Love of a Different Kind

By Jacqui

Beginning, Next Section

Fitzwilliam Darcy, a man of three and twenty, sat staring at a fire late one damp March night, thinking of little more than the fact that his father was dying.

Certainly Darcy had no worries of the future when it came to what duties he would shoulder fully when his father passed away. In truth, he knew his father to be concerned of only one thing: his son's future wife.

It was definitely not uncommon for a young man of Darcy's age to remain a bachelor, but he knew his father had hoped to meet his bride before he passed on. George Darcy supported his wife Lady Anne's hopes for him to marry his cousin Anne de Bourgh, but until that moment, when his father lay dying, his one final wish unfulfilled, Darcy had never seriously considered it. Anne was a sickly little thing, but Darcy agreed with his father when he said that she could be more, if not coddled so by her mother and her companion, Mrs. Jenkinson. For a lady of three and twenty to retain a governess, thought Darcy, is not only unhealthy, but abominably silly.

But supposing he could get Anne away from her home at Rosings, and away from her companion, could he perhaps find a suitable wife in her? His father had always said that the blood-lettings were what was making her so weak and frail; if he could get her away from those and what ever other treatment her mother had her on, would she gain some strength? Would color come to her cheeks, perhaps a sparkle in her eyes? Could she be a poised, charming lady, a successful mistress of Pemberley? He supposed she was as eligible a match for him as any other lady he might encounter.

"Son," he heard his father whisper.

"Yes, Pap- Father," he corrected himself, rising and walking to his father's bedside.

George Darcy would have chuckled at his son's reflex to call him as he did as a child, if it didn't hurt just to breathe. "You may call me Papa, Fitzwilliam." He managed a feeble smile.

Darcy smiled back at him. "What may I do for you, Papa?"

"Take care of Georgiana," said the old man. "Take care of your sister, and take care of yourself."

By that Darcy knew what his father meant. He allowed a single tear to slip down his cheek after his father's last breath, and became determined to grant him his final wish.

A few months after George Darcy died, Fitzwilliam Darcy found himself calling upon his aunt and cousin at Rosings Park in Kent.

His visit moved along as normal. He noticed nothing he had not before in Anne's behavior or in her the behavior of the ladies who lived with her, except that now he paid more attention to it. He realized when her mother was gone away to the village, as she often was, how deftly she could handle the servants and small matters which came about. As far as conversation with Anne herself, he got very little done, for whenever Anne showed the slightest bit of fatigue, she was shown to her rooms. I must find some way past this, he thought, frustrated. Not only is she being coddled, she is being patronized. She is never allowed to make any decision on her own; her opinion is never solicited. She is three and twenty, for God's sake.

To remedy this, the day before his departure, he asked Anne if he might speak with her alone. Lady Catherine readily agreed, even though Darcy had not asked her permission, only Anne's, for she was sure he would ask her daughter to marry him.

As soon as Catherine had left the sitting room, Darcy turned to Anne. She was sitting near the fire with a blanket tucked around her, as she nearly always was. She looked up at her cousin with some degree of fear and excitement. Before that moment, he had always been very kind to her, but had never shown her any special attention.

"Anne," he began, "If I recall, you have never been to London?"

"No," she replied quietly. "I never have."

"Would you like to travel there with me when I depart Rosings tomorrow?"

Anne was surprised. "To . . . to London?"

"Yes," smiled Darcy. "Not for very long, of course; perhaps a fortnight. I know you are not well. You may bring your maid with you. I thought you might enjoy a trip there, and I admit I will be in want of company."

Anne was unsure how much company she could be to him but smiled, and felt an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach. "I . . . I shall ask my mother."

"No, no, Anne," he said, shaking his head with a little grin and sitting near her. "Please do not. Only answer my question. Would you like to go? If you would not, please say so. You will not injure me if you do not feel up to traveling."

"Mr. Darcy, I would enjoy it very much," she said.

Darcy thought for a moment that she sounded excited. "Then I shall make arrangements with your mother. You need not worry about that."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy." Anne was positively beaming at her cousin.

The next day, among a lot of fussing from the very put out Mrs. Jenkinson, and strings of advice from Lady Catherine, Anne, her maid, and Darcy departed for London.

Even though she was extremely tired and did not feel very well, Anne gazed at her cousin's London home as the carriage pulled up with a little smile. She was shuffled inside and to a warm fire almost before she could admire the outside of the house.

"I am sorry it is so late, Anne," apologized Darcy after things from the trip had been settled. "Perhaps tomorrow, after breakfast, you would like a tour of the house?"

Anne was not sure she would be feeling up to such a task, but agreed, afraid of disappointing her cousin.

"If you are not feeling strong enough tomorrow, though, you must tell me. I do want you to enjoy your time here."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she smiled.

A short, rosy-cheeked, cheery-looking older woman stood at the entrance of the sitting room. Darcy looked up. "Ah," he said, motioning her over to where they sat, and stood to introduce her. "Anne, this is my housekeeper, Mrs. Tuddle," he explained. "Mrs. Tuddle, this is the lady I wrote you about, my cousin Anne de Bourgh."

The women greeted each other warmly. Anne decided she liked Mrs. Tuddle right away, for she was far less severe-looking than Mrs. Jenkinson and the housekeeper at Rosings.

"You look rather tired, Miss de Bourgh," said Mrs. Tuddle. "Shall I show you to your rooms for the evening?"

"Well," she began, "I suppose--"

Darcy held out a hand. "Anne, if you are tired, please do not let me stop you from retiring. If you are not, however, then dine with me. But do what you want to do."

Mrs. Tuddle and Darcy both looked at her expectantly, though kindly, and Anne found herself in the unfamiliar position of having to make a decision for herself. "I should like to dine with you, Mr. Darcy," she said.

Darcy smiled at her, and turned to his housekeeper. "Do you know what will be served?" he asked.

"Lamb, if I am not mistaken," replied Mrs. Tuddle, and turned to her master's guest. "Do you like lamb?"

Anne grinned, almost unbelieving that she was so happy over what she was to be served for supper. "I have never tasted it," she replied, "but I shall look forward to it." Lamb, pork, and other meats were never served her at Rosings, for her mother thought them too rich for her delicate system.

"We dine at seven," reported the older woman. "May I show you to your rooms to change?"

Anne nodded and stood, and Darcy tucked her arm in his, for he knew she was tired from her trip and would remain weak for a day or two, until she could rest from the blood-lettings and get something with a little protein to strengthen her.

"Anne," he whispered to her on the way up, "Lamb is very rich, so perhaps you should consider not taking very much, or taking something a little dry before," he suggested. "I know you are not used to a lot of meat in your diet."

She could not help but gaze up at him. He was by far the most intelligent man she had ever known, and while she admitted to herself that she had not met very many men, she was sure that with Mr. Darcy's education and business, she was not very likely to meet a more knowledgeable one.

"I am not trying to mother you," he added. "I know you are able to care for yourself. I only do not want you to feel ill."

Anne flushed, smiled, and nodded. "Please do not trouble yourself so with me," she whispered. "I assure you, I will be fine."

The end of the fortnight came far too quickly for Anne, and she found herself reluctantly mounting the stairs on Saturday morning after breakfast to assist her maid in packing her trunk.

She had grown in strength so much in just the past two weeks that she could now gain two flights of stairs without having to rest. She noticed a change in her complexion; her face had taken on a pink hue rather than the pale white one it used to have. Her maid had also discovered new ways of styling her hair.

She considered that she had also grown intellectually. She wanted to please her cousin, for he had shown such kindness to her. She tried to converse with him, but didn't know very much about what interested a gentleman. She found, after a while, that he was content to share his knowledge with her, and that he was glad to show her new things, and even took her along when he went to visit his solicitor.

I do not want to leave, she thought helplessly. I do not want to return to Rosings.

Rosings was her home and she loved it, but here she was able to make her own decisions without the ominous presence of her mother and Mrs. Jenkinson. A return to Rosings would mean a return to her dependence on them, for her mother would have Mr. Grayson, the physician, continue the blood-lettings, and she would lose the strength she had gained. A return to Rosings would mean a return to Mrs. Jenkinson, who she knew cared for her, but she was so strict that Anne could never do anything for herself. It was frustrating and irritating, and her cousin's London home was a haven she was not ready to leave.

She heard pattering on the steps behind her, and as she reached the landing, she turned. It was Mr. Darcy; she smiled at him.

He returned her smile, and put his hand on her shoulder. "Anne, have you a moment to speak with me?"

"Of course I do," she replied, and he tucked her arm in his and led her up the remaining flight of stairs to a sitting room. He led her inside and she sat down; he turned to close the door. She rumpled her brow. "Is something the matter, Mr. Darcy?"

"No, not at all," he said with a comforting smile, and sat next to her. "Anne, have you enjoyed your time here in London?"

"Yes," she smiled, "I have. Especially the opera. It was very kind of you to take me, and twice."

"Would you consider staying here on a more . . . permanent basis?"

Anne was confused again. "What ever do you mean, sir?"

"I have enjoyed having you with me here," he answered. "Seeing you so much more active, and being able to talk with you has been wonderful. You have gone through so material a change in just weeks. Have you been happy?" he asked again.

"Yes, as I said before. I . . . I find myself not wanting to return to Rosings," she said shyly.

Darcy smiled. "Then do not. Not for a while, anyway. Stay for another week, and then I will return with you to Rosings."

"It is not a bother to have me here?"

"Of course not," replied Darcy. "As I said before, I would like you to stay here on a more permanent basis." Anne still did not quite realize what he meant, and after a brief pause, he took her hand in his. "Anne, will you marry me?"

Anne gasped, not having expected this in a hundred years. Why on earth would he want to marry her? She, so small and sickly all the time. Why her?

"I must admit that I brought you here to London, not only to be a kind cousin, and to have company, but because I wanted to get to know you. At Rosings, your mother and Mrs. Jenkinson are always so . . . so constantly . . . present. They keep you under lock and key, and they mollycoddle you to the point of ridiculousness. I could not have come to know you as I do now; I would not know your curious mind, or that you enjoy the opera, or that you can sing, and rather sweetly, if only you try, if I had tried to know you at Rosings."

Anne blushed, and looked down at her slippers. "I am sorry, Mr. Darcy. I do not know what to say."

"It is perfectly all right," he assured her, and smiled. "Only answer my question. Will you marry me?"

She looked back at his handsome face and smiled. "Yes."

It was with great fear that Anne found herself that night, newly married and in unfamiliar surroundings at what was now her London home. She tried to calm herself down, but to no avail. She started as she heard a knock on the bedchamber door. "C-come in," she said timidly.

Her new husband opened the door, stepping in quietly. He smiled. "Do you like these rooms, Anne?"

Anne nodded, smiling up at him. "Yes," she replied. "Were they your mother's?"

Darcy nodded. "Of course. I have many fond memories of her in these rooms."

Anne didn't know what else to do but smile back. She was very nervous and very tired. She had the utmost trust in her cousin, but he was so large compared to her that she was sure he would crush her with just a touch of his hand.

She started again as she felt that warm hand on her small, cold one, and Darcy sat down next to her. "You are very tired," he said.

She nodded bashfully. "I am sorry I could not get Mother to stop the blood-lettings. There were fewer, but it appears they had the same affect on me. I know I will become stronger soon."

"As do I," replied Darcy with another smile. "There is no need to apologize. In a few days, I wish you would see Mr. Jacobs, just to ensure your good health. Perhaps there is something more we can do. Mrs. Tuddle thinks very highly of him."

"Of course," replied Anne.

Darcy regarded her again for a moment, knowing that she was both tired and scared. She was so fragile and timid, he himself was almost afraid of her. "Do you have everything you need this evening?" Anne replied that she did. "I shall leave you to your rest." He kissed her hand softly.

Anne was suddenly alarmed. "Mr. Darcy," she began, "do not you . . . I mean, would you . . . should we not . . ."

Darcy perceived what she meant almost before she opened her mouth. "We have both had a very trying day. It was a long trip from Hunsford. We are both tired, and you especially. I can tell how nervous you are, and I will not have you making yourself sick over . . . over little things like this."

Anne smiled up at him, grateful for his understanding. He was really quite sweet to her. She wished, though, she did not feel as though she were dodging out of something. She did not wish to disappoint Mr. Darcy. Also, she had to secretly admit that she was curious about some of the things her mother had told her.

As if he could read her thoughts, Darcy leaned in, tilted his head, and kissed her. An unfamiliar tingle ran through her body as he moved his lips across hers. "You are very lovely today, Mrs. Darcy," he whispered. "I shall see you in the morning."

A few weeks later, Anne rose with a happy smile to a sunny Christmas morning. She called for her maid, Sarah, and dressed quickly in a gown of rich cream and deep red, having a few holly sprigs wound with her hair. Before she left the room, she tucked a small package in Sarah's hand.

"This is for me?" she asked of Anne.

"Yes," smiled Anne. "For teaching me how to embroider, so that I could make Mr. Darcy's Christmas gift."

"Oh," blushed Sarah, and she pulled on the paper and ribbon. She found two ivory hair combs, delicately carved with a swirl decoration, tied with a few new deep green hair ribbons.

"I thought they would look lovely with your curly red hair," smiled Anne. "Do you like them?"

"Oh, Mrs. Darcy," she breathed, "they are beautiful." She looked up at Anne. "I do not have anything to give you in return."

"It does not matter," replied Anne. "I didn't give you a gift to receive one."

Sarah smiled and looked over her new combs again. "Thank you."

Anne replied that she was welcome, and, happy that her first gift was well-received, headed into the breakfast room. Her husband smiled upon her entrance, set his cup down, and stood. "Good morning, Mrs. Darcy."

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she replied. "Did you sleep well?"

"Of course. You are looking very festive this morning," he said, seeing the holly leaves in her hair. "And rather beautiful, I must say." She blushed and looked down at her tea cup. "Happy Christmas."

"Happy Christmas," she whispered. Her eyes brightened. "I have something for you."

"You have?" asked Darcy, surprised.

"It is something my maid, Sarah, helped me with," explained Anne. She walked over to a corner of the room and pulled out a small box from hiding, proudly presenting it to her husband.

Darcy pulled his chair away from the table a little, and placed another across from it. He waited for her to sit down, and when she had, opened his gift. Inside the box were two new books, bound in rich brown leather and engraved on the spine with his initials. He smiled but rumpled his brow. "How did Sarah help you with these?" he asked.

"Open the covers of the books," she instructed.

Darcy did as she asked, and found two crisp, white, freshly-pressed handkerchiefs with FD delicately embroidered in the corners. He smiled widely. "I did not know you were learning how to do this," he commented.

"Sarah is teaching me how," said Anne. "She is really rather talented at it."

He tucked one in his breast pocket right away. "I believe I will keep the other."

"For what?"

"For a keepsake," he replied. She smiled. "They are wonderful, and the books are really quite handsome. Thank you, Mrs. Darcy." He picked up her small hand as she beamed in delight at him and dropped a light kiss on it. "Now, I have something for you."

"You should not have," she said, rather seriously.

He crossed the room to retrieve a velvet case from the table and raised his eyebrow at her. "I very well should have," he replied, and held it out to her. "Please."

She smiled excitedly and took the case from him, setting it on her small lap and opening it delicately. Her hand flew to her throat when she saw the pearl and diamond necklace nestled in the little box, and reached out with a timid finger to touch the ruby teardrops that dangled at the curve. "Oh, dear . . . Mr. Darcy. It is beautiful." She smiled up at him.

"May I put it on you?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, handing him back the case. He stood and fastened it around her neck, and slowly bowed his head to kiss her shoulder. He allowed his lips to linger for a moment, as he breathed in the soft rosewater scent of her skin. He kissed the other shoulder, and then returned to his chair. Anne sat across from him with her eyes closed. When she opened them, she had a faraway look in her eyes.

Darcy swallowed and smiled at her again. "Do you like it?" he asked.

"Yes," she whispered, "it is beautiful. How long has it been in your family?"

He grinned. "A few days."

Mrs. Darcy looked very stern all of a sudden. "Mr. Darcy, surely you have better things to spend your money on than me," she said.

"Indeed, I have not," he replied. "Please, do not think of it. I purchased this for you because I wanted you to have it."

She flushed and smiled again. "Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she said. "It is beautiful. I shall always cherish it."

"I know," he whispered, and they continued with their breakfast.

"Perhaps you will share the book with me when you have finished it?" asked Anne with a smile as Darcy led her to her chambers that night.

"Of course I shall," he replied. "I am sure you will enjoy it immensely. I could scarcely put it down for supper."

"I am glad you are enjoying it," she said, and then they were at her chamber door.

He bowed to her and began to wish her good-night, as he had done every night for the three weeks they had been married, but Anne boldly grabbed his arm before he could go. Before she reconsidered what she was saying, she whispered, mortified, "Mr. Darcy, please do not go."

Darcy took his wife's hands and squeezed them. "I will join you, for a while."

She sighed and they entered her chambers. When the door was securely closed behind them, and Anne could be sure that no one else was in the room, she walked up to her husband and whispered in the same mortified tone as before, "Mr. Darcy, please. I do not know how to say this . . . but I am your wife now, and I still feel, a little, as though I am your cousin."

"Are you sure you are strong enough . . . for this?" he asked.

"I do not know," she replied, "but I am strong enough to not nap during the day, and I am strong enough to walk outside in the cold."

Darcy nodded. "I trust you."

Anne smiled at him. "I do not know what to do," she said.

He blushed. "I suppose we should put on night clothes." He bent to kiss her cheek. "I shall be right back." He smiled at her and turned to go to his own chamber.

He returned a few minutes later, donning his robe, and found that Anne was still not out of her dressing room. He sat patiently in a chair by the fire for a few more minutes until she stepped out quietly; so quietly, in fact, that he did not hear.

"Mr. Darcy," she whispered, and he looked up. Her hair was longer than he supposed it to be, reaching down to her shoulder blades, and the way it rested upon her shoulders made her look a little younger. She was obviously very nervous, for she wore it in her smile. She looked a little smaller without so many clothes on.

He stood and walked over to where she had stopped just outside the dressing room door. "You have not taken off your necklace," he said with a grin.

"I was hoping you could help me," she said. "I do not know how the clasp works." He moved behind her and gently unfastened the necklace, moved back to his position, and laid it on the bedside stand. "Should not we put it in its case?" she asked.

