the day after tomorrow. They were all to dine out of doors in the late afternoon in a sort of bower to be erected for that express purpose. This was to be followed by a dance on the terrace, which would be illuminated with globe lamps. Weather permitting. Elizabeth ventured a glance skyward. It was unseasonably warm today, and Lady Catherine had already decreed that it would--indeed it must be finer still two days hence.

Ordinarily, Elizabeth would receive or visit any of her husband's acquaintance without hesitation, so confident was she in the esteem in which he held her. These friends, however, were those his aunt most approved and valued, and, Elizabeth could not doubt, the very ones of whom Lady Catherine had spoken when she warned that marriage to Darcy would make Elizabeth `censured, slighted, and despised by everyone connected with him.' If that admonition were to be believed, these people could be expected to take no notice whatever of Elizabeth, nor even be prevailed upon to mention her name.

But that is not the worst of it! Elizabeth thought as she glanced ahead to gauge the distance which still remained to the parsonage. No indeed. The entire scheme had, apparently, originated with the Viscountess Longmuir, and the Longmuirs would--of course--be staying on for at least another three days. Lady Gwendolyn fancied that Rosings, with its many rows of tall trees, could be made to somewhat resemble the Vauxhaull Gardens in London. There would be moonlight, and the elegantly dressed company would be at leisure to walk the gardens, listen to music, dance, and take refreshment al fresco. It would be a great novelty to everyone, for it would be a full month before any such amusement might be enjoyed in Town, and it had been more than seven months the Gardens had closed for the winter.

"And who would anticipate such a thing at an impromptu party?" Lady Catherine had demanded in the breakfast parlour, narrowing her eyes and fixing her gaze upon Elizabeth as though she expected a contradiction. "Rosings has ever been celebrated for its many refinements and of course my own renown as a hostess, but this will be something quite new! A pity that the viscountess did not join you and I, Darcy, to explain this plan to you herself. It is not everyone who possesses the talent and discernment for arranging such sophisticated entertainment, but then you did always used say that you found Lady Gwendolyn quite incomparable, did you not, nephew?"

To observe at that moment, upon Lady Catherine's countenance, a hitherto unwitnessed expression that Elizabeth could only interpret as `delight' had been harrowing enough--but it was nothing compared to the shock occasioned by Darcy's reply to his aunt.

"I believe I did say that there was no one else like her, Aunt Catherine."

"And what say you to this plan, then, Darcy?" Lady Catherine demanded, turning pointedly away from Elizabeth. "You will put off this foolish notion of departing, of course."

"I will inform you of our intentions once I have discussed the matter with my wife."

Somehow Elizabeth had managed to hold her tongue until they were safely out of the breakfast room and walking in the direction of the front entrance, but beyond that she had no more forbearance. "So, there is no one like Lady Gwendolyn, is there?" she charged.

Darcy's eyebrows raised as he stared down at his wife. "Certainly not, and might I append `Thank God' to that observation?" He stopped walking and drew Elizabeth into his arms.

"You are hereby exonerated!" She laughed and rested her head against his chest. "Are we going to confer over the rest of it, then? There cannot be much to discuss. You do not really intend to remain here for that, do you?"

"Elizabeth, in truth I do," Darcy said earnestly. He caught his wife's chin and obliged her to look up at him. "Hear me out. If we stay, my aunt will soon see that many others are ready and willing to acknowledge you with the respect due to you as my wife."

"She told me they will despise and ignore me, rather."

"What!?" Darcy demanded with a scowl. "When?"

"Last fall, when Lady Catherine came to Longbourn to warn me against accepting a proposal from you, she insisted that henceforth your friends would censure and slight me and refuse even to speak my name."

"Elizabeth, I hope that I have had the good sense to choose friends who are more liberal- minded than this would imply!" Darcy exclaimed. "My wife is a beautiful, vivacious and infinitely fascinating woman. And if there is anyone to whom they might not wish to speak, it shall be myself, and that from reasons of purest envy."

"And you, sir, are more than a little prejudiced, I fear!" Elizabeth freed herself from his embrace and pulled him along with her towards the door. "Do any of these people know Lady Gwendolyn?"

"Most of them, I should imagine. But what of it? These are my friends as well as hers."

"Do you not think, then, that the cards are being stacked against me, to ensure Viscountess Longmuir's approval and my censure? Why else would your aunt be so delighted at the prospect?"

"Approval for what?" He tapped the gold band gracing the fourth finger of her left hand. "It is clear enough where mine rests. Elizabeth, not everyone thinks as my aunt does. You will permit me a moment of pride in saying that when they meet you, the fact that you are my wife and my choice even if ...forgive me for saying this, but that will be of no small consequence to this group of people."

"We shall soon see," Elizabeth said. She pushed open the great front door and stepped outside into the morning sunshine. A glance around at the grove and carefully tended gardens brought yet another question to mind. "But what about this notion of eating and then dancing outside in the dark? I am astonished! Frankly, it does not seem at all the sort of thing to meet with Lady Catherine's approval!"

