Sources of Happiness ~ Section I

By Irene

Beginning, Next Section

Chapter 1

Posted on Tuesday, 23 January 2007

“One has not great hopes from Birmingham. I always say there is something direful in the sound.” ~ Jane Austen

July 15, 1810
Grand Duchy of Baden

Dearest Lizzy,

As you may have noticed from the post mark, I write to you from Baden-Baden, or Baden-Boring, as I have christened it. My parents sent me here as a sort of punishment for the Ruslan fiasco - who knew they would be like this? After all, Mamma eloped with Papa, one would think they would understand a little romance. Ruslan was so dashing and handsome in his uniform, Lizzy! When I had to say good-bye to him for the last time, I simply cried and cried. Do not be so shocked, dear cousin, I never really intended to go away with him - it would break Papa and Peter's hearts and I simply could not bear that. I just wanted to have a little fun. So now, I am not allowed to do anything but listen to my Aunt's lectures and practice my German, and as you well know, I look quite plain when I speak German, so this is no consolation. What young people as there are, I cannot even draw near, as I am always being reprimanded by my Uncle and Aunt, who barely let me out of their sight. Thankfully, I was allowed to bring Eugenie and she smuggles the latest novels to me under the cover of night. So you see, my dear, my circumstances are quite dire and I shall have to learn to behave or I shall never meet another officer again (however… that is what got me in trouble in the first place…). Oh, I must put my pen down for a moment, for Aunt Sofia is calling me, no doubt to make me read some horrible improving book.

Lizzy, Aunt Sofia just imparted to me, with infinite displeasure, that my parents sent word that they would come in two months' time. I daresay she believes they are too lax - she would like to see me suffer more for my `folly.' She is very strict, though she is not ten years older than you and I. Perhaps Uncle Kostya will send her back home to tend to little Nicholas and Elena; she will not go herself for she certainly does not feel the burden of being away from her little ones. Lizzy, when we are mothers, let us never leave our children with nurses for long periods of time! As you can tell, there is mutual disapproval between me and Aunt Sofia. Well, I shall be very happy to see my parents again! I have missed them, believe it or not. I hope Peter will come as well, but I doubt Natasha will as she is in that delicate `condition' that we young ladies are not supposed to know anything about. Mamma still tells me that I was found in a potato patch…

If you wrote to me after your stay at Hunsford with Mrs Collins (and Mr Collins, if one needs to mention him - Mamma has told me all about his recently deceased father), I most likely did not receive your letter because I was being sent into this exile. However, I sincerely hope you had a lovely time and I look forward with delight to hearing your descriptions of the oh-so-grand Lady Catherine - she sounds a perfect harridan. Until then, I remain

Your loving cousin,
Alina Rostov

July 29, 1810
Moscow, Russia

Dear Brother,

Forgive me for not writing for so long. I have been getting all of my news from Lizzy's letters, by way of Alina. I imagine Lizzy has told you of our almost-scandal; thankfully, we do not believe Alina's intentions to have been truly vicious, but that kind of behavior must be checked. How ironic that I should speak thusly, I know, but time and position in life tend to change one's point of view dramatically. We have sent her for several months to Baden with Alexei's brother and his wife, which we hope will be sufficient punishment (I refer to the wife, not the brother, you understand). We shall join her there shortly, and Peter may come along as well -- the son of one of Alexei's cousin, a very nice young man. He and Alina have almost grown up together, though he is a bit older, and we are hoping he will have a calming influence.

Otherwise, all is well with our family. Last year was a rush with Natasha's wedding to Eugene, but now they are well and settled in their own townhouse in the city and we are encouraged to hope that a certain happy event may take place in a not too distant future. Alexei is, of course, beside himself with happiness - if he were a woman, he would be knitting booties, I believe! If it is a boy, Natasha and Eugene want to name him Sergei, for Eugene's grandfather, and if it is a girl, they have decide that she will be Jane (Zhenya) in honor of our dear mother, and can be the namesake of my lovely niece. This is it for now, and though I know you are averse to writing letters, I would very much like to hear from you sometime. I keep the letter open because Alexei wants to add something. With much love, Catherine R.