"I am sure it will do fine there until morning," he said. "Come here, Mrs. Darcy."

She swallowed and stepped the few feet required to close the gap between them, and he purposefully took her in his arms and kissed her gently. "Are you certain you are up to this?"

She nodded, gazing at him, and the next thing she knew, he had scooped her up in his arms. With her own arms around his neck, she giggled a little, more out of nerves than anything else. He hushed her with another kiss, a little deeper this time. She gazed at him again when he broke the kiss.

"Why do you look at me so?" he asked her with a smile.

"I do not know," she answered, quite honestly.

"Kiss me, Anne," he instructed.

"What?"

"Kiss me."

She swallowed. "I do not know how to."

"Yes, you do," he replied. "Kiss me, please."

Anne considered it a moment, tilted her head a few times, and then slowly, softly, brushed his lips with hers. He shook his head softly. "Kiss me as I kiss you." Anne's face was flushed the reddest it could get by now, and her eyes looked worried. He tried to comfort her, sitting her down on the bed and keeping her wrapped in his arms. "Anne, this is just a little kiss," he cajoled. "You can do anything you desire; surely you can give your husband a kiss."

This time when she kissed him, as soon as their lips met, she knew there was no turning back. He held her small body against his large one that night, and she happily dozed off to sleep, thankful for such a gentle, kind husband.

Late the following February, Darcy entered the London house after a visit to his solicitor, surprised at being met by Mr. Jacobs. He was confused but stopped and said his hellos to the doctor. Mr. Jacobs assured him that everyone was well, was very courteous and smiled a lot, and when he left, he winked at Darcy.

Concerned that Anne was ill again, he practically ran up the stairs to his wife's chambers. When he did not find her there, he marched down the hall to her sitting room. She was rocking in a chair in front of a window, working on a piece of embroidery. She looked up when he stormed into the room.

"Mrs. Darcy, I have just seen Mr. Jacobs leaving the house. What is going on? Are you ill again? Why did not you tell me?"

Anne's eyes widened with fear, for Mr. Darcy had never spoken so harshly to her. She stood and crossed the room. "I am sorry that I have made you upset," she whispered. "I did not mean to. I--"

He sighed. "Mrs. Darcy, I am sorry for snapping. I am not upset with you at all," he said comfortingly. "I only wish you would tell me when you are being seen by Mr. Jacobs. I care about you, and if you were ill again and I did not know it, I would not forgive myself."

Anne looked earnestly into his eyes. "I . . . I am with child, Mr. Darcy. Mr. Jacobs saw me this morning because I am with child. I am not ill at all. I apologize. I will be sure to inform you when Mr. Jacobs comes next."

For a moment, Darcy was dumbfounded, and stared at Anne. "You . . . you are . . . sit," he instructed, taking her by the arm and moving her across the room to a chair. "Please, sit down. Are you well? Is there anything I can get for you?"

Anne was very much amused by this display. "I assure you, I am well," she replied with a smile. "I am quite well."

Kneeling beside her, Darcy gazed up at her. "I fear I am at a loss for words," he said. "When will it happen?"

"In seven months. Does this please you?" she asked.

"Of course," he smiled. "Of course it does." He took her hand and stood. "Would you like to go for a walk? May you go for a walk?"

"I certainly may," replied Anne. She allowed her arm to be tucked in his own, and they headed outside.

Later that night, Anne lay in her bed. She wondered if Mr. Darcy would join her that night. She did not know if it would be all right for them to make love if she was with child, but surely he would know such things. On their walk that afternoon, he talked more than she supposed he ever had. He told her that he was very pleased indeed that she was expecting his child, and hoped that it caused her no great trouble. She was sure that it wouldn't. Women did the very same thing every day, did not they?

Her husband's conversation with her that afternoon made her feel rather content. She felt as though he had confided in her. He told her of his childhood and of his school days, amusing her with stories about frogs and ponds and practical jokes.

She snuggled deep under the covers, feeling warm and comfortable. How wonderful he was, she thought, how gentlemanly and considerate. How handsome. He was truly the best husband any woman could ask for. She knew then, without a doubt, that she loved him.

She felt him crawl under the covers with her. She turned to face him. "Will this be all right?" she asked timidly. "With the child . . . will it?"

Darcy grinned at Anne. "I only wish your company, Mrs. Darcy," he said. "You are really rather darling when you dote on me."

She returned his smile, and he turned her around so that his body spooned hers. "Good night, Mr. Darcy," she whispered happily.

"Good night, Mrs. Darcy," he replied, kissing the nape of her neck. He held her close and fell asleep.

As weeks went on, Anne's condition grew steadily worse. In her third and fourth months, she could still rise in the morning and carry on as normal, obviously not without the normal sickness, aches, and fatigue of being with child. In her fifth and sixth months, she required more rest and had frequent pain, and Darcy had ordered a nurse for her. He spent much more time with her now, and he refused to leave London, even for a day. As the seventh month approached, Mr. Jacobs had ordered Anne permanently to her bed, and she stayed there until her time came.

Her husband was nervously waiting news of his wife and child when Mr. Jacobs gravely entered the library. Darcy stood. "Well?"

"Come with me, Mr. Darcy." He turned and left the library, giving Darcy no choice but to follow.

He followed the doctor to the nursery, where Mrs. Darcy's nurse handed him a screaming little bundle of blankets. "This is your son, sir," he reported.

Darcy looked down at what he had in his arms. As soon as he held the child, the shrieking stopped. He squirmed slightly, as if making himself comfortable in his father's arms, and fell asleep. Darcy pushed the blankets away and looked at his face. It was no larger than the palm of his hand. His hair was thick and black. A tear slipped down his cheek. "Anne?"

"Mr. Darcy, please sit down."

Darcy knew when the doctor said those words that Anne was not going to live much longer. He sat down, and Mr. Jacobs explained to him what had happened to Mrs. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy choked back tears as he held his son close to his chest when Mr. Jacobs left the room. A flood of regrets came back to him. He regretted that he had not ever fought with Anne, for now he would never know the sweetness of reconciliation. He regretted that he had never left London, for now he would not know the tenderness of reunion. He regretted that he had never shown her Pemberley, for he was sure she would have loved it, and he regretted that he had not taken her to Netherfield to meet his friend Mr. Bingley, or to their aunt and uncle Fitzwilliam's home so they could see her transformation. Mostly, though, he regretted that he had waited so long to tell her that he loved her.

The truth of the matter was that he did. He had always thought that if he ever fell in love, that it would be of the passionate kind, as was always depicted in the operas and plays and books, but his love for Anne was of a different kind. He loved Anne for her beauty, her curious mind, her gentle and angelic disposition, her delicacy and her innocence. She was everything that a lady should be. Not a trace of impertinence, indecorum, or obstinacy, all of which he had taken for granted, and he hated himself for not knowing sooner. He hated himself for not telling her.

He handed his son back to the nurse and headed for Anne's room.

Darcy entered the room solemnly, turning to close the door behind him. He practically tiptoed over to the bed where Anne's gray, weak form lay. He sat down on the edge of the bed and cringed as he touched her brittle, limp hand.

Anne turned her head. "Hello, darling," she said, smiling weakly. "Have you seen the baby?"

Darcy nodded. "Yes, I have," he answered. "He is perfect, Anne. You have given me a wonderful son."

"A son," she repeated. "I had not known it was a son." She seemed very happy.

"Mr. Jacobs did not tell you?"

"No," replied Anne. Then she rumpled her brow. "Or, perhaps he did, and I do not remember. I do not remember much about directly after the birth."

"It was only a few hours ago, Anne," he soothed. "Do not trouble yourself. Did you hold him?"

"Of course," she smiled. "I could not forget that. I am so proud to have given you a son."

"How are you feeling, dearest?"

"I am very tired," she replied. "I do not like it. I have not felt so tired since . . . since last I left Rosings." She paused to rest her eyes. "I know Mr. Jacobs has told you that I . . . that I am ill again."

He nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. "Do not think of it, Anne," he said, placing his hand on her head to stroke her hair.

"I am sorry that I was not strong enough," began Anne. "I do not want to die, Fitzwilliam. I want to raise my son . . . and I would have liked to have a daughter. I would have liked to call Pemberley home--"

"Shh . . ." murmured Darcy. "Do not strain yourself."

Anne shook her head. "No, please," she said weakly, "listen. I have something to tell you . . . that I should have said long ago. I regret that I could not . . . that I did not before. Please listen."

Darcy replied that he would, and Anne paused a moment before continuing.

"I love you, Fitzwilliam," she said happily. "You are the only person who has ever shown any kind of faith in me. In my first visit to London, you showed such faith in my ability to care and fend for myself, to make my own decisions, that I began, for the first time, to have faith in myself. You are the only person who has ever told me that I am lovely. You can not know how that affected me on our wedding night, when you told me that I was lovely, and you called me 'Mrs. Darcy,' and you kissed me for the very first time. It was something I never thought I would have. I know I shall never forget it. These past months, you have been so kind and gentle with me, and you were so encouraging in my first months as mistress of this house. So helpful, and I knew after I discovered I was with child that I loved you." She paused for a moment, gazing at him. "Have you decided on a name for your son?"

Darcy hadn't before, but knew at that moment what he wanted. "Andrew," he replied. "It must be Andrew."

"For me?" she asked, smiling.

Darcy nodded solemnly.

"I wish it were not because I am dying," she said, still smiling.

"Anne, you are not dying," he insisted, but knew she was right. "You mustn't. You can't."

"I'm afraid I very well can," she said with a bit of uncharacteristic playfulness.

He shook his head. "No, Anne," he said helplessly, and paused. She blinked weakly several times, looking back at him. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. He took her hand and squeezed it between his own, bowing his head in silent prayer bordering on begging, wishing over and over that this was not happening. After thirty minutes, he looked up at his wife's gray face and ragged breathing. He knew there was nothing he could do. "I love you, too, Anne," he swallowed.

Her eyelashes fluttered, and the corners of her mouth turned up slightly. "I know you are not only saying that, Mr. Darcy," she asserted almost inaudibly. "I know you speak only the truth."

He moved to sit next to her on the bed, and enveloped her frail body in his arms.

Anne died three hours later.

Master Andrew Darcy, a lad of five, sat cozily in a large chair in the sitting room of a strange house his father had called Netherfield Hall. He looked with large, clear blue eyes around the room. "Papa?"

"Yes, Andrew?" replied his father, one Fitzwilliam Darcy.

"This is where Mister Bingley lives, isn't it?" he asked, pronouncing "mister" and "Bingley" as if it was the first time he had spoken the words.

"Yes," he replied.

"And Mr. Bingley is your friend?"

"Yes, he is rather a good friend."

"Are there any children here?"

"No, I'm afraid not," replied his father. "But remember, I promised that this is our time together, did not I?" Andrew nodded. "You should not be bored."

"I know that if I may be with you, Papa, I will not be," replied the little boy. "But is Miss Bingley here?"

"Yes, I suppose she is," replied Darcy.

"You will not leave me alone with her, will you, Papa?" asked Andrew, wide-eyed.

Darcy wanted to laugh. "Now, I told you, Andrew, that was just a story. There is not really a witch named Caroline."

"I believe you," replied Andrew faithfully, "but you will not leave me, will you?"

Darcy chuckled and pulled the little boy off the chair and into his arms. "No, of course not."

"Well, Darcy," came a cheerful voice into the sitting room, "finally you have made it. What a pleasure to see you." Charles Bingley stood in the doorway, his hand outstretched.

Mr. Darcy put Andrew down, rose and shook his hand, with Andrew in tow. "And to see you, Bingley," he said. "You remember Master Andrew, do not you?"

"Of course I do," replied Bingley. "Andrew, how are you this morning?"

"I am quite well, thank you," replied the little man. "How are you, Mr. Bingley?"

"I am also quite well," replied Bingley. "Tell me something, has your father been behaving himself?"

Andrew looked up, way up, at his father, not understanding that Bingley was teasing him, and then looked back at Bingley. "He is a perfect gentleman."

"And has he fed you breakfast this morning?"

"Yes," replied Andrew, "when we left the inn this morning. It was very early."

"Ah, I see. Would you like something to eat? I'm sure I can scare up a biscuit or two. Would you like that?"

"Very much, please!" replied Andrew with a grin.

"Andrew, you act as though you have never seen a biscuit before in your life," smiled Darcy, picking him up.

"We are still in the dining room," said Bingley. "Follow me."

Darcy followed, and after greeting his friend's sisters, Miss Caroline Bingley, who rather gushed over him, and Mrs. Louisa Hurst and her husband, seated himself and his son at the table. Master Andrew was served a glass of milk and the biscuit Mr. Bingley promised him, and Darcy sipped a cup of tea.

"It is delightful to have you in our company again, Mr. Darcy," continued Caroline. "And how was your trip, Anthony?" she oozed insincerely, unsure of what else to say to a child at an adult's breakfast table, and managed what she thought was a sweet smile, but was really more of a grimace.

The little boy's eyes grew as Miss Bingley smiled at him, and though he was afraid of her, managed to mumble a polite reply and bury his head in his father's arm.

"He's darling," she told Darcy.

"His name is Andrew," he replied coolly.

Caroline shrugged her faux pas off with a harrumph and changed the subject. "You have come just in time, Mr. Darcy. There is to be an assembly tonight. I am sure it will be charming; a country dance. You will come with us, won't you?"

"No," replied Darcy, pulling Andrew onto his lap. "Andrew and I are here to visit our friend Mr. Bingley, and to spend some time together, without matters of estate getting in the way."

"And does such a little boy often participate in important matters of estate?" asked Miss Bingley.

"Yes," replied Darcy, and returned to his tea.

"So you will not come to the assembly, then?" asked Miss Bingley.

"No," he replied. "I shall not. I am here to spend a little time with my son, and that is all."

Caroline looked a little irritated at the mention of the five-year-old. "Surely, though, he will be asleep by the time we depart," she said.

Darcy nodded. "Yes. Yes, he will be."

"So why do you not come?"

"Because I am here," repeated Darcy, "to spend time with my son." He turned to his friend. "It is not too late for you to duck out, Bingley. Andrew and I will be spending some time in the library this evening. You are welcome to join us."

"I am sure there is nothing to interest my brother in his own library with a little boy who can not even read yet in the dead of night," spat Miss Bingley.

"Certainly there is," replied Bingley, "for Andrew is not afraid of me." He grinned at his sister teasingly and sipped his tea. "However, I would go to the ball."

"Mr. Bingley," said Andrew, "why do you not have children?"

"Because I am not married yet," replied Bingley. "And that is why I am to go to the ball tonight."

"Out to find yourself a wife, are you?" asked Darcy.

"Mr. Darcy, how is Georgiana?" interrupted Caroline.

"She is well," replied Darcy patiently. "Andrew, do not let your milk get too warm, or you will not drink it."

"Andrew, do you get along well with your Aunt Darcy?"

He nodded shyly, his eyes huge, and took a drink of his milk.

"Georgiana is just the most charming girl, I am sure she spoils him rotten. Don't you agree, Charles?"

"Yes, Georgiana is quite the lady, but I am sure no one spoils you more than your own father; isn't that right, Andrew?" Andrew smiled at Mr. Bingley, who he liked very much. "Darcy, will you shoot with us this morning?"

Darcy looked down the table at Mr. Hurst, trying to gauge whether he was liable to get himself shot while shooting with the man, who tended to over imbibe on a regular basis. He was not inebriated, not yet anyway, but his eyes were bloodshot and he was obviously very tired. "No," replied Darcy. "I should like a quiet day with Andrew, but I thank you for your kind invitation."

"Papa promised that he would not go anywhere without me," reported Andrew proudly. He was very rarely without his father's undivided attention, and even when he did not have it, he spoke of his father in such terms as to make him sound more like an invincible, all-knowing, omnipotent being than the English gentleman he was. Indeed, they were inseparable.

After breakfast was over, Mr. Bingley showed the Darcys around the house. "Well, Master Andrew," said Bingley in his characteristically cheerful tone, "I know it is not Pemberley, but what do you think of Netherfield Hall?"

"It is a very nice house," replied Andrew. "I should look forward to reading the book you showed me in the library with my Papa."

"The one about Greek mythology?"

"Yes, that's the one. Do you think we can read it tonight, Papa?"

"I think your son barely utters a sentence without speaking about his papa," smirked Bingley.

Darcy smiled. "He is quite a talker."

"What was his first word?"

"I do not remember," lied Darcy.

"Really?" asked Bingley, a sarcastic tone in his voice. "It seems to me it was Papa."

"It could have been," said Darcy casually. "Andrew, will you be all right here for a moment?"

"Yes, Papa," he answered faithfully. Darcy nodded at his son and stepped out to the hall with Mr. Bingley.

Andrew looked about the room for a moment, glancing up at the portraits on the walls and feeling the softness of the fabric on a chair. He was soon in an entirely different room, unaware of the fact that Miss Bingley was following him.

Thinking to have a little fun with him, she was ever so silent as she sneaked up behind him. After a moment, she whispered in an eerie tone, "Little boy . . ."

The hair on the back of Andrew's neck stood on end as he turned around, with huge eyes, to see Caroline the Witch standing behind him.

"What are you doing in here?" she yelled as loud as she could, and waited for his response.

Andrew shrieked and ran out of the room, as fast as his five year-old legs could carry him, to the end of the hall, down the stairs and out the door, and he soon found himself farther away from the house than he wanted to be. He could no longer see Netherfield.

After getting himself turned around a few times, he began to realize that he was lost. He worried about what his father would think of him, for running away and getting lost, and being afraid of witches. Certainly his father would be afraid of no such thing. He chose the trunk of a fallen tree to sit down upon, and began to cry.

After a minute, he heard a lady's voice. He looked up and saw her, with dark curls around her face, and wiped the tears off his cheeks. He thought that she had rather pretty eyes.

The lady walked up to him. "Hello," she said kindly.

"Hello," he whispered.

"My name is Elizabeth," she continued. "You can call me Lizzy. What is your name?"

"Andrew," he replied.

"Andrew, do you have a nurse or a governess?"

"No," said Andrew, comfortable with her gentle tone. "Not here."

"And where is your mama?" asked Elizabeth.

"She died when I was little," replied Andrew. "Her name was Anne, and so my papa named me after her."

Elizabeth's heart wrenched at his tale. "I see. And where is your papa?"