"Perhaps not," Darcy allowed, "but Lady Gwendolyn has apparently done her work in persuading my aunt. She is nothing if not persuasive. As for my aunt, no doubt the compensation of retaining her supremacy as the self-appointed arbiter of taste, elegance and good breeding for the entire county must be too great a temptation, even for her."

"You think Lady Catherine will find it elegant to eat out of doors and to see couples wandering around in the grove after dark?" Elizabeth queried. Shaking her head incredulously, she added, "And Lady Gwendolyn--why would she suppose that this company would enjoy such a thing?"

"I have not the least idea, my love," Darcy declared. "But I fancy that I might indeed have every reason to enjoy a moonlight ramble in your company."

And with such inducement to solace her, Elizabeth had granted her acquiescence, if not her whole-hearted approval, to the entire scheme before setting off to visit Charlotte at the parsonage.

Now she was within ten paces of the Collins' garden gate, peering anxiously about lest her cousin should be working there or tending his bees and insist on joining the ladies while Elizabeth visited. To her great relief, he was nowhere to be seen.

Charlotte threw open her kitchen door to greet her friend. "Lizzy! I was so hoping you would be able to return! But I expected at every moment to see you arrive in the phaeton, or perhaps the barouche box, Mrs. Darcy!"

"Oh no! Mrs. Darcy or not, the walk did me a world of good, Charlotte," Elizabeth insisted. She closed the last few steps between them and reached out her hands to clasp her friends'.

"Your timing could not be better," Charlotte said as she ushered her into the kitchen. "It seems Mr. Collins will be occupied all morning at the church, and then staying to a luncheon there."

"And you are not obliged to attend him?"

Charlotte shook her head. "Not for something like this. I have just put little William down for his nap. Our noble patroness considers it the greatest extravagance in the world and entirely inappropriate for a mere clergyman's wife to hire a nurse to care for her only child on a daily basis. And so, rather than being obliged to always attend Mr. Collins, I am instead obliged to let him go out alone--rather frequently, in fact."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and smiled at her friend. "And after how many offspring will her ladyship consider it appropriate for you to have a nurse here at Hunsford?"

"That decree has not yet been issued, to my knowledge," Charlotte replied. "But considering that our eldest is a son, neither is there a pressing need to attain that magic number."

They made their way to Charlotte's sitting room and seated themselves in comfortable chairs on opposite sides of a low table in the centre. It was good not to have to stand on ceremony of any kind with such an old friend, but Elizabeth still did not feel as though she could launch directly into the subject uppermost in her mind.

Fortunately, Charlotte had no such reservation and asked, "Well, Lizzy--what did you think of the Viscountess Longmuir? You did meet her last night?"

Elizabeth nodded. "She is beautiful and charming, just as you assumed, Charlotte. But frankly, I do not know what to make of her, precisely. To own the truth, I found her somewhat unfathomable."

"And you noticed nothing--unseemly--in anything she did or said?" Charlotte queried.

"Unseemly? In what manner?" Elizabeth was not sure whether she ought to admit that she had found some of Lady Gwendolyn's mannerisms rather unsettling--such as the way she looked at Darcy and addressed him so pointedly. "Will you not just tell me what you have heard about her?"

"Elizabeth," Charlotte said seriously. "I know you will not allow a word of what I am about to tell you leave this room, but the ladies who warned me about Viscountess Longmuir said they have reason to suspect her of being an adulteress."

"An adulteress?" The word hung in the air between them for a long moment. Although she found little humour in her friend's revelation about Lady Gwendolyn, Elizabeth could not restrain herself from a sudden unaccountable nervous impulse to laugh. "Why, Charlotte! Had I but known this yesterday, I might have scrutinized the viscountess more closely. I have never seen a real live adulteress before!"

"Eliza, do be serious!" Charlotte said. She shook her head reprovingly. "This is not a charge to be taken lightly."

Elizabeth sobered instantly. It was an ugly bit of gossip and an even more insidious thought, one which opened the door to many more reflections, each more abhorrent than the last. Laughter had afforded an all too brief respite. "No. No, you are right-- it is not, Charlotte. And no one could approve such infamous conduct--if it is true. I am sure you would not tell me such a thing about the Viscountess Longmuir if you did not believe it to be true."

Charlotte frowned as she regarded her friend. "Of course not, Lizzy. You know me better than that."

Ah! I do know you very well indeed, Charlotte, Elizabeth thought. Much as she did value her friend, it was impossible to forget that the acrimonious encounter with Lady Catherine at Longbourn last fall had been brought about by gossip circulating between Lucas Lodge and Hunsford. True, there had been no malicious intent by any of the Lucases, Charlotte least of all, but it had precipitated all the animosity between Elizabeth and her husband's aunt. Even so, she could not deny that today's accusation against Lady Gwendolyn lacked any sort of foundation. Everything she had witnessed last night had already begun to acquire new, more sinister overtones. Stunning, Fitzwilliam called her. And striking. He had never seen anything like her before. Elizabeth endeavoured to banish these thoughts, but others intruded. Everyone graviated towards her, yet my husband insists she is not the type of woman he would have wished to have me meet. Why?

To Charlotte, Elizabeth said, "Why should your friends suppose such a thing to be true about this lady?"