Bennet,

I did not want to alarm Katya* with what I have to relay. The situation here and in France grows worse and worse, there is hardly a place in Europe safe from that man. There are rumors that he is gathering forces to move on Russia itself. Katya, Peter and I are going to stay with Alina in Baden, which is already under Napoleon's control (but does not suffer his attention) and is thus considered safer than other places in Europe for the moment; we have a number of country retreats for the rest of our family should circumstances indeed grow intolerable. I wish Natasha could come as well, my mind will not truly be at peace, but she is-- indisposed at the moment and her husband's family is well situated and have a safe place to evacuate to in case of an invasion. Just to be sure, we are leaving Alexander to watch over all of them, he is certainly a serious enough and responsible young man. News of England is very scarce and unreliable here. Please write to the Baden address and tell me how it is with you. If you are not safe, we will make every effort to assist your family. A.R.

[*A/N: “Katya” or “Ekaterina” is the Russian equivalent of the English name “Catherine.” Alexei Rostov is referring to his wife, Mr Bennet's sister Catherine.]

Mr Bennet, having decided to spend a rare evening in the company of his family instead of ensconced in his study, had brought his correspondence to the drawing room to read. He had hoped the occupation would shield him from listening to the inane comments of his three younger daughters as well as from having to speak himself. However, he was quickly finding out that his ingenuity was no match for the persistence of his wife and offspring.

“Mr Bennet, pray tell, what are you reading there so secretively?” inquired Mrs Bennet for the third time, in a voice that would not be ignored.

“It is only a letter from my wayward sister and her husband, Mrs Bennet,” Mr Bennet answered shortly, hoping to forestall further inquiries. Of course, the mention of Mr Bennet's sister only served to raise his wife's interest.

“Oh!” she gushed, “dear Catherine and dear Prince Alexei! Girls, is that not exciting? Your father corresponds with a Prince!”

Lydia and Kitty immediately broke out into violent whispering and Mr Bennet exchanged an amused glance with his second, and favorite, daughter. He had many times explained to his family that the rank of a “Prince” did not actually mean a direct descendant to the throne of the Russian Empire, and so Elizabeth bore the excitement the title produced with equanimity. As he did not often share his correspondence with Catherine with his family, he supposed their curiosity was understandable.

“Papa, is this the sister who eloped with the dashing officer?” Lydia asked, winking at Kitty. Kitty winked back, suppressing another giggle. Mary, who desperately wanted to know what all the winking was about but was too proud to ask, only harrumphed disapprovingly. The noise drew Jane's questioning eye and as no one, least of all Lydia, wanted to explain anything to Jane, the three sisters quieted down.

Mrs Bennet, who had no idea that all these silent communications were going on in her drawing room, sighed rapturously, fanning herself with a lace handkerchief. “What a romantic story!”

“Mama!” exclaimed Elizabeth, shocked out of her reverie, “What are you saying -- elopements are not romantic!” Then she colored and looked back down at her embroidery. Jane patted her hand sympathetically, knowing that her sister must still be thinking of Mr Darcy's letter.

“Do not take that tone with me, Miss Lizzy! I will have you know that in my day, I had many propositions…”

“Ah, the missed opportunities,” murmured Mr Bennet, hiding a smile behind another letter. “You know, my dear, it is not too late. I did offer to send you by yourself to Mr Bingley…” Jane blushed.

“Oooh,” Mrs Bennet cried, “how you delight in vexing me! My nerves--”

“Father, do tell the story again,” Lizzy interrupted her mother -- as politely as she could, of course -- anything to stop another tirade about Mrs Bennet's nerves!

Mr Bennet settled more comfortably into his chair by the fire and looked at five pairs of expectant eyes and one pair of eyes that was unsuccessfully trying to appear detached from all worldly concerns (Mary's).

“A long time ago,” he began, “before any of you were born and even before your mother and I got married, I lived here at Longbourn with my parents and my younger sister, Catherine -- yes, Kitty, you were both named after my grandmother. Both of my parents doted on her and she grew up, while sweet-tempered, kind and generous, having learned to heed only her own opinions and desires. With the assistance of my mother's family, my father sent Catherine to study art and music in Paris for a year to enhance her prospects before introducing her to society. She was eighteen at the time and I was twenty seven.”

“How long ago it seems now, Mr Bennet!” mused Mrs Bennet, recalling how handsome Mr Bennet was when he was young and how witty and delightful he had seemed back then.