"He is in the house with Mr. Bingley." He pointed in the general direction of Netherfield Hall. "We are visiting."

"I think you should perhaps go back to the house, then," she said. "Do you know your way?"

"No," replied Andrew. "Can you show me?"

"Of course," she replied, and stretched her hand out for Andrew to hold. He took it, smiled, and followed her lead. "You are very far from Netherfield," commented Elizabeth. "Did you run away?"

"No," replied Andrew, thinking. "Not really. I only ran because I was frightened. There is a witch living in that house," he whispered to his newfound friend.

"Oh, dear," replied Elizabeth. "Why, I would run from a witch, too."

"My papa told me about her. She is named Caroline, and she is very mean. She would turn you into a toad!"

"How awful!" declared Elizabeth. "But surely she would not turn you into a toad, for you seem very kind and a gentleman."

"No, no," insisted Andrew. "She is very mean to all people, whether they are kind to her or not. And she lives right along with her brother, who is my papa's rather good friend."

"But is her brother not a witch? Why does she not turn him into a toad?"

"No, Mr. Bingley is not a witch, and she is too smart to turn him into a toad. She knows that if she turned him into a toad, she would not have a place to live, and she would not turn my papa into a toad, for she would not be able to marry him."

"She wishes to marry your papa?"

"Yes," replied Andrew, "but I do not want her to."

"Well, I would not want my papa to marry a witch, either."

"Where do you live?" asked Andrew.

"I live at Longbourn House, not three miles from here," replied Elizabeth.

"I live in Derbyshire, in a house called Pemberley. It is near Lambton. Sometimes I live in London, too, when my papa goes there. He does not very often."

"I see," said Elizabeth. "I have never been to Derbyshire. Is it very pretty country?"

"My papa says it is the most beautiful country in England."

"And do you agree with him?" asked Elizabeth.

"Oh, yes," replied Andrew. He noticed that they were very near Netherfield. "There is the house," he said, gripping her hand. "Your hands are very cold. Should you like to come inside and warm yourself?"

"No," said Elizabeth, smiling down at him, "I shall be fine."

"My papa says, that if you have cold hands, you have a warm heart. He is right, for you have a very warm heart."

"You are kind to say so," blushed Elizabeth.

They entered the house at Netherfield, and Andrew led her down the only path he could remember, the one to the sitting room. He heard his name being called. "I will be right back, with my papa," he said proudly.

"Andrew!"

A tall, dark-haired gentleman stood in the doorway, looking rather cross. He descended on Andrew, swooping him up in his arms and holding him tight. "Andrew, where on earth have you been?"

"Papa, put me down!"

"Answer my question, young man!" replied Andrew's papa. "Why did you run off?"

"Miss Bingley scared me!" he replied. "Do not be upset with me, Papa, please? I did not mean to make you upset; I am sorry for running off."

"It is all right, Andrew," sighed the man, putting him down. "Only do not do it again. I was afraid that you were lost."

"Oh, but I was lost, Papa," replied Andrew, "and Lizzy showed me the way home." He pointed up at Elizabeth.

Andrew's papa took to noticing, for the first time, the presence of a young lady. He swallowed as he looked her over. "Lizzy."

"You are Andrew's father," she said, looking him over also. He was rather handsome, and she noticed that his son looked very much like him.

"Yes," he said, "Fitzwilliam Darcy."

"Elizabeth Bennet," she said, and they bowed to each other.

"Thank you for bringing my son back to the house safely," he said. "He is in strange country; I am sure he would have been lost. He did not cause you any trouble?"

"He did not," confirmed Elizabeth.

"It is good to hear," replied Darcy. "From where have you come? I shall have my carriage take you home," he offered.

"Thank you, but no," replied Elizabeth. "I live not three miles from here, at Longbourn. I walk these woods rather often."

"May I offer you a rest? A cup of tea, perhaps? Anything?"

"I am well, thank you," she replied.

"Darcy, have you found - well, there you are, Master Andrew," chirped another man, quite as tall as Mr. Darcy. "Where did you race off to?"

"He got frightened and ran out of the house without knowing where he was going. This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Miss Bennet, this is Charles Bingley, master of Netherfield."

"Mr. Bingley," bowed Elizabeth.

"Miss Bennet showed Andrew back to the house. It was very kind of you, Miss Bennet," he continued, looking at her. She was obviously amused with the entire ordeal, and it caught his attention.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy," she replied. "Your son is quite the gentleman."

Mr. Darcy was about to make his reply when a haughty-looking lady walked into the room. "Well, he is right here. I do not know what the problem is."

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled as they greeted what must be the witch living at Netherfield. "And quite the storyteller."

"Ah, he told you that, did he?" Darcy blushed.

"Papa!" shrieked Andrew, ducking behind his father's leg.

"Andrew, please be a gentleman," sighed Darcy. "We are guests."

"I should leave you now," said Elizabeth, "but it was very nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy." She bowed. "Mr. Bingley."

"Wait - Miss Bennet," said Bingley, stepping forward, "do you belong to Mr. Bennet, of Longbourn?"

"I would like to think I do not belong to anybody," replied Elizabeth, "but yes, Mr. Bennet is my father."

"Ah, very good," he said. "Will you be at the assembly this evening, in Meryton?"

"Yes," replied Elizabeth. "Shall you all be there?"

"My sisters and I are going," said Bingley.

"I shall see you there," replied Elizabeth cheerfully. "Good-bye, Master Andrew." She waved.

"Good-bye, Lizzy," he chirped fondly.

"Allow me to show you to the door," offered Darcy, and he headed off in that direction with Andrew in tow.

"Tell me something, Master Andrew," said Elizabeth, "do you always follow where your father goes?"

"He does not mind," he assured her, and Elizabeth was more than a little inclined to believe him.

"Perhaps you should stick by him more often. That way you will not be so afraid of witches."

Darcy smiled as they reached the hall. "Are you sure I may not retrieve my carriage and have it bring you home?"

"Thank you for your kind offer, but no. I shall continue my walk." Elizabeth returned his smile, and he thanked her again, they bowed, and she headed for home.

"Papa," said Andrew, tugging on his father's trousers, "May we call upon Lizzy?"

"You should call her Miss Bennet, Andrew," replied Darcy, "and perhaps we shall see her again."

"I think she is very pretty," commented Andrew. "She has especially fine eyes, and she is very kind."

"Yes," agreed his father, still looking after her. "Very fine eyes."

Charles Bingley came down in a whistling mood the following morning, to find the Darcys at the breakfast table. "How was the ball last night, Bingley?" asked the older.

"Did you meet Miss Bennet there?" asked the younger.

Bingley laughed at both of them. "It was splendid, and yes, I did see Miss Bennet there. Indeed, I saw five Miss Bennets there."

"There are five Miss Bennets?" asked Andrew incredulously, envisioning quintuplets. "Do they all look just like Lizzy?"

Bingley laughed again. "No, but they are all quite pretty."

"Quite as pretty as Lizzy? What are their names?"

"Andrew, you ask too many questions," laughed his father. "And I have told you that she should be called Miss Bennet."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bingley," said Andrew. "I don't mean to bother you." He looked rather upset, for he thought he had disappointed his papa.

"You are a darling child, and you are not a bother in the least. If anything, it is your papa who is a bother." Bingley smiled good-naturedly at his friend, who smiled back, and when Andrew saw that his papa wasn't really upset with him, he smiled again also, and Bingley continued. "It is not a bother to talk about the Miss Bennets. In fact, there is one which I would particularly enjoy talking about."

"Is it Lizzy?" asked Andrew excitedly.

"No, it is not Elizabeth. You see, Andrew, your Miss Bennet--"

"Mr. Bingley, Elizabeth does not belong to anyone," the little man reminded him.

Bingley blushed and corrected himself. "I am sorry; you are right. Elizabeth has four other sisters, one of them older, and three of them younger. Jane is the older, and Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, and Miss Lydia are the younger ones."

"And are you going to talk about Jane?"

"A very good guess, Master Andrew," complimented Bingley. "How did you know?"

"Because you called her Jane and not 'Miss Jane' or 'Miss Bennet.' Papa says that when a person feels close to another person, sometimes it is all right to address them in a more plain manner."

"I believe you mean familiar, Andrew, and certainly Mr. Bingley does not feel close to Miss Bennet. Not yet, anyway." Darcy smiled at his friend.

"Yes, that's just what I mean," smiled Andrew. "And also, I thought you would probably like the older sister."

Bingley blushed. "Indeed, I do."

"Tell us about her," requested Andrew.

"Well, she is really quite pretty. She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld. She dances like an angel."

Bingley continued to relish the Darcys with his descriptions of Miss Jane Bennet until Miss Bingley came down to breakfast. When he saw the scowl on her face, Andrew talked to Mr. Bingley about the book his father had read him the previous evening.

By the end of a month at Netherfield, Andrew learned not to be afraid of Miss Bingley, and he was growing curious about the friend who had brought him back to the house on that first day. He asked his father if they might call upon Miss Bennet.

Their rather good friend Mr. Bingley volunteered an answer to Andrew's wish, and soon Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Andrew were gathered with a large party at the home of Sir William Lucas, a neighbor of the Bennets.

Andrew, always a gentleman, was noticed by all of the ladies there, and they cooed over him, to which he and his father responded with shy smiles, and both watched anxiously for the arrival of the Bennet family.

Darcy noticed Mr. Bingley talking rather quietly, with a bright flush to his cheeks, to a beautiful woman some time after their arrival. Andrew tugged on his trousers. "Papa, is that Miss Jane Bennet?" he asked.

"I suppose it is," replied Darcy, "but I have no way of knowing for certain."

"I do not mean to interrupt your private conversation," came a soft voice behind them, "but I do believe your friend Mr. Bingley is talking to the lady you guessed."

Mr. Darcy and Andrew turned around to find a pair of very fine eyes sparkling with mirth. Andrew smiled at his father and bowed to the lady in front of him. "Hello, Miss Bennet," he said solemnly.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet's eyes continued to sparkle at the young boy. "Good evening, Master Andrew," she said. "Have you seen any witches lately?"

"No," replied Andrew proudly. "There aren't any more witches at Netherfield."

"That is very good to hear," replied Elizabeth. "And did you protect your papa from them?"

Andrew smiled up at Mr. Darcy and nodded. "Yes, I think so," he replied. Miss Bennet smiled at Mr. Darcy.

"How do you do this evening, Miss Bennet?" asked Mr. Darcy.

"I'm well, thank you," she replied, and inquired as to his own health. As they conversed, he began to find her face was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. To this discovery succeeded some others equally extraordinary; he acknowledged her figure to be light and pleasing, and he was caught by the easy playfulness of her manners. Of this she was perfectly unaware.

Darcy tucked a rather tired Andrew into his bed that night. "Papa," he said sleepily, "it was good to see Miss Bennet."

"Yes," he said. He looked down at his son for a moment. "You like her very much, don't you?"

Andrew smiled. "Yes, Papa," he said. "She is very kind and very pretty, and she tells stories better than even Mrs. Reynolds." He yawned. "May we call on her tomorrow?"

"We will call upon her soon," replied his father, and kissed his son's forehead. "Good night, Andrew."

Darcy headed downstairs to find Mr. Bingley in the library, staring blankly at a book in front of a waning fire. He looked up when Darcy walked in. "My sister wished to bid you a good evening, Darcy," he said quietly, "but grew tired of waiting."

"Andrew insisted upon another page of his new book," explained Darcy.

"Indeed? Even after Miss Eliza told him the story about Jack and the beanstalk? I say, Darcy, even I was spellbound. She is quite the storyteller."

Darcy grinned. Not nearly as spellbound as I, he thought. "She is," he agreed quietly. He sat next to his friend. "Something is bothering you. Pray tell me what it might be."

"You do not mind hearing?" Bingley eyed him sideways.

"Not at all."

"Darcy, it has been a month since I met Miss Bennet," he began. "I am thinking of asking her to marry me, but I do not know what my sisters will think, for her position in life is a little less than what they might have wanted in a sister," he said. "And I am not really sure of her feelings for me. What do you think, Darcy?"

Darcy was silent for a long while, and then spoke. "When Andrew was born, and when Anne died, I wanted to care for him. Myself. I thought it would be fairly simple. That was my first mistake; thinking I had all the answers. And, of course, I was too proud, after I demanded to care for him by myself, to back down and let someone help me. I was angry at Anne's death and I didn't want anyone near me, except for Andrew, and I know that because of that Andrew suffered a few more bumps on the head, and perhaps is growing up a little too quickly with no other children around, and no mother, but I do believe that it is for the best, for him as well as for me. I see a lot of Anne in him; the way he dotes on me and his sweet, quiet disposition; his curious mind. When you have children, Bingley, it is the most frustrating, painful, maddening, irritating, wonderful, rewarding, joyful thing you can go through. Children are very demanding on your time and patience and energy, and you learn to pull it out of places you never knew you could. You run yourself ragged and the only thing you want in return is for this little person to look up at you at night, after story time, and say, 'Good-night, Papa, I love you.' It brings peace to my heart, and has taught me a multitude of things. I am no longer angry that Anne died; I miss her but I do not grieve for her any more. However, I still have the regrets, for what I didn't say cost me precious time with her. They eat at me every day. You won't know what Jane feels for you if you don't ask her, and if she truly cares for you, then your sisters should have no concerns. You should be happy. Don't have regrets, Bingley," he said. "No regrets."

"Miss Bennet! Miss Bennet!"

Elizabeth Bennet turned sharply at the noise coming from the staircase at Netherfield. She could hear one set of small feet and one set of much larger ones on the stairs. Andrew Darcy's smiling face turned the corner and met her.

"Master Andrew," she whispered, "you must keep quiet. Jane is rather ill."

"I am sorry," he whispered back, "but I am excited to see you. May I see Miss Bennet?"

"I am afraid she is too ill to have visitors," replied Elizabeth, touched at Andrew's kindness.

Mr. Darcy walked up behind his son. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet," he began. "Andrew means well. I trust he did not wake Miss Bennet?"

"Indeed, he did not," smiled Elizabeth. "It is perfectly all right."

"Andrew, please see me in the library," instructed Darcy.

"Yes, Papa." Andrew gave their visitor a bright smile and ran off with a wave.

"Has Miss Bennet improved at all since the morning?" asked Darcy.

"I fear not," replied Elizabeth, "but I am sure she soon will. It really is rather kind of Mr. Bingley and his sisters to have Jane stay, and to call a doctor for her."

"Well, I'm sure Miss Bingley thought it only appropriate, as she did invite your sister to dine last evening. She must feel slightly responsible."

"I only hope she does not feel put upon," replied Elizabeth, that consideration serious in the back of her mind.

"May I escort you down stairs?" asked Darcy, holding his arm out.

"That is very kind of you, but I must remain above stairs with Jane," replied Elizabeth. She smiled at Darcy. "Perhaps I shall see you and Master Andrew later."

He smiled hopefully in return. "Very well," he said, nodding, and headed down the stairs.

At half past six Elizabeth was summoned to dinner. To the civil inquiries which then poured in, and amongst which she had the pleasure of distinguishing the much superior solicitude of the gentlemen's, which included young Master Andrew, she could not make a very favorable answer. Jane was by no means better. The Bingley sisters, on hearing this, repeated three or four times how much they were grieved, how shocking it was to have a bad cold, and how excessively they disliked being ill themselves, and then thought no more of the matter.

Their brother's anxiety for Jane was evident, and his attentions to Elizabeth most pleasing, and they, coupled with Andrew's lively style of conversation and his father's quiet smile and watchful eye, prevented Elizabeth feeling herself so much an intruder as she believed she was considered by the sisters.

When dinner was over, she returned directly to Jane, and Miss Bingley began abusing her as soon as she was out of the room. Her manners were pronounced to be very bad indeed, a mixture of pride and impertinence; she had no conversation, no style, no taste, no beauty. Mrs. Hurst thought the same, and added, "She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild."

"She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all! Why must she be scampering about the country, because her sister had a cold? Her hair so untidy, so blowsy!"

"Yes, and her petticoat; I hope you saw her petticoat, six inches deep in mud, I am absolutely certain; and the gown which had been let down to hide it not doing its office."

"But Miss Bingley," protested Andrew, "if you were ill, would you not want Mrs. Hurst or Mr. Bingley to come visit you? Whenever I am sick, my papa always attends me."

"Yes, but you are a child, Andrew," she said irritably.

Bingley grinned at the boy. "Your picture may be very exact, Louisa," said he; "but this was all lost upon me. I thought Miss Elizabeth Bennet looked remarkably well, when she came into the room this morning. Her dirty petticoat quite escaped my notice."

"You observed it, Mr. Darcy, I am sure," said Miss Bingley, "and I am inclined to think that you would not wish to see your sister make such an exhibition."

"Indeed," agreed Darcy with a grin. "I would not be agreeable if Georgiana were to make such a journey in messy weather for Jane Bennet. Certainly not."

Miss Bingley ignored the sarcasm in his voice; all that mattered was that he had agreed, and she continued. "To walk three miles, or four miles, or five miles, or whatever it is, above her ankles in dirt, and alone, quite alone! What could she mean by it? It seems to me to show an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country-town indifference to decorum."

"It shows an affection for her sister that is very pleasing," said Bingley.

Mrs. Hurst began again. "I have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet, she is really a very sweet girl, and I wish with all my heart she were well settled. But with such a father and mother, and such low connections, I am afraid there is no chance of it."

"I think I have heard you say, that their uncle is an attorney in Meryton."

"Yes; and they have another, who lives somewhere near Cheapside."

"That is capital," added her sister, and they both laughed heartily.

"If they had uncles enough to fill all Cheapside," cried Bingley, "it would not make them one jot less agreeable."

Darcy had been caught by this conversation. "But it must very materially lessen their chance of marrying men of any consideration in the world," replied Darcy, almost to himself.

To this speech Bingley made no answer; but his sisters gave it their hearty assent, and indulged their mirth for some time at the expense of their dear friend's vulgar relations. With a renewal of tenderness, however, they repaired to her room on leaving the dining-parlor, and sat with her till summoned to coffee. She was still very poorly, and Elizabeth would not quit her at all till late in the evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep. On entering the drawing-room the whole party was at loo, with Andrew tucked into his father's forearm, and Elizabeth was immediately invited to join them, but she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below with a book. Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.