Charlotte leaned forward in her chair. "Well, Lizzy, they could not go into any sort of detail, as you might imagine, but it seems that they have heard tell of any number of suspicious goings- on in Town."

"Such as what?" Elizabeth prodded.

The topic, which Mrs. Collins had at first been so anxious to broach, now seemed to leave her rather ill at ease. Charlotte waved a hand in front of her. "Oh, I do not know precisely. Such as the viscountess talking for unconscionable-- lengths of-- of time with gentlemen who are married to other women." She regarded her friend earnestly, as if to make certain that Mrs. Darcy had taken her full meaning.

Elizabeth had, but she was still reluctant to convict even one of Lady Gwendolyn's ilk merely on the basis of such suspicion. Men and women did sometimes find themselves in-- circumstances--where they must speak to each other without others present. She felt a flush rising to her cheeks. And, after what length of time does such an encounter become `unconscionable'? Elizabeth wondered. Moreover, what if one of the parties were averse to the whole of it? She knew herself to be innocent of whatever might be imputed to her accidental meeting with the viscount last night in the darkened corridor, but what might Charlotte's friends have assumed had they seen or overheard any of that exchange? However, Lady Gwendolyn was far from blameless. She had monopolized Mr. Darcy's conversation, albeit unwillingly on his part, at their end of the dinner table last night. And later in the drawing room, for all her subtlety, the lady had certainly made every attempt to turn his attention to herself. Were the suspicions against her founded only on behaviour such as this, or something much worse?

Elizabeth cleared her throat. "I can certainly see how that might arouse jealousy, for the viscountess is a very beautiful and fascinating woman, but you must allow that is no proof of marital infidelity!" Despite this assertion, Elizabeth could own to herself that she had been relieved when Mr. Darcy did thwart every overture to conversation Lady Gwendolyn had made last evening. She had to admit that had he responded to viscountess in any favourable manner or appeared captivated by anything that lady had to say, Elizabeth would have been none too pleased. Could she suppose her husband capable of adultery merely for diverting his attention away from herself? Impossible! "Was there not a great deal more to the circumstances than that, Charlotte?" she asked her friend. "More than just showing a marked attention while conversing?"

Mrs. Collins nodded. "Of course--but, well that is only what has been observed, you know, Lizzy. The worst of it is all the unaccounted hours. Times when neither the viscountess nor the gentleman with whom she had been conversing were seen by any of the rest of their party for hours together, and then they would suddenly turn up in the oddest places looking perfectly innocent and composed." She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"I hope I do not sound as though I mean to leap to her defense," Elizabeth said, "but it is--all of it, actually--only conjecture, is it not? What I mean to say is that no one has any sort of irrefutable proof, do they?"

Charlotte stared down towards her hands, which she had clasped in her lap and would not meet her friend's gaze. "Eliza--I think--there would only be one sort of proof that is irrefutable. Surely no one need suffer such degradation in order to understand matters for what they truly are!"

"No, no, of course not." Elizabeth shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Why had she ever supposed that she would relish such unwelcome intelligence? That she was fully prepared to dislike Lady Gwendolyn Elizabeth had no wish to deny, so she could not comprehend a reason she should be even more anxious that these rumours prove false. But so it was. She made one last attempt. "Did any of your friends actually confront their husbands about their suspicions?"

"Lizzy!" Charlotte exclaimed. "Of course they did not! Who could ask such a thing? Would you?"

Elizabeth's mouth fell open. The very idea of Darcy being unfaithful to her was beyond comprehension. She could not even dignify Charlotte's question with a retorted denial.

Fortunately, Charlotte did not seem to expect any sort of response and continued, "There are also rumours that this--lady can manipulate any situation to her own advantage."

"What kind of situations?" asked Elizabeth. She felt a slight chill and rubbed her arms lightly.

"Situations in which there is any sort of --competition." Charlotte lowered her voice and cast a surreptitious eye at the door, "They say her own husband was all but betrothed to someone else and so was Lady Gwendolyn. But then the two of them met--at a gathering at Rosings, as I understand it. Then the viscount's elder brother suddenly took ill. Very suddenly. In a matter of weeks, she had secured the viscount's promise and they were married. His brother died three years ago, leaving Longmuir with the title and heir to his father's earldom."

"Charlotte!" Elizabeth was genuinely shocked at the magnitude of this conjecture. "This--this implies far worse than adultery! Surely--surely you do not suggest that..."

Mrs. Collins seemed to realize that their conversation had veered too far from the path of propriety, and lost no time in changing the subject. For the next half hour, the two friends dwelt on more mundane topics, equally uninteresting to both. Lady Catherine had recommended a new butcher to Charlotte. Mr. Collins had plans of procuring a cow or two to graze near the parsonage and supply the family with fresh cream. Kitty and Maria had recently attended an assembly in Meryton. By the end of another half hour, Elizabeth found that she was once again reluctant to relinquish Charlotte's society, but Mr. Darcy would be expecting her return presently.

Only yesterday, Elizabeth would not have supposed it possible that a return journey to Rosings might hold forth the prospect of any sort of relief, but so it was--at least for the first few paces through Mr. Collins' garden and along the tranquil path.