“Indeed, my dear,” her husband replied almost gently, perhaps remembering the same thing about his wife. “Well, well, and so to Paris she went. I cannot say it did her any good. She certainly learned music and art very well, but she was even less inclined to listen to reason than before. My parents could not afford to visit her much and she was left in the care of the headmistress of her seminary -- a person sadly lacking in discipline and attention, I must say. Sometime during that year, she met a Russian colonel, Alexei Rostov, hardly a few years older than herself, who was in Paris on a commission for his general.”

“Oooh, an officer!” giggled Lydia. Elizabeth threw her a warning glance, to which Lydia, being herself, paid no attention. Mr Bennet barely noticed the interruption, lost as he was in the memories.

“Apparently, they found ways to see each other regularly, no one really knows how. Both were young and reckless and thought they had nothing to lose. That summer, just as Catherine turned nineteen, she left the seminary and married Alexei. We found out when she signed a letter home `Catherine Rostov' -- she thought it would be a good joke.” Mr Bennet's voice was so bitter that not even Lydia dared laugh. In fact, she looked rather pale.

”But father,” ventured Kitty, “it did not turn out so badly after all, did it?”

Mr Bennet looked over at his daughters sternly. “I suppose, Kitty, it depends on what you mean by `so very badly.' She left all her family, all her friends and tied herself to a man she barely knew for the rest of her life. She was lucky that, at the core, he was a kind and honorable man who really did love her.”

“My dear Mr Bennet, what are you saying -- she is a Princess!” cried Mrs Bennet rapturously. “Imagine that, girls!”

Mr Bennet looked even more stern. For once in his life, he was motivated into a lecture, and his family was so shocked by this unprecedented occurrence, that they actually stared and listened. “No matter what your mother would have you believe, elopement is not romantic! My sister could have run away with someone who would not have married her at all, or someone who would have mistreated her, beaten her even. And because the law gives a husband the sole custody of his wife, her family would have been unable to do anything to help.” Gasps of shock were heard from the girls at this harsh truth. Kitty and Lydia exchanged panicked glances.

“My family spent time and a great deal of money looking for her, until her new husband realized that she had not informed her family of their marriage and reminded her to write to us. She was a very silly girl when she was young. My poor parents almost died from shock and surely, if I had had any other sisters, their chances of making a good marriage would have been irreparably damaged by her foolhardy action. For who would associate with such a family? As it is, it caused a breach in our family for many years -- Catherine and I did not begin to write again to each other until a little more than ten years ago, when her husband assumed his title after the carriage accident of his father and elder brother. The hurt ran too deeply and my parents died not having seen their daughter again.” Mr Bennet looked around the room. “As silly as you girls are, I would not want to part from you under those kinds of circumstances. I believe I have been a lenient father -- if a young man of good family and fair prospects wishes to marry you, and you wish to align yourself with him, I would be more than willing to entertain the application. Send him to me before he changes his mind and we shall see what we can work out.”

With that, Mr Bennet rose, bade everyone a good night and retired to the library; the family interaction having been too exhausting for him, he preferred a glass of port and his books to take his mind off of the complications of raising five daughters. Besides, he felt an unfamiliar urge to actually answer his sister's letter, and especially her husband's postscript, which disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

The remaining occupants of the room went back to their pursuits for a while, but everyone's hand felt a little heavier after Mr Bennet's story. They had never seen their father speak with such feeling and had not known he was carrying so much sadness inside related to the elopement of his sister. Mrs Bennet even had the strangest sensation that she wanted to somehow-- comfort her husband, perhaps even put her arms around him. However, she quickly attributed this absurd emotion to the fish they had for dinner and resolved to have quite a firm talk with the cook about serving bad halibut in the future. With these thoughts, she went off to bed, only once glancing at the adjoining door, behind which her husband reposed, with something like momentary regret.

Elizabeth and Jane both sank into an uneasy sleep in their bedrooms, the former thinking about a certain letter and the latter thinking about a certain gentleman and his kind, laughing eyes.

Mary read a page of Fordyce which failed to satisfy her; instead her mind was occupied by the undeniably romantic story of her Aunt, whom she had met only once, and her life in exotic Russia. She tried to tell herself that elopements were the work of the devil and thinking about romance was an unworthy pastime, but pictures of dashing young officers in red uniform appeared in her mind quite out of nowhere. Perhaps they wear blue, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Yes, blue would be quite attractive…

Two people were not asleep, however, and the rest of the household was so preoccupied with their own concerns as to be completely oblivious to their agitation.