"Do you prefer reading to cards?" said he; "that is rather singular."

"Miss Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, "despises cards. She is a great reader and has no pleasure in anything else."

"I deserve neither such praise nor such censure," cried Elizabeth; "I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things."

"In nursing your sister I am sure you have pleasure," said Bingley; "and I hope it will soon be increased by seeing her quite well."

Darcy observed Elizabeth's heartfelt thanks to his friend, and then watched as she walked towards a table where a few books were lying. Bingley immediately offered to fetch her others; all that his library afforded.

"And I wish my collection were larger for your benefit and my own credit; but I am an idle fellow, and though I have not many, I have more than I ever look into."

Elizabeth assured him that she could suit herself perfectly with those in the room.

"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books. What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!"

"It ought to be good," he replied, "it has been the work of many generations."

"And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books."

"Andrew's share is quite as large as my own; we cannot comprehend the neglect of a family library in such days as these."

"Neglect! I am sure you neglect nothing that can add to the beauties of that noble place. Charles, when you build your house, I wish it may be half as delightful as Pemberley."

"I wish it may."

"But I would really advise you to make your purchase in that neighborhood, and take Pemberley for a kind of model. There is not a finer county in England than Derbyshire."

"With all my heart; I will buy Pemberley itself if Darcy will sell it."

"I am talking of possibilities, Charles."

"Upon my word, Caroline, I should think it more possible to get Pemberley by purchase than by imitation."

"Papa, you will not sell Pemberley, will you?" asked a very concerned young man at Darcy's side.

"Mr. Bingley is only teasing," replied Darcy with a smile at his son and a kiss on his head.

Andrew gave a satisfied smile and returned to watching the card game, smiling at Elizabeth on the other side of the room. She was so much caught by his innocent grin, as to leave her very little attention for her book; and soon laying it wholly aside, she drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister, directly across from Master Andrew.

"Is Miss Darcy much grown since the spring?" said Miss Bingley; "will she be as tall as I am?"

"I think she will. She is now about Miss Elizabeth Bennet's height, or rather taller."

"Aunt Darcy is very tall," chirped Andrew. "You would like her, Miss Bennet." He received a grimace from Miss Bingley for his troubles.

"How I long to see her again! I never met with anybody who delighted me so much. Such a countenance, such manners, and so extremely accomplished for her age! Her performance on the piano-forte is exquisite."

"It is amazing to me," said Bingley, "how young ladies can have patience to be so very accomplished as they all are."

"All young ladies accomplished! My dear Charles, what do you mean?"

"Yes, Papa, what does accomplished mean?" Andrew glanced up at his father, who patted his head.

"Yes all of them, I think. They all paint tables, cover screens, and net purses. I scarcely know any one who cannot do all this, and I am sure I never heard a young lady spoken of for the first time, without being informed that she was very accomplished."

"Your list of the common extent of accomplishments," said Darcy, "has too much truth. The word is applied to many a woman who deserves it no otherwise than by netting a purse, or covering a screen. But I am very far from agreeing with you in your estimation of ladies in general. I cannot boast of knowing more than half a dozen, in the whole range of my acquaintance, that are really accomplished."

"Nor I, I am sure," said Miss Bingley.

"Then," observed Elizabeth, "you must comprehend a great deal in your idea of an accomplished woman."

"Yes; I do comprehend a great deal in it."

"Oh! certainly," cried his faithful assistant, "no one can be really esteemed accomplished, who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved."

"All this she must possess," added Darcy, "and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."

"Papa," said a confused Andrew, "what does all of this mean?"

Elizabeth smiled at Master Andrew. "I am no longer surprised at your knowing only six accomplished women," she said to his father. "I rather wonder now at your knowing any."

"Are you so severe upon your own sex, as to doubt the possibility of all this?"

"I never saw such a woman, I never saw such capacity, and taste, and application, and elegance, as you describe, united."

Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley both cried out against the injustice of her implied doubt, and were both protesting that they knew many women who answered this description, when Mr. Hurst called them to order, with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward. As all conversation was thereby at an end, Elizabeth soon afterwards left the room.

"Eliza Bennet," said Miss Bingley, when the door was closed on her, "is one of those young ladies who seek to recommend themselves to the other sex by undervaluing their own, and with many men, I dare say, it succeeds. But, in my opinion, it is a paltry device, a very mean art."

Andrew didn't understand a word of what Miss Bingley had said, but didn't like the tone of her voice or the way she had glanced after Miss Bennet when she left the room.

"Undoubtedly," replied Darcy, to whom this remark was chiefly addressed, "there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."

Miss Bingley was not so entirely satisfied with this reply as to continue the subject, for which Andrew was grateful. He was beginning to learn that the sound of Miss Bingley's voice irritated him. His father soon shuffled him off to bed.

Mr. Darcy finished reading one letter and tucked another into his coat pocket, sitting back to sip his now-cold tea. They were from his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.

Andrew skipped into the breakfast room at Netherfield to join him. "Good morning, Papa," he chirped.

"Good morning, Andrew," replied Darcy.

"Do you have any news to tell me?" Andrew's blue eyes sparkled as they looked up at his father. This was their favorite part of the day, when Darcy would read letters from Colonel Fitzwilliam or Andrew's grandmother, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, and sometimes a story or two from the newspaper.

"Yes, I do," said Darcy, and he pulled the colonel's letter out.

Andrew grinned. "Would you read me the letter, Papa?"

Darcy nodded and unfolded the paper. "Certainly. It is from your cousin Richard, and he has written it just for you. Would you like to try?" He held out the paper to his son.

"Will you help me, Papa?"

"Of course I shall," said Darcy. "Come sit." He patted his knee.

Andrew happily crawled up there and snuggled into his father's lap. "I know how it starts," he declared. "He says, 'Dear Andrew.'"

"And do you know that because you can read it, or do you know that because it is customary to begin a letter like that?" Andrew giggled. "I guessed as much. Can you try the first word?"

"I."

Darcy paused, then encouraged his son to continue on to the next word. "Go on."

"I do not know it."

"If you wish to learn, you must try," encouraged Darcy. "If you do not know the word, you must sound it out. What is the first letter?"

"It is an h," said Andrew proudly.

"And the next?"

"O. And then a p, and an e."

"Now sound the word out. What does an h sound like?"

Andrew choppily annunciated, "Hhhooope. Hope."

"Very good, Andrew," praised Darcy, and Andrew grinned, and they continued with the rest of the words in the short letter. They were unaware of the pair of fine eyes that watched them from the entrance of the breakfast room until they had finished reading the letter.

When Andrew hopped off his father's lap, and Darcy rose to help him gather a plate of breakfast, Miss Elizabeth Bennet quietly entered the room and poured herself a cup of tea. The Darcys noticed her as they sat back down.

"Good morning, Miss Bennet!" exclaimed Andrew over the top of his father.

Elizabeth smiled and blushed. "Good morning, Master Andrew," she replied. "And Mr. Darcy."

"How is your sister this morning?" asked Darcy.

"She is well," replied Elizabeth. "Thank you for asking. She shall be down directly after me."

Darcy smiled warmly at her. After a few minutes, the elder Miss Bennet came down, and Andrew was quiet about her, until she gave him a happy smile.

"I am glad you are not ill anymore," Andrew whispered.

"I am sure Jane is also glad she is not ill anymore," replied Elizabeth with a wink at the boy.

"Thank you, Master Andrew," said Jane. "I am sorry I could not listen with you to the story Elizabeth told the other night, but I thank you for offering."

"It is quite all right," replied Andrew. "Miss Bennet, do you really have to go home today?"

"Yes, I do," replied Elizabeth, to whom that pair of round blue eyes looked.

"Are you sure you can not stay for just one more day?"

"No," laughed Elizabeth, sipping her tea. "We must go home. We are needed there, by our mama and papa, just like your papa needs you."

"I will miss you."

Elizabeth blushed, and Jane smiled at her. "Do not be so downcast, Andrew," she said confidently. "We shall meet again. After all, your papa's rather good friend lives but three miles from our family."

"Yes, but we are going to London in a few days," replied Andrew, obviously unhappy with the decision his father had made.

Elizabeth looked at a smiling Mr. Darcy. "But Master Andrew," she said, "did not you tell me that your aunt Darcy waits for you there?"

Andrew immediately brightened. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Of course! I had not thought of that. How silly!"

"You are far from silly," assured Miss Bennet, and from then until the time she departed Netherfield with her sister in tow, the two of them were inseparable.

Georgiana Darcy spoiled her nephew tremendously. She delighted in him; he was so much the miniature of his father that she often wondered to herself if she was treating him as the little brother she always wanted but could never have. When she was not in London she preferred to be where ever her brother and nephew were, and never ventured from their sides, spending hours reading to and playing with Andrew. She had even been afforded the opportunity to go to Ramsgate that summer, but had missed her two most favorite people so greatly that she turned it down, rather against the fond wishes of her companion, Mrs. Younge.

It had been a long time since she had visited her Aunt Catherine, and she had protested slightly when her brother informed her that she and her companion would be coming with on a trip to Kent.

"You are no longer in school, and you have no other excuse to offer," he had told her with a raised eyebrow. "It is high time we all make the trip."

Georgiana supposed it would not be all bad. She would have Andrew there, even though her aunt would not allow her to play with him as her brother would; she could read to him, and just be in his company. Her cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam would also be there to provide diversion from her aunt.

She found herself very tired at the end of the trip to Rosings Park, and was amused to find that even her stoic brother and energetic nephew had tired eyes, as well.

They were welcomed into the house and allowed to rest until supper. Conversation was dominated by Lady Catherine, as always, who was delighted to see her grandson's particular manners.

The following day was Easter and Lady Catherine announced that she would ask the parson from across the lane and his wife, accompanied by her sister and good friend, to dine with them that night. Georgiana hoped the ladies would be at least a little close to her in age. She was getting tired of sitting with her embroidery all afternoon, and though she loved to play, her aunt's constant insisting that she practice was wearing on her nerves.

Andrew had been upset that he was not allowed at the dinner table with his father, and Georgiana knew her brother was upset at it too, but wouldn't have disagreed with Lady Catherine.

She walked with her brother arm in arm downstairs to the drawing room that night at Rosings Park, complimenting him on how handsome he looked, and as they entered the room, she felt her brother stop. He stared at the parson's wife's guest, and Georgiana gently touched his elbow. "Fitzwilliam? Do you know her?"

Darcy let out a sigh. "I do," he said. He seemed unsure of what to do with himself, until his eyes caught hers, and she smiled at him.

Darcy returned her smile and got about the business of introducing Miss Elizabeth Bennet to his sister and cousin Richard. He admitted to himself that she was looking very well, and though he knew Miss Bennet would want to see Andrew and Andrew would want to see Miss Bennet, he did not call his son, only answered favorably to Miss Bennet that his son was enjoying himself in Kent and that he was well and sleeping.

Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed really glad to see Lady Catherine's dinner guests; any thing was a welcome relief to him at Rosings; and Mrs. Collins' pretty friend had moreover caught his fancy very much. He seated himself by her, and talked so agreeably of Kent and Hertfordshire, of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, and they conversed with so much spirit and flow, as to draw the attention of Lady Catherine herself as well as of Mr. Darcy. His eyes had been soon and repeatedly turned towards them with a look of curiosity; and that her ladyship after a while shared the feeling, was more openly acknowledged, for she did not scruple to call out,

"What is that you are saying, Fitzwilliam? What is it you are talking of? What are you telling Miss Bennet? Let me hear what it is."

"We are speaking of music, Madam," said he, when no longer able to avoid a reply.

"Of music! Then pray speak aloud. It is of all subjects my delight. I must have my share in the conversation, if you are speaking of music. There are few people in England, I suppose, who have more true enjoyment of music than myself, or a better natural taste. If I had ever learnt, I should have been a great proficient. And so would Anne, God rest her soul, if her health had allowed her to apply. I am confident that she would have performed delightfully. Georgiana has practiced a little while she has been here, Darcy, but could stand to do a little better."

Georgiana turned her head to roll her eyes, and Mr. Darcy spoke with affectionate praise of his sister's proficiency.

"I am very glad to hear such good praise of her," said Lady Catherine; "but you must agree, that she cannot expect to excel, if she does not practice a great deal."

Darcy smiled at his sister. "I assure you, Madam," he replied, "that she does not need such advice. She practices very constantly."

"So much the better. It cannot be done too much, Georgiana; do not neglect it on any account. I often tell young ladies, that no excellence in music is to be acquired, without constant practice. I have told Miss Bennet several times, that she will never play really well, unless she practices more; and though Mrs. Collins has no instrument, she is very welcome, as I have often told her, to come to Rosings every day, and play on the piano forte in Mrs. Jenkinson's room. She would be in nobody's way, you know, in that part of the house."

Mr. Darcy and Georgiana looked a little ashamed of their aunt's ill breeding, and made no answer.

When coffee was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam reminded Elizabeth of having promised to play to him; and she sat down directly to the instrument. He drew a chair near her. Lady Catherine listened to half a song, and then talked, as before, to her other nephew; till the latter walked away from her, and moving with his usual deliberation towards the piano forte, stationed himself so as to command a full view of the fair performer's countenance. Elizabeth saw what he was doing, and at the first convenient pause, turned to him with an arch smile, and said,

"You mean to frighten me, Mr. Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? But I will not be alarmed though your sister does play so well. There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me."

"I shall not say that you are mistaken," he replied, "because you could not really believe me to entertain any design of alarming you; and I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance long enough to know, that you find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which in fact are not your own."

Elizabeth laughed heartily at this picture of herself, and said to Colonel Fitzwilliam, "Your cousin will give you a very pretty notion of me, and teach you not to believe a word I say. I am particularly unlucky in meeting with a person so well able to expose my real character, in a part of the world where I had hoped to pass myself off with some degree of credit. Indeed, Mr. Darcy, it is very ungenerous in you to mention all that you knew to my disadvantage in Hertfordshire -- and, give me leave to say, very impolitic too -- for it is provoking me to retaliate, and such things may come out, as will shock your relations to hear."

"I am not afraid of you," said he, smilingly.

"Pray let me hear what you have to accuse him of," cried Colonel Fitzwilliam. "I should like to know how he behaves among strangers."

"You shall hear then -- but prepare yourself for something very dreadful. The first time of my ever seeing him in Hertfordshire, you must know, was at the home of his rather good friend, Mr. Bingley. You must know Mr. Bingley has a sister, do not you, Colonel?"

"Ah, I believe I do," replied the colonel, anxious to hear more of this story.

"Well, then, it might interest you to know that your gentlemanly cousin, in trying to entertain his young son, told Master Andrew a story which included Miss Bingley as the main character, depicting her as a witch, and frightening him of ever seeing her. Mr. Darcy, you cannot deny the fact."

"Well, can you, Darcy?" asked the colonel, amused.

Darcy cringed. "I am afraid I can not," he replied in a low voice. "But it was all in the hopes of entertaining Andrew, as you yourself said, and one can not be faulted for wishing to tell a harmless story to one's own son."

"True, and if you are to have some amusement of it, then so much the better. Well, Colonel Fitzwilliam, what do I play next? My fingers wait your orders."

"Perhaps," said Darcy, "I should have judged better, but if I am allowed a remark or two in my own defense, it was more than Andrew who was concerned in the story-telling, indeed it was your very nephew, Fitzwilliam, who asked for a scary story, and additionally, I am ill qualified to tell stories even for just Andrew each night."

"Shall we ask your cousin the reason of this?" said Elizabeth, still addressing Colonel Fitzwilliam. "Shall we ask him why a man of sense and education, and who has lived in the world, is ill qualified to tell his son and cousin a simple story at night, which will not frighten them?"

"I certainly have not the talent which some people possess," said Darcy, "of inventing silly tales with which to entertain children, and certainly not children which I do not know. I must have some assistance; my education was not in a writer's guild."

"My fingers," said Elizabeth, "do not move over this instrument in the masterly manner which I see so many women's do. They have not the same force or rapidity, and do not produce the same expression. But then I have always supposed it to be my own fault -- because I would not take the trouble of practicing. It is not that I do not believe my fingers as capable as any other woman's of superior execution."

Darcy smiled, and said, "You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one admitted to the privilege of hearing you, can think any thing wanting. We neither of us perform to strangers."

Here they were interrupted by Lady Catherine, who called out to know what they were talking of. Elizabeth immediately began playing again. Lady Catherine approached, and, after listening for a few minutes, said to Darcy,

"Miss Bennet would not play at all amiss, if she practiced more, and could have the advantage of a London master. She has a very good notion of fingering, though her taste is not equal to Anne's, God rest her soul. Anne would have been a delightful performer, had her health allowed her to learn."

Elizabeth looked at Darcy to see how cordially he assented to his dead wife's praise; and saw, to her amusement and only for a split second, the irritation in his features. She felt sorry for him, both for losing his wife and for the constant mention of it by her mother, sure that it was no easy subject for him.

Lady Catherine continued her remarks on Elizabeth's performance, mixing with them many instructions on execution and taste. Elizabeth received them with all the forbearance of civility; and at the request of the gentlemen, remained at the instrument till her ladyship's carriage was ready to take them all home.

Darcy reflected on the dinner guests later that night in the library with a glass of brandy. He stared out of the window, through which he could see nothing for the light of the fire burning in the grate. He swirled the rich amber liquid around in the heavy crystal glass, pensive.

"Well, Anne," he said, "you have certainly been blessed tonight." He wished Catherine had not so constantly brought her into the conversation. She was dead, for God's sake. "Your mother should let you rest."

He frequently spoke in this way to his late wife. It helped him to sort things out. He felt as if she were really listening to him, though she could give him no answer as to her opinion or what she might do in a certain matter. Of course, if she were alive, she wouldn't have done that. Anne had been a sweet, kind, obedient wife. She had done well in her brief management of Pemberley, for she was intelligent, but she considered her husband's intellect and ability above her own, and therefore never offered her opinion, never disagreed, and never did anything her husband might have frowned on.

But she was dead.

He took the last swig of brandy and swallowed, closing his eyes as it burned its way down his throat. Andrew needs a mother, he thought. No one is good enough for him. I do not know any of the ladies from town enough, Miss Bingley scares him, and Miss Bennet . . .

Darcy sighed. Miss Bennet could not be a consideration. Andrew needed a mother to teach him how a true lady acted in society; a mother who could help him teach the rights and wrongs of life; a mother who was a respected member of society, with connections, and family like his own.