On their walk back to Rosings the previous day, Mr. Darcy had shown her a spot along the way where the path, shielded by a tall hedge, dipped slightly and curved in such a manner that neither the parsonage nor Lady Catherine's home were visible for the length of several paces.

"You have guessed that last April I timed my walks in order to encounter you just here," Darcy had said.

"In order to accost me, rather," Elizabeth had rejoined, squeezing her husband's arm as she directed a pert smile upward towards him.

"I shall not attempt to deny that the thought did occur to me fleetingly, but I do solemnly swear that I never formed any such resolution, Mrs. Darcy," he said gravely, laying one hand over his heart. His lower lip twitched almost imperceptibly at one corner. "At least, not then..."

"Incorrigible!" Elizabeth charged, running a few steps ahead of him, and happily allowing herself to be captured. She had submitted willingly to her captor's excise.

Now, as she reached the same hidden spot along the path, Elizabeth was startled by the sound of a footfall behind her. A pulse in her throat fluttered as she imagined Darcy approaching her and catching her in his embrace. Who at Rosings would anticipate their return so precisely that they might not delay half an hour--or more? She turned quickly with her arms extended, then gasped and stumbled back as she beheld Viscount Longmuir not three paces from her. Another ill-judged step backward sent her sprawling in the gravel.

At the same moment the viscount, his hands raised defensively, cried, "I mean you no harm, Mrs. Darcy!"

Elizabeth stared up at him, disbelieving the circumstances in which she now found herself. One glance at his expression revealed there was no point pretending to the viscount that what had last transpired between them had never been. They had been a mere breath or nod of acknowledgment away from committing an indiscretion every bit as contemptible as anything his wife was supposed to have done. That Elizabeth had refused and begged leave of him in no way negated the his intentions--which he had made very clear last night. And now they were alone again.

"Are you--are you hurt?" he asked, gently.

She put her hands over her face and cried out in a muffled voice, "Sir, I beg you! Go! Leave me! I--I cannot be seen here with you!" Anxiously, Elizabeth peered between her fingers to see where the path wended towards Rosings. She had no real idea of seeing Darcy, nor even less of his having followed her to the Collins' home, but even to contemplate where such an encounter might lead made her tremble.

Viscount Longmuir followed her line of vision in the direction of the de Bourgh home. He knelt down beside her, and with one gloved hand brushed away a few bits of gravel from the hem of Elizabeth's gown. "My dear lady--I can only assume that you said nothing to Mr. Darcy about our-- meeting last night? Therefore there can be no reason to suppose that your husband would instantly jump to the conclusion that something untoward had gone on here, would there?"

He was right--in part. The apprehension she felt was due, in large measure, to her own remorse for the folly which had nearly reaped such dire consequences only the night before. She could not believe that Longmuir would have pursued her to her own room or in fact made any overture whatever had he not discovered Elizabeth, hair unbound, standing in the darkened corridor with her hand on the door to his bedchamber. And last night, Darcy had not the least idea of any of it. Had he? Nothing could have changed since then. But Darcy's opinion of the viscount's behaviour to her in the drawing room before that had been clear enough. Provoking him by permitting him to witness the scene this afternoon would be madness.

Elizabeth put her hands behind her to steady herself . "I can do this alone! And if I cannot, then by all means send someone back here to help me!" As gracefully as she could contrive to do under the circumstances, she hoisted herself into a kneeling position, then stood with the weight on her uninjured foot. One further step, however, made her reel in agony as she unsuccessfully attempted to stifle the scream which emerged from her lips.

This time the viscount caught her, and with no apparent effort swept her off the ground into his arms. Elizabeth was too startled to protest, and it was not until he had carried her several paces that she recovered enough to cry, "Where are you taking me? I insist that you put me down at once, sir!"

Longmuir obliged her without argument, choosing a grassy bank sloping up at the side of the path. "Mrs. Darcy," he said gently, "You are too badly injured to walk, and I refuse to leave you sitting here alone while I go for help. It is unthinkable. You have no choice but to permit me to assist you back to Rosings."

He raised himself onto one knee and motioned for Elizabeth to put her arms around his neck, but she declined, shaking her head. "The injury is not so severe. I shall be fine after a few moments of rest and make my own way back to the house--thank you."

She was lying and it was evident that Longmuir knew it, although he remained resolutely silent. But for her own part, far from anticipating a rapid recovery, the pain in her ankle had by degrees grown so intense that Elizabeth now feared she might faint. This was exacerbated by her efforts to appear composed and no worse than mildly piqued by the inconvenience and her soiled frock.

Avoiding her gaze, the viscount stood, brushing grass from the leg of his light-coloured breeches. He climbed the small bank in a few long strides and continued several more paces down the path. Suddenly, he whirled on Elizabeth--in time to see her swiping a tear away with the back of one hand. Sparing her the degradation of denying it, Viscount Longmuir said nothing, but he was back at her side in another instant. This time he left no opportunity for Elizabeth to either grant or forbid him leave to do so as he caught her up again and began walking.