“Oh, Lydia, whatever are you going to do?” whispered Kitty with despair.

“What do you mean, Kitty,” snapped Lydia, “I am not going to do anything!”

Kitty wailed. “About Mr Wickham!”

“Shhhhh, Kitty, go to sleep!” Lydia hissed, throwing a pillow at Kitty's head. Kitty mumbled discontentedly and blew out the candle.

For all the bravado, Lydia was thinking furiously. It was not an occupation in which she indulged frequently and the wheels were a bit rusty; however, turn they did and if her family had seen her at this moment, they would have been uniformly surprised at the loss of the vacant look from her face. In fact, Lydia, though invariably silly and unthinking, was not a stupid girl nor a mean tempered one. Beneath the spoiled exterior, she loved her family -- in her own way -- and her father's words had uncomfortably disarranged some of her best hopes and plans.

It all started, she remembered, with a note from Harriet.

My dear Lydia,

I have the most terrible news, you will not believe how very vexed I am: the militia is not encamping to Brighton after all, but is to stay in Meryton for another four months! And I was so looking forward to all the parties and balls we would have - just imagine, a whole camp full of soldiers! I was completely desolate for a full hour, but then Chamberlain and dear Wickham came to report something to Colonel Forster and stayed to entertain me and quite dispelled my melancholy. You know, I am quite sure Wickham does not fancy your sister, he spoke not one word about her, and if you cannot guess who he did speak about, I shall think you a simpleton! There is to be a card party on Wednesday night and you simply must come because a certain person shall also be present! There, I hope I have sufficiently cheered you up. I know you will come so I do not even require an answer. We shall have such fun! Some of the boys are scheming to dress Chamberlain in a dress and present him as a dance partner to Denny during Sir William's Assembly next month! Scandalous!

Harriet Forster

Lydia saw Wickham at the Wednesday card party and he had been so amiable and delightful, and had even taken her for a walk out on the balcony. Lydia had never known that walks could be such fun! After that, Harriet schemed for them to meet often and Lydia felt that she had never known a man who was so handsome and charming as George. She had a nagging feeling sometimes that what she was doing was not precisely proper and that if her elder sisters or her father found out, there could be trouble, but she simply ignored those doubts. And then, came the magical moment when George had asked her to go away with him! He made it seem like the most romantic thing in the world -- they would go to London (because he had some business there), they would get married and she would write to her parents and sign her name as Mrs Wickham! Would not that be a pleasant surprise for them? Mamma always went on and on about how they had to get married, and here was a man, handsome and an officer, who wanted to marry Lydia! Surely, her family would be pleased that she had made such an advantageous match!

However, Mr Bennet's obvious sadness about what happened to his sister, even after all these years and after she became a Princess (a Princess!), made Lydia reconsider all of her previous conclusions, vague and disorganized as they were. Especially what struck her was Mr Bennet's wistfulness when he said “the rest of her life.” Lydia had never thought about it before (Lydia had never thought about many things before), but the rest of her life seemed like an awfully long time to spend with just one person! Wickham had already shown displeasure when she danced twice with Denny at the last ball -- would he be even worse when they got married? No more balls, flirting or officers? Lydia recoiled in horror. And her sisters! What fun would it be to be married if she was forced to live far away and could not lord it over them? And how would she find husbands for all of her sisters if she was not allowed to associate with them? Elopement and marriage were looking decidedly less and less attractive to Lydia with every passing moment. Lydia decided that she would tell George to go to London by himself. Besides, she thought, perking up, if she went away, she would miss seeing Chamberlain in a dress!

Chapter 2

Posted on Thursday, 25 January 2007

“Families are like fudge... mostly sweet with a few nuts.” ~Anonymous

July 6, 1810
Pemberley, Derbyshire

Anne,

Such is the irony of life: that the first bet I ever lose in my life, I lose to a woman. At least you are family and so my reputation with the ladies shall not be irreparably ruined!