Of course, he was not likely to find such a lady in Kent, and less likely to find one in Hertfordshire, where they would soon go to witness Bingley's marriage to Jane Bennet.

He wished with all of his heart that he could choose Elizabeth Bennet. Andrew was enamored with her; Georgiana had come out of her shell and talked with her that night. If there were nothing else to be concerned about, he would ask Miss Bennet to marry him.

He laughed. Marry her? Did I really think that? He walked over to an armchair and sat down, choosing the fire to stare at this time. He harrumphed. I suppose I did, didn't I?

Of course he would have asked her to marry him. He was in love with her. She was bright and beautiful and independent and impertinent and obstinate and teasing and dammit, he loved her.

But everything he did, must be for Andrew, and their worlds were too different. Catherine would never approve of a marriage to her, which would mean cutting herself off from her grandson. Of course, he reasoned, she would never approve of a marriage to anybody except the exact opposite of Miss Bennet, a stiff-mannered, straight-backed, perfect, powdered, rich, titled snob.

Much like herself.

Andrew would have to wait a while longer before he had a mother, he thought. He could not be in love with one woman and try to court another.

He resolved on returning to London after Hertfordshire; for a while, anyway.

Darcy soon went upstairs to retire. After he had checked in on the sleeping Andrew, he changed into his nightclothes, and crawled under the covers, trying to fall asleep. After a few moments, he felt a small hand on his chest.

"Papa," came a meek voice from beside his bed. "Papa, are you awake?"

"Yes, Andrew," he said automatically. He sat up. "What's the matter? I thought you were sleeping."

"Nothing is the matter, Papa. I just wanted to talk to you."

"I see," smiled Darcy, pulling his son up into his lap, covering him with the bed clothes. "You must be quiet; we would not want Grandmother to know you have sneaked out of bed."

"Papa, I do not like visiting Grandmother," he said. "I can not do the same things I can do at home. I always have to be with Mrs. Johnson, instead of with you."

"That is because your grandmother thinks children should stay with their nannies," explained Darcy. "Most children do."

"But you do not make me stay with Mrs. Johnson, Papa."

"Do you not like Mrs. Johnson, Andrew?"

"Oh, yes," he assured his father, "I like Mrs. Johnson. She teaches me all sorts of different things, and tells me stories, and reads to me from the history books. She is a very good nanny," he declared, "but she is not you."

Darcy smiled and kissed his son's dark curls. "I see," he said, rather proud that his son thought so highly of him. "Well, it will only be a few more days, and then we are on to see Mr. Bingley get married."

The mention of Mr. Bingley made Andrew's features light up. "Oh, yes, I remember!" he said happily. "We will be able to see Miss Bennet, won't we?"

"I suppose we might," said Darcy, his countenance turning all of a sudden.

"Papa, I think you should marry Miss Bennet."

"And why is that?"

"Because she is a very kind lady," he said. "Most of the ladies we meet are like Miss Bingley, who is mean, and she teases people."

"Well, I am not going to marry Miss Bingley," said Darcy, plucking Andrew from the bed, "nor am I going to marry Miss Bennet. Now off to bed with you." They both stood, and he patted the boy's head, praying the discussion would end there.

Andrew's face turned into a pout. "Do not you like Miss Bennet, Papa?"

"That is not the point, Andrew. It does not matter." The expression on his son's face was killing him, and he didn't know what to do but remain indifferent. It was very difficult.

"Why not? Why doesn't it matter?"

"When you are older, you will understand."

"But I wish to understand now, Papa," pleaded Andrew.

For some reason, Darcy snapped. "Andrew, there is nothing for you to understand now! You are too young; you are a little boy. Now this is enough. Stop this silly daydreaming about who I may or may not marry. I have made a decision and I intend to adhere to it. Do you understand? If you step more than one foot out of this house without me, I will take you to London and leave you there with Mrs. Johnson while I am in Hertfordshire."

"Papa--"

"I don't want to hear it, Andrew!" Darcy turned toward the fireplace. "Now go to your room. It is far past your bedtime."

"Yes, Papa," came his shaky voice, and though Darcy cringed, he did not turn around. He could do nothing to explain this to his young son; Andrew would just have to wait and find out for himself.

It wasn't like Andrew to remain upset at his father for very long, but when the second day after their conversation passed and Andrew had said nothing more than was absolutely necessary, and had twice refused a trip to town, Darcy began to regret the harsh way he had spoken to his son.

Andrew was too innocent to see past Miss Bennet's good points. All he saw was a very kind, pretty lady, and not the fact that her family and connections were far inferior to his own. He took Mrs. Bennet's antics seriously, where the older Darcy knew she was out for attention, and he thought the youngest two sisters were funny, rather than seeing the impropriety of their behavior.

Darcy saw the same things in Miss Bennet that his son had. She was possibly the only woman, aside from Georgiana, that Andrew looked up to with sparkling eyes.

Walking slowly the night before his departure around Rosings Park, he stopped when he saw a clearing in the tree branches above him, and he could see the clear night sky. "Anne," he whispered softly, "can you hear me?"

When he received no answer he closed his eyes. "I hurt him, Anne," he continued. "I hurt him. I don't know what to do."

Darcy was at a loss to explain why after two days his son would still not speak to him, but inside he was dying. Every day of his life for the past five years Andrew was there, eagerly learning from him and inadvertently teaching him something new. He remembered what pain he had gone through the first time he went back to London, when Andrew was five months old. He remembered how he had to keep himself busy to stop thinking about him, how he had returned two days early, and Andrew's giggle when he picked him up out of his crib to greet him. He knew then that he couldn't stand to be out of his son's company.

And now he had hurt him with just a few words. He had actually threatened to leave him alone. How could he have done such a thing?

He knew that just like his mother, Andrew was terrified of disappointing him; would rather die than disagree. But Andrew didn't know what he had done that was so wrong.

The difficult part was that Darcy didn't really know, either, and he didn't really know how to make it right. He didn't know how to get his little boy back. He almost wished for his long-dead wife to give him a sign; something that he would recognize, something that he could take comfort in as the right action. But Fitzwilliam Darcy was a rational man, a reasonable person. Anne was dead. He had accepted that. There was no help coming for him from beyond the grave.

His ears perked up as he looked at the night sky. Had he heard something?

There it was again.

He turned. He made the sound out; it was the crackling of twigs beneath boots . . . and something else.

Swooshing.

Of a cape . . . or a lady's gown.

He turned once more so that he faced the parsonage.

A small figure basked in moonlight walking briskly caught his eye. He stepped toward it.

"Miss Bennet."

She did not hear him. She quietly slipped into the parson's house and Darcy was alone.

Darcy's young son continued to be miserable until the day of the Bingley wedding. He managed to keep himself still in the church during the service, but when the Bingley's guests had gathered outside to bid them adieu, Andrew bolted from his father's side, directly to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and tugged on her gown.

"You look beautiful today, Miss Bennet," was the first thing he said to her. "I missed you."

Darcy, seeing this behavior from a few feet away, saw with some surprise and pleasure, that his son was smiling. He couldn't help a small grin himself.

"Why thank you, Master Andrew," replied Miss Bennet. "I missed you, too. How was your trip to Hertfordshire?"

"It went very smoothly," reported Andrew, and the two of them continued to talk for about ten minutes.

This would have been a normal sight to anyone's eyes, had Andrew been about three feet taller, twenty years older, and perhaps with a bit of sideburn. Andrew was a very lively child, normally, so for him to do anything that did not concern his father for a full ten minutes amazed his governess.

Darcy just watched his son, who was more animated than he had been in a week. He beamed -- positively beamed -- at Miss Bennet. But Andrew couldn't be allowed to go on with her forever, else he would not want to leave. He began to walk over to where they were standing.

"And how does your father do, Master Andrew?" asked Miss Bennet.

"I do not want to talk about my father," said Andrew firmly. "I do not care how he does."

Darcy stopped to listen.

"That is not a very nice thing to say about anyone, least of all your father," chided Miss Bennet. "What has made you so cross with him?"

"He was very mean to me," said Andrew, and Darcy's heart broke. "He told me that I would not understand something, but then did not explain it to me."

"I am sure he meant only good things, Andrew," said Miss Bennet.

"No, he was just being mean."

"Now, Andrew, is your papa normally very mean to you?" asked Miss Bennet, kneeling down by him.

"No, he is not, but--"

"And does he not take you nearly everywhere he goes? Does he not let you stay with him during the time when he does business, so that you can learn, as you ask? Many children stay with their governesses or mothers all day, and do not travel to half the places you have been to. And your father is very kind to you, I have seen that with my own eyes."

"I suppose you are right." Andrew hung his head.

"I know I am," said Miss Bennet with a smile. "He loves you very much, and you have a fine Papa."

"Yes, I do," brightened Andrew. He looked up and returned Miss Bennet's smile.

Darcy continued on to his son, sure he was not so fine a papa as she made him out to be, scarcely knowing what he would say to her. With a few reasonable words, she had made him favorable in his son's eyes again. "Andrew."

"Hello, Papa," he said, and took his father's hand.

Darcy squeezed it and smiled down at his son, and then looked up at Miss Bennet. "Hello."

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she said with a smile, and inquired of his and Georgiana's health.

Darcy replied that they were both well, and paused. Andrew continued to grip his hand. Georgiana walked up to them, greeting Miss Bennet warmly. Darcy watched this, also, with a smile.

A true lady . . . who can teach rights and wrongs . . . who is respected . . . she is all of these things. As for her family and connections, Darcy realized, they did not matter, and she could not help who they were. He had known he was in love with her, but didn't realize the extent of his love until just now. She was a miracle worker with Andrew, she encouraged conversation from Georgiana, and oh . . . she was so beautiful.

His coachman tapped him on the shoulder and informed him that their carriage was ready to take them to London. He nodded solemnly. "I am truly sorry we must go, Miss Bennet," he said.

Georgiana said her good-byes and offered to take Andrew to the carriage. Andrew gaily said his own farewells to Miss Bennet, assuring her that he would miss her again. She assured him the same, and they bowed to each other, her fine eyes sparkling. Darcy knew she must be telling the truth. This would be a difficult farewell.

When Georgiana and Andrew had skipped off, he looked at Miss Bennet. His gaze grew so intense that she soon looked away. "I am sorry, Miss Bennet," he said to her, wanting to take her hands. "It is only . . ." He did not know what to say to her. "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked.

"For what you just did with Andrew. He has been upset with me, justifiably so, for the past week, and I have not known what to do to rectify my actions."

"I can see that you love your son exceedingly," she replied. "It has been my experience that a person must remember what he has before he can complain about what he does not have. I merely reminded Andrew of that." She smiled at him for a moment. "I am sorry you are to go."

"As am I," he replied. "I thank you again. Andrew means the world to me. Everything I do must be for him, and sometimes I forget what that truly means."

Elizabeth smiled. "You are quite welcome. Be on to your family now," she said, "and have a safe trip to London."

"I shall." He swallowed nervously, not wanting to take his eyes off of hers.

"Au revoir, Mr. Darcy."

"Au revoir, Miss Bennet."

She turned and walked back into the church. Darcy stared after her a moment, and joined his son and Georgiana in the carriage.

He sat next to Georgiana, across from Andrew, and smiled at him. Andrew stood in the carriage, amongst protests from Mrs. Johnson, and took his father's hand again and smiled. Darcy swooped the boy into his arms. Against his wishes, tears formed in his eyes. "Andrew," he whispered, "I am so sorry I spoke to you so harshly."

"It is okay, Papa," said Andrew cheerily. "It is all better now."

Darcy laughed and squeezed him harder. "I love you, Andrew. You must know that."

"Of course, Papa. I love you, too." Andrew pulled away from his father a little to look at his aunt. "Can we hug Aunt Darcy, too?" he asked.

Darcy leaned over and wrapped an arm around his sister. She laughed and kissed Andrew's cheek. "I am glad you are not upset at your papa any more," she said. Georgiana had tried, in vain, to coax her nephew out of his downhearted state. "What made you change your mind?"

"He had a conversation with Miss Bennet," replied Darcy, looking at his son. "She made him feel better."

Andrew made himself comfortable in his father's arms. "Papa," he said thoughtfully after a moment, "will we ever be back to see Miss Bennet or Mr. and Mrs. Bingley?"

"Of course," replied Darcy. "I promise, we will return soon."

At breakfast in their London home, after the post had arrived, and all members of the Darcy party sat quietly with their letters, the oldest of that group held his son on his lap protectively. "Andrew," he began when the boy began to squirm, "do you like London?"

"Yes, Papa," he said, "but I do not like it as much as being at Pemberley."

"Why is that?" asked Darcy.

"Because I can not go outside and play," he replied, "and because Mrs. Reynolds is not here."

"But don't you like Mrs. Tuddle?" asked Darcy, already knowing the answer.

"Well, of course, Papa," he answered.

"Yes, of course," agreed Darcy with a smirk. "The problem that you have, Andrew, is that when you are at Pemberley you wish for Mrs. Tuddle, and when you are in London, you wish for Mrs. Reynolds. Both of them spoil you far too much."

Andrew giggled. "Papa," he said after a moment, "may I have a sip of your tea?"

"Of course," replied Darcy, handing him the cup. "It is hot, Andrew. Be careful."

Both of Andrew's hands wrapped around the delicate china cup his father handed him, but Darcy did not let go. Andrew took a tiny sip of the tea and swallowed. "You do not put anything in your tea, like Mr. Bingley does," he said. "Mr. Bingley puts sugar in his tea."

"Would you like to try it with a bit of sugar?" asked Darcy.

"Oh, yes, that would be nice, Papa."

Darcy happily obliged him, taking a fresh cup with a small amount of tea which Georgiana had poured for him, and placed a miniscule amount of sugar in it with the spoon. He blew on it until he was satisfied that it was cool, and let Andrew taste. "Do you like that, Andrew?" he asked.

"It is good," he replied, "but I like it the way you have it."

"Very well." Darcy took the sugared tea and placed it aside, taking another cup from Georgiana and handing it carefully to Andrew, cooling this cup, as well. He let Andrew have it and turned back to his letter, letting Andrew fidget with the cup for a while. After he began to squirm again, Darcy stifled a smirk. "Would you like some sugar, Andrew?"

Darcy watched Andrew's cheeks color as his lips turned into a smile. "Yes, Papa," he giggled.

He obliged him again. "You know, Georgiana," he began, "Mrs. Younge was wanting to go to Ramsgate all those months ago, and you turned her down so that you could be with us."

Georgiana was a little perplexed. "Yes," she said. "Why do you bring it up?"

"Well, I was thinking," he said, "that perhaps you could use a little holiday. Not somewhere so populated as Ramsgate, but perhaps, something similar. Perhaps Brighton."

"Where is Brighton, Papa?" asked Andrew.

"It is to the south," he reported, "by the sea."

"That sounds like fun," he declared, and Georgiana agreed.

"I am sure Mrs. Younge will be very pleased by such a trip," she said. "When shall we go, William?"

"We should depart in a few days, do you think?" He knew the abruptness of it would surprise the two of them, but since his meeting with Miss Elizabeth Bennet at the Bingley wedding, he no longer needed or wanted to be in London, and would finish his business soon enough. He would take Andrew and Georgiana to Brighton, so they could vacation together for a few weeks, and when he was through in London, they been invited to visit Mr. and Mrs. Bingley; the thought of that lady's sister so near to Netherfield was inducement enough for him to accept, even though he knew neither Georgiana or Andrew would like staying with Miss Bingley.

Georgiana agreed with their plan, and Mrs. Younge seemed only too happy to assist in planning the trip.

Georgiana decided she liked Brighton. It was a very lively place and there was quite a lot to interest her. Something she was especially interested in, was a certain handsome soldier named George Wickham. Mr. Wickham was the son of Georgiana's late father's steward, and she had known Mr. Wickham all her life, but due to circumstances she did not quite understand, she had not seen him for quite some time, and being a very trusting young woman, and considering him an old family friend, she began to spend quite a lot of time with him.

She could not have known, however, of the alliance formed between Mrs. Younge and Mr. Wickham. Having been so close to Georgiana's brother, he knew almost too much about the family, in particular, about Miss Darcy, and her dowry of thirty thousand pounds, which Mr. Wickham was determined to have.

Georgiana was very pleased to find, that a few days after her brother had left herself, her nephew, Mrs. Johnson, and Mrs. Younge in Brighton, they were joined by Miss Elizabeth Bennet and one of her sisters. Miss Lydia Bennet had been asked to come to Brighton by her particular friend, the wife of Colonel Forster, and Mr. Bennet had sent his second daughter along to keep a sensible eye over her.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet, in turn, was very pleased to find Georgiana and Andrew there; something of a refuge from her sister's giggles and nonsense. She admitted, though only to Georgiana, that she was a little disappointed that Mr. Darcy himself had not stayed, for she would have liked to say hello to him, and further admitted only to herself that was very disappointed to not be able to see him; that she missed his company.

Nonetheless, Andrew and Georgiana were wonderful to have as company. She was invited to dine with them quite often, but due to the purpose of Elizabeth's being at Brighton, she could only accept on a few occasions.

On one of those occasions, she was quite glad of a quiet dinner party, and she, Georgiana, Mrs. Younge, Andrew, and Mrs. Johnson passed an evening quite happily.

Georgiana, she found, was very quiet even in a small group, but with Andrew there, she could encourage conversation from her a little more. Georgiana spoke very fondly of him, when Mrs. Johnson had taken him off to bed.

"He is the sweetest boy I ever met," she said, "in any kind of company."

"He seems to like his aunt very well," commented Elizabeth. "I think you must spoil him."

Georgiana blushed. "I think, perhaps, I do, but only in my attentions to him. When we are all at Pemberley, my brother and I practically argue over him." Here she paused for a moment. "He looks so much like my brother, and he is so gentlemanly, but I think he gets his sweet disposition mostly from his mother."

Elizabeth looked at her gently. "Do you mind my asking whether you knew Mrs. Darcy well?"

Georgiana smiled. "I do not mind your asking at all," she said. "Anne was my cousin, but when I knew her, she was still of a rather sickly constitution. After her marriage to my brother, I saw her but once, right before she knew she would have Andrew. She had changed so materially. I think the only regret that she must have had was that she could not raise her son."