Elizabeth could seize upon no method of avoiding thoughts that this man, with whom she had been acquainted for less than four and twenty hours, now held her more closely than any man had ever done with the exception of Darcy. As he carried her, she was acutely and uncomfortably aware, even through layers of shirt, waistcoat and jacket, that the arms and chest which supported her were powerful and taut with muscle enough to conceal any strain the burden of her weight might be causing the viscount. She knew not which way to turn her eyes. From nearly every angle she could perceive the determined line of his jaw or the manner in which his fair hair curled over the edge of his crisp white collar and contrasted with the navy blue of his jacket. At last she discovered a position in which she might contrive to stare straight ahead on the path. Neither of them spoke.

They were, it appeared, proceeding directly to Rosings, but the daunting knowledge that Longmuir held her so absolutely in his power just now did not fail to assail Elizabeth. The house was still not in view, and an unscrupulous man might very well...

She arrested that thought before it was fully formed. The viscount was unscrupulous. He had made no secret of the fact. Last night at the door to his bedchamber, he had been perfectly frank that he was `used to participating in these sorts of intrigues' and that he had a tendency to `forget that dissipation is not yet become a way of life to everyone'. His look, his tone of voice, his actions--everything had conveyed the message to Elizabeth. She was less sure of her ability to assess character than she had been before meeting Mr. Darcy, but she would lay great stakes in this instance.

So, when they were nearly to emerge from the sheltered path onto the main walkway and instead Longmuir veered suddenly toward an even more secluded side path that led to the back of the house, Elizabeth's panic rose rapidly. "Sir!" she gasped, shifting her weight in his arms to stare at him, wide-eyed.

"This way, our approach to the house will be unobserved," he explained. One corner of the viscount's lip curled up in a smile. "Fear not. I assure you I am not the sort of man to force my attentions where they are unwanted, Mrs. Darcy. If the offer I made last night is ever to be renewed, I shall not be the one to instigate it."

Elizabeth blushed and turned her face away from him. "I did--did not mean...did not suppose..." she sputtered, indignantly.

"Of course you did," he stated. The viscount gazed up at the canopy of leaves above them and back down into her eyes. "Even if only for a moment, you wondered whether I meant to seduce you here, did you not?"

Biting down on her lip, Elizabeth said nothing.

"Consider, madam, that if that were my game, the spot where I first found you was far more conducive to such a nefarious scheme than here---right below the back terrace."

He looked up the stone steps where they had stopped and Elizabeth followed his gaze. A clear peal of feminine laughter rang out above them, echoed by a deeper male tone.

"Put me down at once!" Elizabeth hissed.

"You cannot ascend those stairs alone!"he whispered, but the viscount complied as he spoke.

Wincing, Elizabeth grasped the marble banister and hobbled up one step, shadowed by her rescuer. Her knee buckled at the sharp stab of pain in her ankle and she gasped, falling back. Longmuir, a step below, caught her by the waist.

"Elizabeth."

She turned her gaze upward to meet the eyes of Mr. Darcy, who stared down at them from the top of the stairs.

For a moment, Elizabeth was poised between laughter and tears. The entire situation was farcical. Here she stood, flanked by the person whom she least desired to be near and yet grateful to this same for his care and concern for her injury, yet this very solicitousness was causing her husband to lower at them both. What was to be said? Protests, denials--surely these would serve only to suggest that there was something which must be gainsaid? But silence, under the circumstances, seemed equally impossible. The expression in Darcy's flashing eyes forbade inaction. He desired--no, expected-- some sort of explanation for the sight before him, did he not?

Viscount Longmuir had withdrawn his hand from Elizabeth's waist the instant her husband appeared at the top of the stairs, but there could be no doubt that Darcy had observed it. And Elizabeth could still feel the viscount's presence behind her, as though he meant to shield her from a fall. Indeed, she was unsteady on her feet, not daring to bear down upon the ankle she had injured. Although a step below where she stood, Longmuir was tall enough that his head was on a level with her own. At such proximity, she could hear--almost feel-- his slightly laboured breathing close by her ear, which revealed at last all that his apparently effortless transport of her had seemed to belie. His exertion had indeed cost him something.

But Mr. Darcy was ignorant of the whole of it. And here, beneath Darcy's gaze, the viscount's closeness disconcerted Elizabeth more now than it had when he carried her in his arms. Clutching the stone balustrade still more tightly, she shifted her weight forward to distance from Longmuir, and clamped her other hand to her mouth to stifle an involuntary scream as a spasm of pain shot through her injured ankle. Shakily, she lowered her hand to her throat and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word, there appeared another figure at Mr. Darcy's side.

A great many expressions flickered across Lady Gwendolyn's countenance in rapid succession as she stared down at Mr. Darcy's wife--and her own husband. There could be no doubt that she had just heard Darcy speak Elizabeth's name from the top of the stairs and so had evidently anticipated seeing her below. Before the viscountess had really glanced downward, the confidence with which she approached Darcy, as if she meant to take his arm, and the toss of her blonde curls seemed to exude an aura of proprietorship. Could there be any doubt that she meant for Elizabeth to witness her actions? As the viscountess bent her gaze to Elizabeth, there appeared a marked gleam in her pale blue eyes and a sardonic curve to her lips that could only be called `triumphant'.