What can I relate - you were absolutely right in your suppositions about Darcy, he is miserable. If one did not know him, one would never suspect, the expression upon his face is as perfectly impenetrable as ever, but he cannot fool me, whom he has grown up with and who has thrown him into the Pemberley pond once too often. He finally came out with the whole sad tale one night after I made him drink enough brandy to loosen his tongue (out of respect for your delicate sensibilities, I shall not tell you exactly how much that was… I can see you glaring at me now!). I cannot tell you what he said, male solidarity and all, suffice it to say that your observational skills are first-rate and put the soldier in me to shame. Well, we cannot undo what he has done, unfortunately. I wish he had sought my counsel, but you know Darcy, it's the damn Fitzwilliam pride which we all have in droves. Georgiana is also unhappy - the poor thing thinks his mood is somehow her fault. Anne, what they both need is a change of atmosphere, and I am at a complete loss as to how to arrange that. I received a letter from my general two days ago asking if I would undertake a commission from him that would take me to Baden for a month (do not worry, the danger is minimal, truly), and I think it would do Darcy a world of good to come with me. However, I have not even had the courage to suggest it for you know very well that he would not leave Pemberley and Georgiana.

Forgive me for so somber a missive -- so devoid of my usual sparkling wit -- but I am truly worried for both of them. Georgiana asked me to tell you that she misses you and to please give her warmest regards to your mother (and mine and Darcy's as well). I shall be at P. for several weeks still, if you can think of a solution.

Yours affectionately,
Richard

July 19, 1810
Rosings, Kent

Richard, leave everything to me. Oh, I should tell you that Mother graciously accepts Georgiana's regards, but after your abominable behavior in leaving two days early when you were here for Easter, she cannot accept yours or Darcy's, which is just as well. Do not expose yourself to danger in Baden! Please give enclosed to Georgiana. Yours, Anne

My dear Georgiana,

It has been too long since I received your last letter and I have so missed your correspondence. I must apologize for Richard - he sent off his letter to me in such haste as to not leave you time to enclose one of your own. I hope that everything is well at Pemberley, at least Richard tells me that it is so. He is enjoying his time with you and your brother tremendously and I am only sad that he will not be able to join us as well due to his commission on the Continent. Mother and I are so isolated here in Kent, so cut off from all the family, that besides the annual Easter visit, we do not get to see much of anybody. There is not much news to report, only that Mr Collins (my mother's parson) followed my mother's advice and chose a wife from his father's home county of Hertfordshire. She is a lovely lady -- calm, gentle, patient -- what she sees in Mr Collins, I can hardly imagine, but such are the little mysteries of life, I suppose. I do wish you could meet her, for I believe she has spent some time with your brother when he was visiting Mr Bingley's estate in that neighborhood. I try to visit her at the parsonage as often as I can when I escape for my daily drives. It is beautiful here at this time of year -- the flowers are in bloom, the birds are chirping in their nests and there is such a general air of contentment among our tenants that even my mother finds little to do in her duties as magistrate. However, I have noticed that despite the new addition to the neighborhood in the form of Mrs Collins and despite the lovely scenery, I have grown bored and dissatisfied. The doctor prescribed long walks for the improvement of my health, but there is no one to accompany me whose presence and conversation would give me pleasure. I would very much like to learn to play the piano and the harp, but I detest the idea of a strange, impersonal tutor. Drawing solely for myself does not excite me either, when I cannot share it with another. In short, dear cousin, I hope to persuade you to leave the wilds of Derbyshire and come and stay with us for some time for I would dearly love your company -- it has been too long, too long since we have last seen each other. I shall not be upset with you if you choose to decline, but I will be disappointed. Do not worry about leaving your brother by himself as I have heard that Richard has some plans for their entertainment. Oh, Georgiana, do come, we will have so much fun together! I will await your answer with the greatest anticipation.

Your loving cousin,
Anne DeBourgh

“Oh!” exclaimed Georgiana, lowering Anne's letter to her lap.

Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, who had been engaged in their own conversation, looked over questioningly. “What is it, my dear?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam gently. “Did something frighten you?”

Georgiana blushed at attracting the attention of her brother and cousin. “No, no, please, do not worry.” Although Georgiana wholeheartedly appreciated her brother's love and concern, she was privately a little tired of being treated like a porcelain doll that would break if one dropped it accidentally. “I was just reading a letter from Anne -- she invites me to stay with her and Lady Catherine at Rosings.”