"Which I think your brother must make up for, at least a little," replied Elizabeth with a smile. "He is very devoted to his son, more so than most fathers I have seen with their young sons."

Georgiana nodded. "Yes. I think I am not the only one who spoils him."

Elizabeth laughed. "I think you must be right."

"But he himself spoils us," said Georgiana, "with the way he behaves so well, and his affectionate nature. It is very hard to be upset with him, if he should ever do something he ought not to do, when he is so sweet, and so sincere."

"I remember," began Elizabeth, "the first time I ever met Andrew and Mr. Darcy, it was near the grounds of Netherfield Park. They had just come to visit the Bingleys there, and Miss Bingley had scared him, and he had run out of the house, and found himself lost in the woods. I found him there on my walk, and took him back into the house. I remember the almost frighteningly angry look on your brother's face once he finally found his son, but it was gone in an instant, once Andrew apologized for running off and scaring his papa."

"Yes," laughed Georgiana, "I have heard that story more than once, from both Andrew and Mr. Darcy. But you see how good he is, how good they both are, and it is the little things that Andrew especially does. He and I were out walking with Mrs. Johnson today, and he saw a stone shaped like a heart, and he picked it up for me, because he thought I would like it." She reached down to remove it from her bag, and showed it to her friend.

"That is very sweet," smiled Elizabeth.

Georgiana returned her smile. "Indeed, it is. And it puts me in mind," she said, "I need to put it away. Will you walk with me, up to my rooms?"

Elizabeth agreed, and she followed Georgiana and Mrs. Younge.

"This is a very special jewelry box," said Georgiana once they had reached the dressing-room. "It has been in my family for three or four generations, on my mother's side. She left it to me, and my brother gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday." She opened a drawer and pulled out a small, white box, rather ornate and accented with gold along the edges. She smiled. "Andrew calls it my safe keeping box, because I never let anybody go into it; not even him." Georgiana opened the lid very carefully, and placed the stone even more so inside of it.

"It is a very beautiful box," commented Elizabeth. "You must be very proud of it, to be carrying it all the way from London and Derbyshire."

Georgiana giggled and admitted that she was.

Mrs. Younge had been observing this quite astutely. "It must be worth quite a lot," she whispered. "It must be, then . . . at least a hundred years old."

"I'm sure it is," replied Georgiana, "but it is worth very much more to my family and I." Elizabeth smiled at her kindly, and they began a new conversation.

Mrs. Younge, however, had taken a special amount of interest in the little box, and also took a special amount of interest in where Georgiana tucked it away that night. And when she was relieved of her duties after Georgiana retired, she took a special amount of interest in telling a certain person where he might find it.

"I'm sure you could get at least eight or nine hundred pounds for it, Georgie," she cooed at Mr. Wickham. "There is a man right here in Brighton, and if you give him my name, he won't ask any questions. He owes me quite a lot, that one."

And so it was settled that when Mrs. Younge and Georgiana went on an afternoon walk the very next day, Mr. Wickham would go about finding the jewelry box and selling it and everything else contained within.

He was very happy to find that the area surrounding Georgiana's rooms was very quiet. He sneaked into the room, he thought, without notice.

He was, however, mistaken, and once he had located the object he was looking for, he turned around to find a little boy standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing?" asked the little boy, who Wickham recognized as Georgiana's nephew, Andrew.

"I, uh . . . just taking this to be cleaned, is all," replied Wickham.

"My aunt's safe keeping box?" asked Andrew, curious. "I am sure you must be wrong. My aunt never allows anybody to go into it."

"Ah, no, no, I am to clean it. I was asked to do so," he said, and hoped that would be the end of it, but the young Master Darcy was of too curious a mind; too sharp an eye.

"Are you a servant here?" asked Andrew.

"Yes, yes I am. My name is . . . David," he lied, and swallowed nervously. "What is your name?"

"My name is And--" Suddenly Andrew stopped, getting a good look at him. "But wait a moment," he said, realizing he was being lied to, "you're not wearing servant's clothing. You are not a servant here, you're just a thief! You can't have that box, it belongs to my Aunt Darcy! Give it back!"

Wickham tried to soothe him. "Shh," he said, "there is no need to shout. Go and find your Aunt Darcy, she will tell you as much."

"I don't believe you!" shouted Andrew.

Wickham swerved as the little boy lunged for him. "Hush, would you please? If you don't believe me, there is very little I can do for you. Where is your nanny, hm? Perhaps you should find her, and she will tell you."

Andrew still did not believe him, and was determined to defend his aunt and her property quite forcefully. "Give it back!"

Mr. Wickham began to get irritated. "Get out of my way," he demanded finally. "This is mine now, for I have taken it."

"You can't have it!" hollered Andrew, jumping up onto a chair and then onto a table in pursuit of Mr. Wickham. "Give it back!"

"Shut up!" he yelled. "Why don't you understand? The box is mine. Now go away, you spoiled little brat, or I will tie you up and sell you away to the sausage factory!"

"I am not afraid of you!" he exclaimed, jumping down from the table. "Now give it back!" And he kicked Mr. Wickham squarely in the knee. He dropped the little box to grab his injured leg, and Andrew snatched it up, running away as fast as he could.

A month at Brighton soon drew to a close for Georgiana, and she sat pondering many things one night. The time she had spent with George Wickham had been delightful; he paid her every attention, told her how beautiful she was, and was generally charming and handsome. Last night, she had been determined to write to her brother and beg that he come to see what a transformation must have come over Mr. Wickham, from what he had known at school, from what ever it had been that he disliked about the man. Tonight, however, she hardly knew what she might write to her brother about, after her walk with Mr. Wickham, for he had proposed an elopement to her.

"I must write to him," she thought; then, "but I cannot!"

She paced, and sat, and fiddled with her embroidery.

She picked up a book, and put it down again, and paced.

And she paced.

She located a miniature of her brother that she carried with her wherever she went, and gazed at it a few moments.

"Fitzwilliam," she began, "you have done so much for me. The last thing in the world I would ever wish to do is disappoint you . . . but . . . but I so long for my own life - for my own name. My own place in the world.

"He has told me that he loves me and I believe him. I think I do wish to marry him." Georgiana smiled and put away the miniature. "I am sure that when you meet my Mr. Wickham again, you shall agree . . . he is perfectly amiable."

The solution was simple, really, she began to think, and wondered why she had not thought of it before. She resolved on telling Mr. Wickham of it on the morrow, and laid happily down to sleep.

"Georgiana, what are you writing?" asked Mrs. Younge as her charge sat after breakfast at the desk in her rooms.

"A letter to my brother," replied Georgiana.

Mrs. Younge smiled mischievously. "And what do you tell your brother of Brighton?"

"I am writing him to ask that he come to retrieve us early," replied Georgiana, not seeing the smile on Mrs. Younge's face fall. "I think he must meet Mr. Wickham again. I think if he does, they will soon become friends again. I think Mr. Wickham must have changed materially, from what my brother knew of him at school."

"You must not ask your brother to come!" declared Mrs. Younge, and she seemed panicked. "You do not understand, Georgiana, dear. Mr. Wickham has not changed a bit since your brother knew him." This, at least, was not a lie.

Georgiana looked at her sideways for a moment, confused. "But it cannot be that my own brother was so mean as to cause such a rift between the two of them after my father died . . . I have known my brother all my life, and never thought him to be disagreeable in the least."

"Of course you would think so, Georgiana, he is your brother, and you are very sweet to always be thinking the best of people. However, if you write to him and ask him to come to Brighton early to meet Mr. Wickham, he will never allow you to marry him. I don't think your brother is quite as amiable as you think."

These comments from her companion gave Georgiana pause again. "How did you know of Mr. Wickham's proposal?"

Mrs. Younge swallowed, and seemed nervous. "Mr. . . . Mr. Wickham and I talk . . . about a lot of things, since we have come here. Since we have met here." Her cheeks were flushed now, and she became defensive. "I am your companion, after all; I should know something about the people you are spending your time with. It is my duty, is it not?"

Georgiana nodded solemnly. "Yes, I suppose it is."

She did not say another word for fully ten minutes, as she turned back to her paper and tried to think. The tension in the room was interrupted, thankfully, by Andrew as he came in to ask his aunt to read a letter from their cousin Richard.

When she was done, Andrew spoke. "You seem upset, Aunt Darcy," he said. "Is anything the matter?"

Georgiana smiled down at him. "Just girl things," she replied, kissing his head. "Perhaps you should run along now; I am in a thinking kind of mood today."

"Well," said Andrew as he hopped off her lap, "I prefer it when you are in a playing kind of mood, but it is okay with me that you are in a thinking kind of mood. Perhaps your mood will change."

Georgiana smiled at her nephew. "Yes, perhaps it will."

"I know, Aunt Darcy. You might see if Miss Bennet is in a thinking kind of mood today, as well. Then you could think together. I am sure she is a good thinker."

"Yes, I'm sure she is," she chuckled. She waved as he trailed out of the room, thinking that he had a rather good idea.

First, though, she thought she would go to see her dear Mr. Wickham; surely he would understand. Once she located him, she explained everything to him. She would write to her brother and ask him to come to Brighton as soon as may be, and the two men would soon see that they could again be as good of friends as ever they were. They could be married from Pemberley, as she had always dreamed of; and perhaps, when the restoration of peace was made, they could live in London. But she was disappointed.

"Mrs. Younge was right, I think," he snapped matter-of-factly, to her great surprise. "You should absolutely not write the letter to your brother. He will never approve; you are day-dreaming. It is all nonsense."

Georgiana was rather taken aback by Mr. Wickham's strong response to her idea, but after a moment, she smiled. "But once he sees you again, and you are given the chance to talk things out, he will approve; I am sure of it."

"Do not be silly," grumbled Mr. Wickham. "Really, Georgiana, I had thought you better knew your own brother."

"But we should be married from Pemberley," she said, wanting for him to understand. "We should give our families the opportunity to see us happily married. I very much wish for you to meet my aunt and uncle from Matlock."

"Georgiana, that is rather selfish, don't you think? I have no family, as you should well know."

Georgiana was even more astonished at his harsh tongue than before, and paused again. "Please forgive me," she said quietly. "I did not mean to offend you."

Mr. Wickham was quiet, and turned to her. "My dear, you must understand that we must be very careful if we are to marry . . . very careful, and very quiet . . . and then, perhaps, when we return from Gretna Green, man and wife, we shall celebrate. Anything else will upset the plan."

Georgiana cocked her head. "The plan?" she queried. "I had not known there was a plan."

She was not entirely sure she liked the look in his eye when he replied, "That is perfectly all right, Georgiana dear. It has all been taken care of for quite some time now."

Mr. Wickham sent a pensive Georgiana off to morning tea, and sat with his friend Mrs. Younge for his own. "You should not worry so, my dear," he told her when she explained that she had narrowly stopped Miss Darcy from writing to her brother. "It is almost over."

"And what a great relief that will be," she said.

He laughed. "And what a great reward, as well! Her thirty thousand pounds shall be quite worth all the trouble."

They both laughed, and she agreed, when a figure at the doorway caught his attention, and he stood. He stuttered for a moment, but finally managed to speak.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, is it?" he cooed. "I do believe I met you a few months ago; in Meryton."

"Yes," she replied, smilingly. "Mr. Wickham. How very nice to see you here."

Mr. Wickham asked whether she knew Mrs. Younge; Miss Bennet replied that she did. "In fact, I was just looking for Miss Darcy. Do you happen to know where I might find her?"

"I believe she is taking her tea. Do you mind my asking what you need from her?" she asked, the nervousness in her voice not lost on Miss Bennet.

Miss Bennet smiled politely. "Not at all. I wondered if she might take tea with me, since I was not able to dine with her last night. But, if she is already engaged, I will not disturb her. Would you be so kind as to let her know that I was looking for her?"

"Of course, Miss Bennet," replied Mrs. Younge; Miss Bennet departed quickly, and Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge we left to wonder on how much she had heard of their conversation.

After pacing the halls for the remainder of the afternoon, Georgiana met with Miss Elizabeth Bennet, who invited her to take a quiet tea. She accepted, and after quite a lot of prodding on Miss Bennet's part, she finally opened up, and told her of Mr. Wickham's proposal.

"You see, I have always known Mr. Wickham. He is my late father's steward's son. When I was a child, Mr. Wickham was always very kind to me . . . which is why I never fully understood why my brother would not speak of him, shortly after my father's death. When I saw Mr. Wickham here in Brighton, it was quite a surprise, and dare I say a pleasant one. He is still very kind to me, and shows me every affection . . . and now, he wishes to elope with me."

"Do you think you are in love with him?" asked Elizabeth.

Georgiana did not know how to answer her friend's question. "I thought I was," she said quietly, "and I was certain he was in love with me . . . until this morning, just before tea, when I spoke with him. His manner was very different from the other times I have been with him. But . . . perhaps, he was tired, or upset over something else."

"I suppose," conceded Elizabeth, but she wasn't convinced. She had never any real reason to like or dislike Mr. Wickham; apart from what she knew of him in Meryton, she was not quite so acquainted with him as she would have liked to be at the moment Georgiana sought her counsel. But she had always thought it odd that he should take such a liking to Miss Mary King as soon as he knew that she had a sizeable dowry, and she knew what he had said that morning about someone's thirty thousand pounds; whether it was Georgiana's or not was immaterial. Additionally, she could not believe that anyone could be in love with another, in the way wives and husbands were supposed to be, when the relationship had, until a month ago, been as near to a brother and sister as Georgiana described to her.

"I do not know what I will do," said Georgiana. "But I know I must make as good a decision as can be made, without disappointing anyone involved."

"That is very true," replied Elizabeth, "and please remember that your family must be your first consideration. They are as close to you as anyone can be right now, and should you find you have made the wrong decision, they will still care for you. You can not be assured of that in the case of Mr. Wickham."

Georgiana knew Elizabeth was right and told her as much. "I hope you will keep what I have told you in confidence."

Elizabeth smiled. "You may have my assurances that your brother knows nothing of our conversation, Miss Darcy."

"Thank you, Miss Bennet." Georgiana swallowed. "What do you think of it; of all I have told you?"

Elizabeth considered it for a moment, and decided she must be completely honest with the younger girl. "I know this will sound harsh, but I do not believe Mr. Wickham is in love with you. I think he is in love with what a marriage to you would give him, and that is just money. You must admit, it is all very strange, Mr. Wickham and Mrs. Younge both not wanting you to write to your family to hope that they will approve of your choice. And I think you are in love with love," she said gently. "You are a very young woman and you have a long time to decide who your husband should be. There are other more important things for you to accomplish before you marry. You are in a very privileged position, and you can marry where you choose without much trouble from your brother. His loss of Mrs. Darcy affected him very, very deeply, and he would not deny you the man you love, if you truly love him. But you must love him, and not love what pretty things he tells you or what a handsome face he has. You must know yourself before you can know love for another."

Georgiana rose and looked out the window, and was silent for a great while. Miss Bennet patiently waited her response. "Mr. Wickham would take me away from Andrew, would not he?"

"I would suppose he must," replied Elizabeth. "He is a soldier."

"And I do not suppose he would much care, would he?" she continued. "He does not like Andrew. He does not even wish to be seen by Andrew."

Elizabeth couldn't imagine anyone not liking the five-year-old, and was touched at Georgiana's love for him. "This is something you must decide on your own, Miss Darcy. I know you will make the right decision."

Georgiana crossed the room and unexpectedly embraced Elizabeth. "Thank you for your kindness, Miss Bennet," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. "I know what I must do."

August 11, 18-

Waterford Inn, Brighton

Express

To Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Pemberley, Derbyshire

My dear brother,

I hope that this letter finds you quite well.

I wish you would come to Brighton to retrieve Andrew and I as soon as may be. Along with the quite agreeable company of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, which I mentioned in an earlier letter, we have also encountered Mr. Wickham.

I know not what passed between you and Mr. Wickham to make you so disagreeable towards him; however, now, due to circumstances I would rather inform you of in person, I believe that he is, at least somewhat, deceitful in nature.

I am not afraid that any physical harm will come to myself or to Andrew; it is only that I would wish to be removed of his company and see my dear brother again, for you are always able to make things seem right. Ordinarily I would be able to trust my companion Mrs. Younge; however, I do not believe that to be the truth in this instance. I promise I shall explain everything when you arrive.

Again I beg you, please come directly, for I shall not be easy until you are here.

I am your loving sister,

Georgiana Darcy.

Mrs. Reynolds' eyebrows were knitted together as she read the missive from Miss Darcy. It was left on the floor of the library Mr. Darcy had been in when she brought the express to him. In no way was it in her habit to read Mr. Darcy's personal correspondence, but the reaction this particular one had left him with was quite astounding and completely without explanation.

It seemed a perfectly normal letter, only one sent express. Lady Catherine was quite in the habit of sending her correspondence express, for no particular reason. She brought the letter to him in the library, he thanked her and tore it open. Before she had reached the door on her way out, Mr. Darcy ran past her, shouting for his steward and his manservant, and had only waited long enough for the stable hands to prepare his coach before he left.

Mrs. Reynolds shuddered at the letter, and sent up a prayer that her master would arrive safely, and return his sister the same.

Since their conversation a few days prior, Miss Darcy had chosen to spend quite a lot of time with Miss Bennet. Miss Bennet would be leaving Brighton soon; Mr. and Mrs. Bingley had arrived that morning to stay only a little more than a fortnight, and bring Elizabeth and Lydia home to Longbourn.

The morning after the Bingleys had arrived, Miss Darcy and Miss Bennet were reading their letters and chatting quietly when Andrew and Mrs. Johnson joined them.

"What are you up to this morning, Master Andrew?" asked Miss Bennet of her young friend, after he had greeted her.

"Mrs. Johnson says she will help me write a letter to my cousin Richard, but I do not have a pen. I am going to ask my aunt if I may borrow one of hers. She has very nice pens."

Miss Bennet smiled at him as he grinned at her and walked over to his aunt. He tugged on the skirt of her gown. "Aunt Darcy?"

Miss Darcy, acting as though she had not seen him walk into the room or talk to Miss Bennet, peeked over the top of her letter. "Hello, Andrew. What may I do for you?"

"I was wondering if I may borrow one of your pens?" he asked. "Mrs. Johnson says she will help me write a letter to my cousin Richard, but I do not have a pen and Mrs. Johnson's needs to be repaired." He looked up at her sheepishly then. "I'm afraid I was trying to write by myself and pressed a little too hard with it."