But as Lady Gwendolyn took in the fact that it was her own husband who stood immediately behind Mrs. Darcy, her hand fell away, and instead of grasping Mr. Darcy's arm, she clutched at the stair rail. Elizabeth stared as the knuckles grew whiter even than the fair skin of the viscountess's delicate hand. The serene smile froze, falling away as though it had been fashioned from ice, only to be shattered by one well-placed chisel stroke. Lady Gwendolyn's eyes widened almost imperceptibly and her lips slackened for the fraction of a second necessary to drop yet another mask across her countenance. The resulting expression was nearly identical to the one she had worn the night before when Mr. Darcy had at first refused to be her partner at cards. Then Elizabeth had grudgingly admired the poise she had seemed to display in the face of such a rebuke. Now the composure was chilling. No one was able to upon it for long, however, for the lady whirled on her heel and vanished in a flounce of pale lilac silk.

Behind her, Elizabeth heard the sound of skin striking stone as the viscount's hand pounded the balustrade forcefully and his choked attempt to strangle the sound that rose in his throat.

He lunged around her, and with not so much as a glance at either Mrs. Darcy or her husband, cried, "Gwen! This is not what...! For God's sake--Gwendolyn! Wait!" He mounted the stairs two at a time in pursuit of his wife.

Mr. Darcy eyed the grass-stained knee of Longmuir's breeches as he stormed by, but stood his ground, arms folded across his chest. A moment later, the French door to the terrace slammed closed with alarming vehemence.

And now the Darcys faced one another alone. Elizabeth tilted her chin up as she stared at her husband. The ache in her ankle was excruciating. She knew it would be impossible to go to him, yet neither did he seem about to make any attempt to descend. Who would begin this? She could not imagine that Fitzwilliam's mind was not struggling to abate the deluge of conjecture that must now be threatening to fill it. In his darkest thoughts he would never have supposed he might come suddenly upon his wife with another man's arms about her waist. What could he suppose?

And yet, could his surprise--his consternation--be any greater than her own? He, too, had evidently been occupied this same while with another woman, and not altogether unpleasantly, if their mutual laughter were any indication. Not just any other woman, mind, but one with a notorious reputation who also seemed to cherish lingering feelings for Mr. Darcy.

Charlotte's words invaded Elizabeth thoughts ...the viscountess talks for unconscionable lengths of time with gentlemen who are married to other women. It was impossible to guess how long they had been together or what they had been talking about, but it had certainly been long and amusing enough to evoke the laughter she had overheard.

"Elizabeth," Darcy said again, shaking his head. His voice was hoarse. "This is--this is all rather unexpected."

A pulse fluttered in her throat. Unexpected? What you saw, or what you believe I saw, sir? The pain in her ankle throbbed, and Elizabeth felt close to surrendering what tenuous control she had on her composure. She bit down on her lower lip and aloud she managed only, "Indeed."

"Did you enjoy your--your visit with Mrs. Collins?" His gaze flickered over his shoulder, toward the door where the Longmuirs had disappeared and he frowned, unfolding his arms and gripping the balustrade in front of him as the viscountess had done.

Elizabeth pressed her eyes closed in chagrin and mortification. Did he doubt, then, whether she had been to see Charlotte at all? Could he really mean to accuse her--his wife-- of having had an assignation with the viscount? Unless he had learned of the folly she had committed last night in the corridor, there could be no reason for him to suspect that meeting up with Longmuir was either intentional or desired by her. And what of his own time with the viscountess? "It was--most enlightening," she replied. "I--I learned a great deal of interest about your aunt's guests, as it happens."

"So did I, in the interim," Darcy scowled. He seemed to be waiting for Elizabeth to say more. When no reply was forthcoming, he pressed his lips together and extended one hand toward his wife. "Elizabeth. We need to discuss this where we shall not be interrupted. Now! Come."

Her face crumpled. "I--I cannot!" she cried, a sob escaping her at last. "I have injured my ankle and cannot walk."

In the space of a heartbeat, Darcy descended to the step above his wife and caught her up in his arms. "Dearest...dearest Elizabeth," he whispered, crushing his lips against her hair. "Forgive me--I ought to have realized..."

Elizabeth stopped the flow of his words by pressing her lips to his own. When she broke away, she whispered, "No--I ought to have said something right away. Please--can you take me upstairs?"

Neither of them spoke as he carried her through the terrace door which had lately been abused by the Longmuirs, across the long expanse of the drawing room, and up the main staircase. Darcy's brow was furrowed in concern, but he stared directly ahead, keeping his eyes resolutely away from his wife's gaze. At the door to his bedchamber he asked, "Can you stand a moment while I open the door? I do not think I can manage the key as I hold you."

"Of course," Elizabeth nodded. She leaned against the wall as Darcy set her down, then attempted to hop through the door as he pushed it open.

"Do not..." he began, lifting her up again. In three strides he had crossed the small sitting room to the sofa, where he gently set her down once more. He arranged a pillow behind his wife, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary on her back as he did so. Then he grasped the hem of her gown in both hands and pushed it up to her knees. "Is it this ankle?" he queried gruffly, taking up the injured limb.

Elizabeth winced and nodded. "Yes. I was walking and---owww!" she cried as her husband slipped off her shoe.