Darcy's countenance darkened. “Rosings!” He turned to the fireplace to stoke the fire, biding time to compose himself.

Georgiana's hands intertwined in her lap and she looked downcast. “You would not permit me to go?” she asked softly, trying to hide her disappointment.

“Permit?” Darcy was ashamed that his hasty outburst was interpreted in such a way by his sister. “Why, of course I would permit it if you really wished to go…” Here he stopped, unsure how to articulate his sentiment.

Colonel Fitzwilliam intervened. “I believe your brother was merely expressing his surprise that you should wish to travel so far and to spend time with our Aunt Catherine.”

“Fitzwilliam!” Darcy shot him a warning glance.

“I only meant, Darcy, that our aunt is so isolated in Kent. Would not Georgiana wish for wider society?”

At this, Georgiana protested eloquently that surely, the society of her aunt and cousin would be sufficient for a young girl who was not yet out; Anne had described Rosings so enticingly and Georgiana felt Anne's loneliness so keenly that her natural shyness was completely overcome by the desire to be of use to somebody. The candles in the room cast a soft reflection on her eager face, picking out a bloom on a cheek that had been pale only a few months back; it had been a very long time since she had shown interest in anything and Darcy felt a momentary glimmer of hope that the past could truly remain in the past. He could not ask her to give up the thought of so much enjoyment and the plan was made for Georgiana's departure to Rosings in a week's time. Georgiana left to write a note to Anne and Darcy and the Colonel retreated to the library for a glass of port.

They savored the dark amber liquid, swirling it softly in their glasses, each lost in his own thoughts. Darcy's mind came back to Rosings, again and again, and with that, invariably to Hunsford. After the initial days of contemplation, he did not think of it all the time, not even a large portion of the time -- his duties as the Master of Pemberley left no room for idle thoughts -- but it was a sadness that weighed on his daily life and colored his perceptions. Naturally, he had not expected a response to his letter but he foolishly hoped that he might receive some subtle acknowledgement, some sign that she had at least read it and had not thrown it unopened into the fire. Darcy sighed, turning his thoughts forcibly to Georgiana and their impending separation.

The Colonel's mind was occupied with his cousin, Anne. He had always kept a healthy correspondence with her, as frequent as a gentleman of his profession and lifestyle could allow, but during the last year, she had developed into something more than a superficial correspondent -- she had grown into a friend. It had started with a few frivolous book suggestions in a letter after too much wine, which he thought Anne would promptly discard, but to his immense surprise, she wrote back, sharing her own ideas. And they did not even bore him, as women's ideas tended to do -- in fact, he had been so interested in her impressions and so amused by her surprising wit that he sat down immediately to compose a proper response. From that point on, a pleasant rapport developed between them and Colonel Fitzwilliam truly valued Anne's friendship and cousinly affection. Anne's letter to Georgiana pleased Colonel Fitzwilliam immensely. It was finely tuned to compel Georgiana to accept the invitation -- bold enough to be interesting yet conventional enough not to frighten her, playing on Georgiana's delicate sense of duty to her family while making the duty sound pleasant. It was a thing to be admired. Colonel Fitzwilliam felt certain that Anne was the perfect person to draw out the frightened girl, to help her find her own worth again and to forget what had happened the previous summer.

“It was a good decision to allow Georgiana to go to Rosings,” he said to Darcy, as an extension of his thoughts.

“Really?” Darcy said, knitting his eyebrows.

“Oh yes,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied with perfect seriousness, “I believe our aunt is the ideal role model of feminine behavior.”

Darcy choked on his drink. Colonel Fitzwilliam banged on his back solicitously and waited for the coughing to subside. “Relax, Darcy, I am only joking! I really meant that it is Anne who will be a good role model.”

“Anne? But she is always so quiet and shy.”

“That is because you do not take the trouble of speaking with her, Will.”

They called each other by their childhood nicknames very rarely and it prompted Darcy to pause and think more carefully than he normally would have done before formulating his response. “I daresay you are right, Richard, I have not made the effort,” he admitted, with a little more bitterness than he had intended. “I do not think I am a very good cousin… or brother for that matter.”

The crackle of the fire was the only sound in the room for a full minute.