"It is all right, Andrew," said Mrs. Johnson. "Let's not worry about it. But now we must learn to do it correctly."

"Andrew, your aunt is still reading her letters," said Miss Bennet. "I am sure I can find a pen from the innkeeper, if that would be all right with you."

"You would not mind, Miss Bennet?" asked Miss Darcy.

"Not at all. I shall be right back." She smiled at Andrew, set down her own letters, and headed for her room. When she stepped out into the hallway, she quite literally ran into Mr. Darcy.

After she had excused herself and they had greeted one another, she smiled at him, but noted that he looked rather tired and agitated. "Are you quite all right, Mr. Darcy?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said, his voice dry. "I apologize, Miss Bennet, but do you know where I may find my sister? It's rather urgent that I find her."

"Yes," replied Miss Bennet. She stepped aside and gestured to the room she had just exited. "She and Andrew, and Mrs. Johnson are there."

He tossed a curt thank you over his shoulder and all but ran into the room. She heard Andrew's excited squeal upon seeing his father, and then alternately Mr. Darcy's deep voice and Georgiana's soft one. Knowing what his arrival must have been about, considering his agitated nature, and considering that it was she who had taken his sister's express to the post, she turned to retrieve the pen she had promised Andrew, but when she got back to the room, it was empty. Even her own letters were gone.

She thought she must have looked quite silly, standing in an empty sitting room holding a pen that seemed to serve no particular purpose, and mumbling to herself. Since she was sure Mr. Darcy and Georgiana were engaged privately, she thought she might find Mrs. Johnson and Andrew outside.

She searched, but to no avail. However, Miss Darcy was engaged to dine with Elizabeth and the Bingley party that evening. She hoped she would be able to keep the appointment.

Assuming that if Georgiana were unable to come, she would have sent a note in ample time, Elizabeth proceeded with preparations herself for her guests. She was thankful that Mrs. Forster had a sensible housekeeper who was able to take care of the dinner preparations very well. Lydia and the Forsters had a dinner engagement of their own with Lord and Lady Annesley, who Elizabeth liked very much. She was comfortable enough with Lydia's companions for the evening that she was able to focus on her own.

Georgiana, she knew, would be happy to spend an evening with her, and the feeling was quite mutual. Mrs. Johnson was quite an entertaining lady, very good with Andrew. Stern enough to be an excellent governess, and lively enough to spurn Andrew's imagination. And Andrew himself was a delight in many ways; Elizabeth had never met such a wonderful young man.

And then, of course, there would be the dinner guest she had not counted on - Mr. Darcy. Sometime mid-day, Elizabeth received a short note from Georgiana explaining that her brother would be joining her. Every time she thought about him she stopped fussing and brushing and pinching, and stared into the looking-glass, imagining he was looking back at her. She dreamt of his soft brown eyes and the steady gaze they always had, the masculine curve that his cheek made down to the cleft in his chin, and right above it, his chubby lips forming her name. She knew she was foolish to be daydreaming like this, but she could not help it. His devotion to his son had long ago secured her good opinion of him, no matter what Mr. Wickham might have said. That he was very tall and very handsome only added to his qualities, and his rich, deep voice . . .

But Mr. Darcy did not need a wife, she told herself, nor did he appear to want one. He had an heir, after all, and clearly did not need to make his fortune through marriage. And even though he had been very benevolent and thoughtful toward her, she had no reason to believe that any of his attentions, though she thought they were particular, were meant as anything but a kindness.

"And so you should take care to control where your eyes and thoughts wander tonight, Miss Lizzy," she told herself. Perhaps, then, it was a good thing that Mr. Bingley's sisters had accompanied him.

Having anxiously inquired of the cook whether she had received and attended to all of her instructions with care, Elizabeth had nothing further to do but wait for her guests.

The Bingleys arrived first, and Elizabeth received as civil a greeting from his sisters as she ever would have expected. Mr. Bingley's, of course, was in every way superior to theirs, and Jane was nothing if not delighted to see her sister.

"Pray, Miss Eliza," cooed Miss Bingley when they were settled in Mrs. Forster's drawing room, "are you quite certain that Miss Darcy will join us this evening? Her brother has lately arrived, you know, and he might not wish society after his journey . . . even such limited society." Her thin lips then pulled into what Elizabeth thought was a rather miserly kind of smile.

She comprehended Miss Bingley's meaning entirely, and wished heartily for the nerve to tell her what she thought of it. "In fact," she said instead, "I saw Mr. Darcy this morning on his arrival. Miss Darcy sent a note that he would escort her."

Caroline nodded, another grimace spreading across her features. "Excellent," she declared. "I shall be delighted to see them both."

"I am glad," said Elizabeth, noting that she had not mentioned, and probably did not remember the existence of, Andrew. She was surprised to note also that this fact quite perturbed her.

"Lizzy," said Jane, quite obviously trying to ease the tension between her sister and her sister-in-law, "did I tell you that Mr. Bingley and I shall travel to London in October, and spend some time with our aunt and uncle Gardiner?"

"No, you did not," replied Lizzy, smiling. "Did the Gardiners issue the invitation? You must be well pleased." She snuck a look at Mr. Bingley, noticing his gaze on Jane, who blushed and nodded. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst only ignored them, having scoffed at the visit to such low relations, and looked around the room for something to insult.

"Miss Eliza," cooed Miss Bingley again, "where have the good colonel and his wife run off to this evening?"

"They are dining with Lord and Lady Ashford," replied Elizabeth.

"How kind of them," smirked Miss Bingley, and her sister agreed.

"And to have accepted your youngest sister, too," said Mrs. Hurst.

Elizabeth looked at Mrs. Hurst a long moment, just long enough to make her uncomfortable. Now, she found herself wishing for, rather than nervous for, the arrival of Mr. Darcy. She was quite certain that he would bring his son, and Andrew did have a remarkable talent for making her quite at ease.

She did not find herself wanting very long, for in just a few moments Miss Darcy was announced; her brother and nephew followed her.

Master Darcy was quite well dressed for the occasion, and Elizabeth wondered where on earth Mrs. Johnson had found such a small coat and cravat, which Andrew constantly yanked at.

On greeting him, Elizabeth could not help but smile and remark on his attire. "You must have gone to a lot of trouble, and I think this is perhaps the first time you have ever worn one of these." She tugged lightly on his cravat.

"Mrs. Johnson said that it was loose," he complained, "but it does not feel loose to me. I am glad I am still a child and do not have to wear one every day, like my Papa does."

Elizabeth smiled at him again, happy to see him. He seemed to be able to lift her spirits, and though she knew Mr. Darcy was looking at her, she did not mind.

"You look very beautiful this evening, Miss Bennet." Andrew smiled up at her.

She felt her cheeks flush as she thanked him. "You're very kind."

"He is very correct," said a deep voice behind her, and she turned to see Mr. Darcy. They greeted one another, Elizabeth sure that her cheeks were bright crimson, and Darcy quite pleased at the sight.

She noted that there was something relaxed in his eyes; something happy and content, and she told herself most sternly that it was because he knew his sister was safe, and for no other reason. And, if her pulse hadn't quickened each time he looked at her in such a way, she might have believed it.

Elizabeth excused herself for a moment to make some minor adjustments in the seating arrangements for dinner. By the time she returned to her guests, dinner was announced.

Elizabeth sat at the head of the table. Mr. Darcy and Jane were seated to her left and right, across from one another. Andrew was next to his father; Miss Darcy was next to him, and Mr. Bingley was next to his wife. As to the others, Elizabeth neither noticed nor cared. She was too busy watching Andrew copy every move of his father's, from the way he spread his napkin on his lap to the way he held his fork.

"What business takes you to London this October, Mr. Bingley?" she asked, trying not to watch Andrew too much.

"Some small estate business," he replied. "I will be meeting with my solicitors. I think it very likely that I will soon purchase an estate."

"Do you know where it will be?" asked Elizabeth.

"Not in Hertfordshire," volunteered Miss Bingley, whose brother shot her a disapproving look.

"Pity," replied Andrew, quite seriously. "I rather like Hertfordshire."

"You know you and your father are welcome to Netherfield any time you would like to visit," said Jane, smiling at Andrew.

"Thank you, Mrs. Bingley," said Andrew, taking a sip of water from his glass. "Miss Bennet, do you really have to return to Hertfordshire? Perhaps you could come visit my Aunt Darcy in London."

Elizabeth smiled at Andrew, but before she could reply, Miss Bingley piped up. "I am sure Miss Bennet's mother needs her at home. Miss Darcy, how long do you intend to stay in London? For you know Mrs. Hurst and I shall be there as well."

The look that Elizabeth observed Mr. Bingley give his sister led her to believe that she had made no previous mention of accompanying he and his wife to London, and it almost made her laugh. Miss Darcy replied, quietly, that she would only be there as long as her brother's business required him to be there, and when he returned to Pemberley, so would she.

"Miss Bennet," said Mr. Darcy, surprising her a little, "I understand you shall be leaving Brighton soon. Mr. Bingley mentioned that your party would be leaving the day after tomorrow, I believe."

"Yes," she said. "I am very anxious to go home; I miss my father very dearly."

"And so he must miss you."

She smiled at him quite warmly, and he smiled back. She would have preferred to stay that way, receiving that tender gaze from the deep, chocolate eyes of Mr. Darcy, but other guests at the table fortunately reminded her that they were not alone. "Indeed, he has written that he misses both Jane and I," she managed to squeak.

"Jane he may not have back," quipped Mr. Bingley, which earned him a smile from his wife.

"I understand, Miss Bennet," said Andrew, and when Elizabeth looked down the table at him, she had to stifle a chuckle

"I am sorry to hear that your father misses you so much," said Georgiana, smiling at her nephew. "I would love for you to see Pemberley, and would invite you there as soon as we are settled, but that should only be another fortnight."

Elizabeth smiled. "That is very kind of you, Miss Darcy," she said. "But I promise to be a diligent correspondent."

Georgiana expressed her delight in this, and conversation flowed along rather to Elizabeth's liking during the remainder of the meal. The party moved to a large drawing room, fitted with a pianoforte, and Elizabeth and Georgiana were both induced to play.

Their visit did not continue long after Elizabeth and Georgiana had each played, and the Bingley party returned to the inn, with the Darcys. While Mr. Darcy was assisting Mr. Bingley with some minor piece of business, Miss Bingley was venting her feelings in criticisms on Elizabeth's person, behavior, and dress. But Georgiana would not join her. Her brother's recommendation long ago was enough to ensure her favor; his judgement could not err, and he had spoken in such terms of Elizabeth as to leave Georgiana without the power of finding her otherwise than lovely and amiable, long before she became more intimately acquainted with her. When Bingley and Darcy returned to the saloon to join the others for coffee, Miss Bingley could not help repeating to him some part of what she had been saying to his sister.

"How very ill Eliza Bennet looks this evening, Mr. Darcy," she cried; "I never in my life saw any one so much altered as she is since the winter. She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again."

However little Mr. Darcy might have liked such an address, he contented himself with coolly replying, that he perceived no other alteration than her being rather tanned, no miraculous consequence of travelling in the summer.

"For my own part, I must confess that I never could see any beauty in her. Her face is too thin; her complexion has no brilliancy, and her features are not at all handsome. Her nose wants character, there is nothing marked in its lines. Her teeth are tolerable, but not out of the common way, and as for her eyes, which have sometimes been called so fine, I never could perceive any thing extraordinary in them. They have a sharp, shrewish look, which I do not like at all, and in her air altogether, there is a self-sufficiency without fashion, which is intolerable."

Andrew rumpled his brow and cocked his head at Mr. Bingley's sister, who he was quite sure was a gypsy. "Miss Bingley, you do not think Miss Bennet is very pretty?"

Miss Bingley gave a snort. "Ah, little child - so innocent, so simple! Of course I do not think she is very pretty. I can scarce see how anybody can."

"Well, if Miss Bennet is not very pretty, then you are a toad face!"

Miss Bingley could only gasp at this comment from the five-year-old, and was equally as shocked when he narrowed his eyes and stuck his tongue out at her. Mrs. Johnson did not know what to do except apologize to Miss Bingley and turn the child away. Unable to stop the smirk from spreading across his face, Mr. Darcy mumbled an inaudible comment and followed them out of the room.

Andrew was promptly sent away to his rooms, and Mrs. Johnson and Mr. Darcy were left to confer on what his behavior had been for the past several weeks.

"This is quite unusual, Mr. Darcy," she explained to him. "He has been a perfect child all evening. And the entire time you have been away, he has been behaving as if you were watching over him, just the same, good way that he behaves when in London and at Pemberley."

Darcy sighed and shook his head at his son's governess. "I do not wish to keep him locked in his chamber," replied Darcy. "I can not see what it would do, other than making Andrew resent me."

"Mr. Darcy," replied Mrs. Johnson gently, "I do not see how you can not punish him. Even though he was only trying to defend the honor of a lady he is quite fond of, he must be taught that he can not go round sticking his tongue out when someone says or does something he does not like."

"Mrs. Johnson, I do understand, but I beg you must indulge me this one time. To be perfectly honest, Miss Bennet is someone who we both admire very much, and even you admit that this episode is rather unusual. If nothing else, consider that he well knows how wrong it is to judge others and make sport of them."

"I understand, Mr. Darcy . . . but perhaps I would feel a little more at ease if you go and speak with him on this."

Darcy nodded. "Yes, of course I will. Though I still do not want to set down any very severe punishment on him."

"If that is what you wish, Mr. Darcy," said she, a little more easy now that her young charge's father was present.

"It is. I thank you, Mrs. Johnson."

Darcy allowed his son to stew for a few moments, then went up to his rooms. Andrew was ready to defend himself as soon as his father walked in the door.

"Papa, I know you are very upset with me," he exclaimed before Darcy had the chance to speak, "but if you scold me, then you must also scold Miss Bingley. It is only fair." Then he crossed his five-year-old arms across his chest in a pout.

Darcy raised his eyebrow. "I see," he said quietly. "And why is that?"

"Because she is mean, and she is mean all the time," continued Andrew. "I was only mean once."

"So you admit that you were mean to Miss Bingley?"

"Yes, sir," he replied, quietly. "I would not want to be called a toad face."

"Two wrongs do not make a right, Andrew."

"Yes, sir."

Darcy sighed and sat down next to his son, pulling him onto his lap. "I was hoping you could tell me," he said, "if something were the matter?"

"No, Papa."

"You do not always act this way around Miss Bingley," said Darcy. "Mrs. Johnson says you have been behaving like a gentleman, when I have been away. Is she making up stories? Should we go and ask her?"

"No, Papa. I have been good."

"Then perhaps you have something you would like to tell me? This is not like you, Andrew."

For a moment, Andrew was quiet, and Darcy pulled him into his lap. "I am sorry, Papa."

"I think you are so upset with Miss Bingley because you like Miss Bennet very much. It upsets you when Miss Bingley says mean things about her."

"Yes, Papa," he admitted quietly. "And I do not understand why Miss Bingley is so very mean to Miss Bennet, either."

"Andrew, sometimes two people simply don't get along. They are too different. That doesn't mean that they should be unkind to one another, but sometimes that just happens."

"Well, it does not make any sense to me, Papa," declared Andrew. "Miss Bennet is very kind, and very pretty, and I like her very much."

"Can I tell you something, my son?"

Andrew looked up at him and nodded, his dark curls bouncing against his forehead, watching his father as he smiled. "I like her, too."

Andrew now smiled as well. "Yes?"

Mr. Darcy nodded. "Yes. I like her very, very much, and I promise very sincerely that when we return to Hertfordshire, we shall call upon Miss Bennet. Our friend Mr. Bingley is married to her sister; perhaps we shall even be so fortunate as to dine with her."

"Papa, I knew you liked her!" declared Andrew, throwing his arms around his father's neck.

"Yes, I do," smiled the older Darcy as he hugged his little boy. After a moment, he set Andrew back down on his lap. "I have a secret," he said mischievously.

Andrew's eyes shone. "What is it, Papa?"

"Do you know what Mr. Reynolds calls Miss Bingley?" he asked. His son shook his head; he leaned in and whispered. "Hatchet Face."

Darcy was rewarded by a healthy giggle from his son, which induced him to begin tickling, until they were reminded that it was far past the boy's bed time by Mrs. Johnson, who was trying very hard not to laugh at them.

Three weeks after her return to Longbourn House, Miss Elizabeth Bennet was not very surprised to have a letter from Miss Georgiana Darcy, who had lately arrived at Netherfield Hall with her brother and nephew. Miss Darcy wrote that apparently, Mr. Bingley required some great assistance from Mr. Darcy, and Mr. Darcy had welcomed his sister to travel with him. She also wrote that she hoped that Mrs. Bingley would invite her to dine with them soon, not knowing that Elizabeth walked in the direction of Netherfield every few days, even if she was able to visit only a moment or two with Jane.

Miss Darcy was surprised to see Elizabeth in the sitting room a few mornings after she sent the letter, patiently waiting on Jane. She smiled very widely and the two greeted each other warmly. "Miss Bennet," she said, "I did not know anyone had come to call. I shall fetch Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst."

Elizabeth laughed. "Please, do not," she said. "I come to call on Jane far too often for their taste; they do not enjoy being bothered by me this early in the morning. But Jane has been expecting me. She will come as soon as she is ready."

"Would you mind if I sat with you?" asked Miss Darcy. "It is so lovely to see you again."

"Thank you, Miss Darcy," blushed Elizabeth, "I would like it very much indeed." She asked after Miss Darcy's brother and his son.

"Oh, I believe they are still reading their letters in the breakfast room. They will be along directly."

"I have heard through Jane that Andrew is learning quite well to read, and spends every moment that he can in Mr. Bingley's library."

"Yes," laughed Miss Darcy, "he will soon drive William mad, I am sure of it. But he does not mind."

"I am a little more than inclined to believe you, Miss Darcy," replied Elizabeth with sparkling eyes.

Miss Darcy blushed. "My brother is so good to me; you can not imagine, Miss Bennet. No one can boast a more kind or generous brother than he."

Elizabeth smiled again. "I cannot boast a brother at all, for as you know, I have none, only four sisters," she commented.

Miss Darcy returned the smile. "I should have liked to have a sister."