"Forgive me," he murmured contritely. "We must see whether it is broken, Elizabeth." He began to remove her stocking. "I trust Longmuir did not undertake to examine you?"

"Examine me?" Elizabeth bristled at the suggestion. "If you mean did he remove any articles of my clothing in order to do so then no, of course he did not. But he did determine that my injury was too severe to permit me to walk before carrying me half a mile himself! I begged him to allow me to remain there and ask you to come, but he would not hear of leaving me alone. Should you have preferred that?"

Darcy shook his head. "No, of course not!" He stared down at his wife's foot and prodded the ankle bone gently with one thumb. The area was visibly swollen and beginning to show some discolouration. "Elizabeth--I did not mean to suggest that you...it is only that...you do not know what this man is!" Mr. Darcy leaned over to the chair beside the sofa and seized another cushion, which he plumped vigorously with one fist before propping his wife's foot upon it.

Elizabeth's eyes widened as Darcy busied himself with the pillow. Certainly she could not admit having any knowledge of Viscount Longmuir's character without revealing how she had come to be in possession of it. His actions today had been gentlemanly to the furthest degree-- what purpose could it serve to acknowledge that he had made her an indecent proposition last night? She drew in a breath. "Do you--know anything?"

"Gwendolyn told me..." he broke off and shook his head again. "It is of no consequence. Suffice it to say that you should endeavour to avoid being alone with this man."

So! The viscountess had been bemoaning her husband's lapses in marital fidelity to a former love interest of her own, had she? Doubtless she had neglected to mention her own proclivities in this direction! But, from the laughter Elizabeth had overheard, it had not seemed as though their conversation had been particularly distressing. She struggled against her inclination to make a retort and lost. "Is that--is that what the two of you found so amusing out on the terrace?"

"Certainly not!" Darcy declared with a scowl. He stood abruptly and vanished through the door into his bedchamber.

Elizabeth covered her face with her hands. What on earth had possessed her to knowingly provoke Darcy in this manner? And yet, he had not denied laughing with Lady Gwendolyn.

A moment later he emerged from the adjoining room. "I had asked to have your things sent up here from the other chamber, but it appears this has not yet been done. There is nothing else for you to change into here, save the things you removed last night after dinner and placed in the bottom drawer."

The drawer! Viscount Longmuir's handkerchief was in that drawer among her things! Elizabeth felt her cheeks reddening, but her husband made no further comment. She glanced down at her gown and the stocking Darcy had removed which still lay across her knee. "Is it necessary for me to change my attire? If you would but help me to put this stocking..."

"Your gown has a grass stain on the back," Darcy interrupted. He did not look at her, but made his way to the door. "I will go and get some other clothing for you and see what might be done about treating your ankle. I trust you will remain there while I am gone." Without waiting for her reply, he vanished into the corridor.

Following Mr. Darcy's abrupt departure, Elizabeth stared at the door open-mouthed, as if in expectation that her husband would fling it open at any moment and throw himself at her feet, there to beg forgiveness for the unnecessarily cutting remark he had made just prior to his exit. Such behaviour had seemed as unaccountable as it was unjust. The presence of a grass stain on the back of her gown was neither nefarious nor indicative of anything beyond what she had explained to him about her accident. Yet, his tone had implied otherwise.

What was happening to them? How could Fitzwilliam misapprehend her so? This morning, as they had laughingly concealed themselves beneath the coverlet of his bed, evading Lady Catherine's summons to Darcy, Elizabeth could never have supposed such a thing possible--nor indeed could she at any time in all the months they had been married. But his comment upon the grass stain had been more than a passing observation: she, too, had noted a similar mark upon the knee of Viscount Longmuir's breeches--and Darcy's withering glance at this same.

Her husband was vexed at the situation in which they found themselves, for which she could not blame him. And he was dismayed by the injury to her ankle, but surely he could not mean to imply that the similarly soiled clothing indicated anything untoward had taken place on the path to Rosings--or anything at all beyond what she had already explained? She flushed with indignance and beat her fists against the sofa cushions on either side of her.

Only minutes had he been gone, but already it seemed like hours. Elizabeth had replayed his parting words and expression so often in that brief span that she could no longer be certain she might not have imagined the very worst of it. Had his demeanour evinced mounting resentment when he left so suddenly? Mr. Darcy had told her when they first met how implacable this resentment, once created, could be. Surely he would never extend such a dictum to his feelings for his own wife--at least not without first ascertaining the justice of that sentiment?

Elizabeth began to bristle at the notion. How dare he entertain suspicions--of -- of-- infamous conduct--or presume that I would dissemble about it! she fumed. It was impossible! She had no cause to feel guilty about today's events! No, none whatever. What had she done but visit a friend and then clumsily fallen making her way back again? There had been no choice but to accept Longmuir's assistance! And what occurred--or rather what almost occurred-- in the corridor last night matters not, Elizabeth reassured herself. I needn't confess it, for it had no bearing upon the viscount's actions today--or mine!

Well, perhaps she might not have started so violently when she realized it was Viscount Longmuir whom she had encountered at the most secluded part of the path, but what of it? She might have fallen even if no one had been nearby. Longmuir had gallantly helped her. There was an end to it.