“I wish I could reassure you,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a sigh. “We are both to blame for what happened last summer, Will, we could and should have watched over her better.” He paused in reflection and bowed his head. “The most difficult moment in my life was when you stopped me from running that scoundrel through with my sword. You were right then, of course, and I will remind you of your own words. You said that I needed to think of Georgiana, that I could not help her from prison or exile. [I]You[/I] cannot help her either if you lose yourself in your regrets. Any of them. We must both look forward now and attempt to be better men than we have been in the past.”

“And you think,” Darcy asked, getting up and pacing about the room, “that letting her go off to Rosings is the responsible action to take?”

“She will be safe with Anne, Will, I would stake my honor on that,” Colonel Fitzwilliam answered without hesitation. “Besides, knowing Aunt Catherine, she will not let either one of them venture outdoors without Mrs Jenkins, Mrs Annesley and at least three footmen. In all the time any of us have ever spent with Aunt Catherine as children, do you remember even once getting as much as a scraped knee? Sit down, man, you are making my head spin.”

Darcy sat down abruptly. “Yes, you are right, Fitzwilliam. I am fussing like a mother hen, I do not know what has gotten into me.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smiled inwardly at the return of the more formal designation as well as at the comparison of his severe and fastidious cousin to a mother hen. “Have another drink, Darcy, it will all be well,” he motioned, wisely deciding to leave the conversation about the trip to Baden for another time.

The next day dawned bright and clear over Pemberley, as the cliché goes. Despite memories of her aunt's stern lectures, Georgiana was truly excited to go to Rosings. London -- with its narrow streets, its crowds and parties -- had never made her comfortable, but Anne's letter evoked pictures of beauty and tranquility that made Georgiana eager for the change. She fluttered about for the next week, helping her maid pack her favorite dresses, her sketching things, her books and music as well as other items she believed Anne would enjoy seeing; Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam watched over her with inner happiness at these signs of returning life. There were travel plans to make, escorts to choose from Pemberley's staff for the road, inns to reserve to accommodate the party during the two-days' passage from Derbyshire to Kent, and places to locate where they could allow the horses to rest. To the surprise of both the men, Georgiana wished to be acquainted with all the details of the journey and worried, for the first time in her life, about the state of the roads and the comfort of the servants who would accompany them. They did not quite know what to make of this new maturity in their young charge, but the hearts of both delighted that Georgiana could take pleasure and interest in things again, and Darcy's concerns about allowing her to undertake this journey were slightly assuaged.

Before she set off for Kent -- a week later -- with Mrs Annesley waiting in the carriage and the horses stamping their hooves in eagerness to depart, Georgiana hugged both her brother and her cousin tightly, whispering to Colonel Fitzwilliam: “You will take care of Fitzwilliam, will you not?”

“I will, little one, be assured of that,” he smiled back at her. “And you, take good care of Anne for me and do not let Aunt Catherine read you too many lectures.”

“What are you telling her about Aunt Catherine, Fitzwilliam?” Darcy asked sternly. “Georgiana, remember to give your aunt every attention and to respect her authority in everything.”

Georgiana suppressed a smile at receiving these conflicting instructions, so characteristic of the originating parties, and stepped into the carriage.

Chapter 3

Posted on Monday, 29 January 2007

July 23, 1810
Netherfield, Hertfordshire

Darcy,

I am back at Nether{blot}! I know what you will think, my friend, that I am a {smudge} for trying if she does not care for me, but what is life if one does not take risks? Although I do trust your most excellent judgment in this {blot}stance, I find that I cannot defer to it this time. She is the most {smudge}ful creature and I cannot live without her; in the very least, I have to make my feelings known! I am even writing a {blot} for her, that is how far gone I am, but I will refrain from sharing it with you. My sisters have joined me at N., and you are welcome to come as well, however, after Caroline put her {blot} in your {smudge} last time-- well! I do not believe you would want to!

CB

Bingley, having sealed the letter and dropped it on a tray for the footman, sat back and sighed with satisfaction. He felt as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders -- the skies were blue, the warm breeze ticked his nose and the birds chirped peacefully in the morning sun -- in short, Bingley felt free to court Jane Bennet, and this time, he would do it without reservations. After so many months of having confusing and worrisome thoughts, he had decided to disregard the opinions of his sisters and his friend and pursue his own happiness. The only cloud on his horizon had been the notion that Miss Bennet (he dared not call her "Jane" yet, even in his mind) may have been so offended by his removal to town last autumn that she had irrevocably ceased to care for him. However, that had been quickly dispelled when he had called on the Bennets several days ago -- his angel had smiled at him and all was right again in Bingley's world.