Elizabeth chuckled a little. "Perhaps you might be careful what you wish for," she said. "Sisters are not always good things to have. Except, when they are as Jane is."

Georgiana blushed. "I wish Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst knew what good fortune they have with such a sister," she said. "I could only hope to be so fortunate myself."

Elizabeth was quiet for a moment. "You suppose your brother to marry again, then?" she asked, not really looking at Miss Darcy.

Her averted eyes made it quite possible then for Georgiana to smile and say, "Yes, and I hope he will not wait much longer, for I am growing rather impatient."

Elizabeth turned to look at Georgiana, cautiously, wondering on what she meant. She felt that it was unmistakable that Mr. Darcy was attracted to her. When she had last seen him in Brighton, she felt his burning gaze every time he turned his head to look at her; far more than just a simple, friendly glance. She knew he really liked her, but that was not why she was made nervous at Georgiana's comment. She knew she really liked him. She loved him.

A small voice coming from the hallway saved her from having to reply. "Papa, I hear someone in the sitting room. Mr. Bingley must have a visitor; that is where he is hiding."

The gentleman who followed the little voice could only grin at his innocence, for he knew exactly where the recently married Mr. Bingley was hiding and how he was spending his time. The sitting room voices were probably just Georgiana and Miss Bingley. He turned the corner and entered the room, surprised to find Miss Elizabeth Bennet curtseying quite formally to his son. His heart skipped a beat.

"And of course you remember my papa, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy." Andrew walked over to his father and took his hand, leading him forward a bit.

"How could I forget?" was Miss Bennet's reply, and she acknowledged his bow with a curtsey of her own. Her flushed cheeks did not go unnoticed by Mr. Darcy, and Miss Darcy was not entirely surprised to find her brother smiling - a real, true, unmistakable smile - at Miss Bennet.

Mr. Darcy and Miss Bennet spoke happily for a moment while Miss Darcy and Andrew looked on. They soon were joined by Mr. Bingley.

"Good morning, everyone," he said in a worried tone. "Miss Bennet, I am sorry to rush you, but Mrs. Bingley finds herself rather unwell this morning, and asked for you to come to her."

"Oh, um . . . of course, Mr. Bingley," said Elizabeth, a little flustered, for she did not know if he had noticed that she was staring at Mr. Darcy. "Show me the way, if you would be so kind."

"Of course," replied Bingley.

"Miss Bennet, may I be of some assistance?" asked Miss Darcy.

"Yes, do come along," said Miss Bennet. She and Miss Darcy were shown to Mrs. Bingley's rooms, where they found a very pale-faced Jane. Miss Darcy watched as Miss Bennet asked a lot of questions in a hushed voice, and they comforted her as well as they could.

"What do you suppose is the matter?" asked the younger woman when they quitted the room. "Has she a fever?"

"No, she has not," replied Miss Bennet with a smile. "She shall be well."

"But what makes you so certain?" asked Miss Darcy. "Have you seen her this way before?"

"No," replied Miss Bennet with a laugh, "but I do believe it will pass soon enough."

They continued back to the sitting room where Darcy and Bingley stood. "Is she all right, Miss Bennet?" asked Bingley.

"Oh, she is fine," replied Elizabeth. "But I wish, just as a precautionary measure, that you would summon her doctor to come as soon as may be. Just in case."

"Very well, I will do that," replied Mr. Bingley. "I must go and comfort her."

Elizabeth agreed with him and smiled widely after he left the room. Miss Darcy looked very concerned about her hostess, so much so that Miss Bennet soon pulled her aside and once again tried to assure her that Mrs. Bingley would be quite all right.

"How can you be sure?" she asked again.

"I have known Mrs. Bingley all my life, Miss Darcy," she said, very quietly, smiling. "She will be all right, I assure you."

Miss Darcy smiled back, comforted a little. Elizabeth was glad of that, for if Miss Darcy had been more curious she might have had to give in to at least a little falsehood. If Elizabeth told her that she thought her sister was with child, how many more questions would there be that Elizabeth should not or could not answer? She proposed a walk outside so that the Bingleys could share some quiet.

Georgiana was more than happy to give her brother some privacy, and skipped along with Andrew, leaving Elizabeth and Darcy were left to walk alone. They walked slowly behind the aunt and nephew, so that Darcy could keep his protective eye on both of his charges. Very little was said by either; Darcy was secretly forming a desperate resolution; and perhaps she might be doing the same.

Soon Andrew tired of their walk and wished to return to the manor house for a refreshment. Georgiana volunteered to take him inside and play with him. Darcy stopped walking to watch his son try to induce Georgiana to race him to the house, and then he followed, just as slowly as before, with Elizabeth on his arm. Now was the moment for his resolution to be executed, and, while his courage was still high, he immediately said,

"You and I were never presented with an opportunity to speak privately in Brighton." His tone was low and soft.

"No, we were not," replied Elizabeth, stopping, more than a little nervous.

Darcy paused a minute before he continued. "The day that I arrived at Brighton, Georgiana and I had a rather lengthy discussion. She informed me of Mr. Wickham's proposal. She told me that she owed her good decision on the matter to counsel from you. She . . . said that you had spoken to her in such a way as to not make her feel ashamed of herself, and that you brought her letter to me to the post."

"Georgiana found herself quite alone," said Elizabeth, "a unique situation to be in when one is traveling with two others. I assure you, my purpose in the matter was to help her make a good decision. The decision made was her own."

Darcy nodded. "Georgiana never fully understood my misgivings about George Wickham, and I would not take enough care of her to explain. In a way, I suppose, it is a good thing that it happened . . . but I shudder to think what might have been had you not helped her."

Elizabeth could only blush and turn her face away uneasily as Darcy continued.

"You must not blame my sister . . . she is young, and I am afraid I have not paid as much attention to her as I should have. Let me thank you, again and again, in the name of all my family and on behalf of my dearest sister; she can not know at her age what she might have gotten herself into. She is so young; if I were to lose her, and to such a man . . . I . . . I do not know what I would do."

"I do not blame your sister," said Elizabeth in a rush of courage, "and there is really no need to thank me. My only action was to share an opinion of my own, and at times, even I am not sure what that is worth." She paused a moment, looking around at the landscape, and then boldly at Mr. Darcy. "Although, I must admit, that knowing the irreplaceable relationship I have with my aunt and uncle, and my own sister Jane, I was a bit jaded on your side. The thought of a separation of Andrew and Georgiana quite broke my heart . . . I knew it would not be much different for your own."

He forced her to hold his stare. They had long since stopped walking. "Everything I do," he began, quietly, "I must do for Andrew. I fear I have been remiss in my duty to my son."

Elizabeth was silent, her heart pounding.

"I have loved you from almost the beginning," he continued in a whisper, "and I have denied myself my true feelings. I have wasted precious time . . . I have even reproached Andrew on the subject, all because I allowed myself to be persuaded that Andrew required more a mother of a certain station than one which truly cared for him, and which he truly loved. Andrew does truly love you, Miss Bennet."

Elizabeth found herself in the quite unfamiliar position of being near speechless. "I adore Andrew, Mr. Darcy," was all she could manage, while choking back emotion.

"And his father?" Darcy grasped her hands, and his handsome face showed the true affection and love he felt for her.

"I love you," she whispered quickly, quietly, before she lost the nerve his words had given her. She looked up into his eyes, but soon had to look away, not knowing how to react to the mixture of emotions she saw there; some identifiable and some not. "I don't know what more to say . . . my heart is so full, yet no words come to me."

"Can you answer a question?" asked Darcy, feeling a little playful. "'Tis a yes or no question, which I hope you will not need much time to think about."

Elizabeth was sure her heart would burst; not trusting her voice, she nodded and closed her eyes.

"My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth . . ." She opened her eyes again to find him gazing at her, his expression soft and the hint of a smile on his lips. "Will you marry me?"

She let out the breath it had not occurred to her that she was holding, and she smiled. "Yes," she said, taking another breath, "I will marry you." Their eyes locked, and she placed her hand on his face, a single move which brought comfort to his heart and excited his imagination at once.

He took her chin in his hand and tilted her fine eyes upwards. He swallowed as he ran his thumb over her soft lips. Her cheeks reddened and she looked earnestly into his eyes. Darcy bent his head and allowed himself the first of many tastes of her delectable lips, and inside he tingled with excitement, gratitude, and contentment. She sighed as he broke their kiss, and her eyes were full of wonder. "My darling Elizabeth," he whispered huskily, "I believe there may be one pair of short blue eyes and one pair of tall green eyes upon us."

"Perhaps we should return to the house?"

He nodded, tucked her arm into his, and led her to the house.

As assumed by the newly-engaged couple on the front lawn at Netherfield Hall, that gentleman's son was peering out a window which faced the lawn with his aunt's hands resting upon his shoulders.

"Is he kissing her, Aunt Darcy?" asked Andrew with a wrinkled nose.

Georgiana nodded quietly, excited. "We must not watch now, Andrew," she said, turning him away reluctantly.

"I suppose it is all right for my papa to kiss Miss Bennet," he said, "but I would not kiss a girl for any thing. They have germs!"

"Have they?" asked Georgiana, amused. "But I am a girl, and you kiss me goodnight every evening. Do you not get germs from me?"

"That is different," he declared. "You are my aunt. Aunts do not have germs."

"Ah, now I see," smiled Georgiana.

Suddenly a thought seemed to come to Andrew, and he paused, turned, and looked out the window again. "But if Papa is kissing Miss Bennet," he said, "do you suppose that means he will marry her?"

Georgiana was happy to assume as much, but only turned him away from the window once more. "Please, Andrew, come to the library with me."

Andrew seemed to pay little attention to what she said, though he followed her to the stairs. "But it would be wonderful, don't you agree? Just think - Papa will marry Miss Bennet, and she will come and live with us, and since my grandmother is very grouchy about Miss Bennet, we will not have to go to Rosings any more!"

"Andrew, that is not a very nice thing to say about your grandmother."

"Yes, I know," he mumbled under his breath. "If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all. Mrs. Johnson tells me that all the time."

Georgiana smirked. "Perhaps you should listen to Mrs. Johnson."

Andrew ignored her and raced down the stairs to meet his father as he walked into the front hall. He stopped when he saw the stern expression on his face. "Papa?" he asked timidly.

"I would speak with you, Andrew." Andrew nodded and straightened, his own expression turning somber, and looked up at him. He wanted to look at Miss Bennet, but couldn't take his eyes off his father. Darcy knelt in front of his son. "This is a very serious matter. I have a task for you."

"Yes, Papa," acknowledged Andrew.

Darcy took Andrew's small hands. "It is a very important task; one which I would ordinarily ask of my papa and mama. I cannot ask my mama, as she died when I was a young man, and as my papa died before you were born, I can not ask him, either. I can not accomplish this task myself, so it must fall to you."

"What is it you wish me to do, Papa?"

"I would like you to approve . . . of my marriage to Miss Bennet."

Andrew looked up at his father with a wide smile. "I would not mind at all if you marry Miss Bennet!" he exclaimed. "You should marry her as soon as you are able."

Darcy smiled at Andrew now, knowing he would not have objected. "You do know what this means, don't you, Andrew? When Miss Bennet and I marry, we . . . we will want time alone. And you may find yourself with brothers and sisters. Miss Bennet has family which will become your family."

"Would I become family with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley?" Andrew seemed more excited by this prospect.

Darcy rose and turned to Miss Bennet, smiling and gesturing for her to make the reply. "Yes," she confirmed. "They will be your aunt and uncle."

"Miss Bennet, you do want to marry my papa, do not you?" asked Andrew. "He has quite a lot to recommend him."

Elizabeth could not help but laugh at Andrew's rather mature comment. "Andrew, you are quite right about your papa," she smiled. "And I do want to marry him - to marry you both."

Andrew whooped and danced around his father and Miss Bennet, asking such questions as when the wedding would be, how much time, exactly, they would wish for alone, and when he might start calling her Mama.

Andrew Darcy, a man of five and twenty, paused as he passed by a certain doorway on his way to the library at Pemberley. His eye caught the corner of a blanket which was poking out of a closet in the nursery. He entered the room with a melancholy smile.

This was the place he had first seen his young brother Will and sisters Noelle and Annabelle; the room which held a lot of memories of those siblings thereafter. Soon, he thought, the nursery at Rosings Park would be filled with his own children, and perhaps one day, he might have to holler at his own son for trying to wrestle with his sisters or for chasing them with the fire poker.

He laughed at what hell he must have put his father through when other children came along. He could only pray that he would have the patience and that his soon-to-be wife, Lady Sarah Whitfield, would continue to have the same patience, kindness, and understanding of the woman who had been his mama. His Lizzy.

Andrew knew Elizabeth Bennet Darcy was not his mother. He knew his true mother, Anne de Bourgh Darcy, had loved his father and that they had been happy together, until she died. For that reason, he never really got used to calling her Mother, and in later years, when his other siblings understood, he took to calling her Elizabeth again. Elizabeth would always be his Mama or his Lizzy, but Anne would forever live in his heart as his mother. He loved them both, but his love for each was of a different kind.

He breathed in the fresh spring air coming through the windows of the nursery as he tucked the blanket back in its place and left, resuming his course to the library, where his father waited. He had told him he had something important to talk with him about before the small gathering Elizabeth had arranged for them to meet his fiancée.

He knocked softly on the door and let himself in, stepping a few paces but not seeing his father. Then he felt a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Andrew, sit down, please." The deep voice of his father always shook him to the core, whether it was a kind tone or not. This time it was, and it served to comfort his nerves.

His heart thumping in his chest, Darcy decided to get right down to business. "Andrew, there are not many times I reflect on the memory of your mother, but I'm afraid tonight is one of those times. She left behind a few things for you to have, and I want to give them to you now."

Andrew nodded and watched his father walk over to his desk, where a neat pile lay. The first thing Darcy handed him was a bible. It was a beautiful leather-bound volume in a rich brown. "This was Anne's. She had it since childhood; it was the only bible she ever read from. After you were born, she asked me to make sure you were given it."

Andrew took the heavy book from his father's hand in awe. "Thank you, Father." He felt a real connection to his mother then, holding something she had always held, reading over its words the way she had.

"The next thing I would like to give you is something you will wish to give to Lady Sarah." Darcy ran a hand through his pepper-colored curls and let out a sigh. "I gave this to Anne three weeks after we married, on Christmas Day." Darcy handed him a velvet-covered box.

Andrew opened it and eyed the necklace nestled inside appreciatively. "I am sure Lady Sarah will be honored to be presented with it," he said after a moment. A tear glistened in his eye. "Thank you, Father."

"One more thing," said Darcy, emotion cracking his voice. "Your mother gave me these the same Christmas I gave her that necklace. I kept one tucked away and the other safely in my pocket. When she died I never let go of it. It seemed all I had left, except for you. I kept one of them in my pocket always; it was comforting, like the way Will held onto that tattered old blanket. When I met Elizabeth and decided that I wasn't too good for her," he smirked, "I didn't need them any more. The day I asked your permission to marry her, I put them away. I think you should have them." He presented his eldest son with two crisp white linen handkerchiefs.

"Handkerchiefs, Father?"

"Your mother had her maid teach her to embroider so that she could give me these for Christmas. She tucked them into the covers of the books."

Andrew ran his fingers along the initials delicately stitched into the corner. "The books," he smiled, another tear slipping down his cheek. "You told me the story about the books she gave you. I still have those in my chambers. Why did not you tell me about these?"

"It wasn't time." Darcy closed his eyes, bringing a memory to the surface he had long since pushed away. "When she came down to breakfast that morning, her cheeks were flushed and she wore a very happy smile. She had some holly leaves braided in with her hair, and she wore a gown that was cream and ruby colored. I don't often pay much attention to what women wear, but I remember that gown.

"Your mother was ill as a child, and your grandmother nearly nursed her to death. You see, she wasn't always ill, as Lady Catherine would have you believe. She had Anne under the treatment of a doctor who kept her on blood-lettings and herbal medications that quite literally drained the life out of her. Soon after my father died, I visited Rosings, and I took her with me to London. Without those treatments, she became well, for the first time in her life. She came alive. We became engaged on that trip to London. I took her back to Rosings, and her mother put her back under the treatment of the doctor, regardless of the fact that she was obviously remarkably better. She was a stubborn woman, your grandmother.

"The day we married she was tired and gray, like she always had been when I visited her at Rosings. Her nervousness didn't make things any better, and the trip back in to London wore her out. We did not--" Darcy's heart thumped in his chest in nervousness. "We did not spend that night together, Andrew, if you catch my meaning?"

"Yes, Father," he smirked.

Darcy cleared his throat and continued. "That Christmas Day was the first time we . . . we did." His cheeks had turned crimson and he was staring down at his boots. "I believe you were conceived that day."

Andrew looked down at the handkerchiefs again. "I remember that you . . . were upset when you told me about the books, and gave them to me," he whispered.

"It has been so long, Andrew," continued Darcy. "It has been twenty-five years since your mother died. I would not give up my life with Elizabeth for anything, but part of me wishes Anne could still be alive, to see what a fine young man you've grown into."

Andrew gazed at his father. "Thank you, Papa," was all he could manage.

"Come now, dry up your face," said Darcy after an appropriate pause.

Not having the heart to mess the delicate linens in his hand, Andrew pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and patted the tears away.

"Before I meet this fine young lady of yours," continued Darcy, "will you promise me one thing?"

"Yes, Father," replied Andrew. "You know there is nothing I would not promise you."

"Promise me that you love her. Promise me you will never take her for granted. She can be taken away from you so easily, Andrew. Please do nothing you will regret."

"I have never seen any such behavior from my father and mama. I have only ever seen love and kindness, respect, and trust. I do promise, for I know no other way."

Darcy hugged his son for the first time in quite a while, tears glistening in his eyes, to express an unspeakable but heartfelt thank-you. He pulled back after a moment and managed a grin. "Now take me to her," he instructed.

Andrew nodded, reflecting with a grin for a moment on his fiancée, the raven-haired Sarah. "Forgive me for such language," he said, "but she . . . she is . . ." He knew what he wanted to say, but was too embarrassed to express the emotions she stirred in him in front of his father. "She is wonderful," he finally decided on.

Darcy grinned, knowing what Andrew had been thinking. After all, he had been thinking the same thing for the past twenty years of his Elizabeth.

The End.

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