And Fitzwilliam had been the one laughing and conversing on the terrace--alone-- with Lady Gwendolyn even as his wife lay injured on that path, had he not? Alone with a woman who was rumoured to frequently disport herself in the absence of a quarry's wife. A woman whose own conduct was so disreputable that talk of it had reached the local parsonage of all places!

Before Elizabeth's thoughts had an opportunity to proceed apace in this direction, she was startled by an infuriated but abbreviated shriek, coming from the direction of the door which adjoined the next room. She had forgotten, for the moment, that Lady Gwendolyn was lodged in that suite. This was followed by a male voice, raised in displeasure, then an agitated clatter, as of furniture moving, and finally the resounding report of a door slammed with both vehemence and determination.

Elizabeth gasped involuntarily. What in heaven's name...? Had Viscount Longmuir pursued his wife to her rooms, then? Strange, considering everything Elizabeth had learned and observed about them since their arrival, that she would even grant him admittance to her chamber. But what other explanation could there be for such a commotion? Who else could it be?

Although--this circumstance was perhaps no more astonishing than what had been observed outside when Longmuir ran after his wife on the terrace. That he could one evening solicit the company of another lady for illicit purposes he had taken few pains to conceal, and then on the morrow pretend and protest his innocence was bewildering. Naturally, it was incumbent upon the viscount to give the appearance of honourable behaviour, at least. But to what purpose had been the rest of that display? If she, whom the viscount had not known four and twenty hours, had been enlightened as to his clandestine proclivities, did he imagine for a moment that his wife could be ignorant of them? And, if persons so remote from Lady Gwendolyn's social sphere as Charlotte Collins were discussing her extra-marital activities--and if such discussion were true-- why should the viscount care what sort of opinion his wife had of him?

That, perhaps, was the essence of what Elizabeth found so distasteful about all of this. Growing up with her parents' example, she had been inured to the existence of intellectually incompatible marriages, and having already observed as much as she ever cared to of her sister Lydia's tumultuous union with Mr. Wickham, she was equally aware that even an initial physical attraction afforded no guarantee of perpetual marital felicity. Avoiding these pitfalls was an ideal Elizabeth had ever held before her and she remained unwavering--even now--that her decision to marry Mr. Darcy had exceeded her every expectation in pursuit of that ideal.

But the awareness of the existence of such a relationship between spouses as the Longmuirs demonstrated was deeply disquieting to Elizabeth. Lady Gwendolyn was a reputed adulteress while the viscount, by his own admission--and actions-- was `used to participating in these sorts of intrigues' and found that dissipation had `become a way of life'. And these-- these were Lady Catherine's honoured guests and friends! Elizabeth deplored to think of residing so near to such vice. How could their behaviour have failed to escape her ladyship's scrutiny when transgressions of a much lesser magnitude had not? She was shocked that Lady Catherine could countenance under her roof what could only be deemed barbarous comportment, however high the rank of those who exhibited it. Or were any and all defects of character absolved by one's social status?

Elizabeth sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, wincing as another twinge of pain shot through her injured ankle. Rosings' reputation and its inhabitants were really not her concern. Days or weeks from now when she was home at Pemberley, she would endeavour not to waste another thought on any of them. But worst of all, by far, was that persons of this ilk were creating strife--discord of the most pernicious and insidious variety--between Mr. Darcy and herself. Who knew how long its effects might endure? That was truly unforgivable.

But, she reproached herself, it is not as though I had not been given fair warning. Mr. Darcy had been so very right--about all of it, even before the Longmuirs set foot in Rosings. How had he phrased it? "She is not the type of woman I would have you know," he had told Elizabeth. `The most unsuitable connection I ever sought'. Indeed.

Well, there was no escaping the acquaintance now, and they had agreed to remain at Rosings until Lady Catherine's garden party. But I am not required to docilely accept this situation as though I had nothing at stake! Elizabeth thought. Mr. Darcy never did admire me for being meek and compliant!

With some little discomfort, Elizabeth roused herself from where she sat, no firm resolution in mind, but convinced that she would go mad if she did not begin to move about--or do something to cast off these feelings of disquiet and apprehension. It might be best to begin by removing her soiled frock in anticipation of the clean one Mr. Darcy would shortly bring. The sight of it had offended him--rightly or wrongly--and at least he would not need to look again upon what had given him such displeasure. Surely he must return soon? Elizabeth hobbled a few steps toward the bedchamber, drawing her breath in sharply and biting down on her lip at each throb from her ankle.

She had not progressed more than a few paces before she was obliged to rest up against an armchair. There she calculated how long it would take her, limping in this manner, to reach the other door. Might it not be more expedient to begin unfastening her gown a little each time her ankle enforced a delay? That way she would not need to remain standing long once she reached the dressing closet. Still sitting against the arm of the chair, she undid all the buttons on the front yoke of her gown. Giving an energetic shove with both arms, Elizabeth propelled herself forward and managed one more step before she overbalanced. It was necessary to clutch at a bureau to avoid bearing her full weight down upon her injured limb.

She was suspended in this awkward fashion when she heard a light rap on the door to the hallway and could only watch as it slowly swung open.

---