Humming a little, he pulled out a sheet of paper that had been carefully hidden under the other papers on his desk. Bingley knew that he was no Shakespeare -- the amount of versions he went through until the page in front of him was free of crossed out words and ink blots testified to that -- but he fervently hoped to one day be able to show Miss Bennet the following humble product of his inspiration:

“My love, my dreams thy beauty does inspire,
And when I sink into my slumber deep,
I see the lovely form that I admire,
I hear the voice that calms me in my sleep;
'Tis more than beauty that my passion stirs--
Thy goodness, kindness, anyone can see,
The sweetness of thy nature I prefer
To anything that other women be.
Without thee, my days are dark and plain,
My dreams - the only solace for my mind;
I call your image 'fore my eyes again
And pray that when we meet, you will be kind.
With thee I plead, a-tremble, for my life:
Miss Bennet, tell me, will you be my wife?”

He mouthed the last line again, savoring it silently for a minute, and then dared to speak it out loud. At first, it was no more than a whisper, but a second and third repetition gave Bingley courage and he spoke louder, trying to imagine how sweet it would be to actually say these words to her.

He cleared his throat again. “Miss Bennet,” he tried, “will you be my wife? Will you be my wife? Will you be my wife?”

“Charles, to whom are you speaking?” Caroline asked loudly, strolling into his study without knocking, as was her usual habit.

And I was in such a good mood, thought Bingley darkly. He sighed. “Is there anything I can do for you, Caroline?”

“Oh, yes, I merely wanted to know how much longer you plan to reside in this--” she shivered elegantly “this wilderness!”

“Caroline, I would hardly call it that,” he replied with annoyance. His head was beginning to pound. Why could he not be walking in the gardens with Miss Bennet instead of being lectured by his sister?

Caroline threw up her hands dramatically. “How can you say that? All the same people, very little beauty and no fashion, I simply cannot be here another minute. Let us go to Sanford, where dear Duchess of Stone has her summer parties.”

“We are not acquainted with dear Duchess of Stone,” Bingley reminded her dryly.

“Oh, well,” Caroline was not to be deterred, “we can lease a house in the neighborhood and become acquainted! Surely, the society there would be much superior to these… people.”

Something in Bingley snapped. Perhaps it was the result of having excused his sister's outrageous behavior for so long; perhaps because he very well realized that she was explicitly insulting the wonderful creature he hoped to one day call his wife; whatever the reason was, the tolerance which usually characterized his dealings with his sister receded before a wave of anger. He stood up slowly and placed his palms on the cool mahogany of the desk. “Caroline,” he said, glaring at her, “if you wish to go to Sanford, I shall not prevent you. I am certain that Louisa and Hurst would accompany you there. You have an allowance, use it wisely. I, however, am going to remain here for as long as I choose, notwithstanding anyone else's preferences. And, as long as you are under my roof, I expect you to behave properly and pay every respect to all of our acquaintances here, if you know what I mean, and I think you do.”

“Oh, Charles,” Caroline said dismissively, “must you be so dramatic?” As soon as she said it, she realized that it had been a strategic mistake. The expression on her brother's face hardened and his voice, when he spoke, was quiet, calm and measured, and had a firm quality to it that was very unlike him.

“I mean it this time, Caroline. You must begin living by my rules -- you are intelligent enough to realize what they are -- or you can pack your bags and live either with Louisa and Hurst in town or with Aunt Somerset in Yorkshire.”

Not used to being spoken to in that fashion by her mild-mannered brother, Caroline was so shocked that she was obliged to sit down. She decided to change tactics. “B-but Charles,” she stammered, “you know I have nothing but respect for dear Jane and” she winced “her dear family… I was just trying to save you from disappointment and disgrace with the ton. Such shocking relations! Connections in trade!” she trailed off, as if that had been self explanatory.

“The same thing could be said about me, and yet, Darcy was willing to overlook that. You are always admiring him, I suggest you take a page from his book.” He took her arm and began leading her out of his study.

“Oh, yes,” Caroline allowed grandly, “Mr Darcy always does what is right and proper, he is a gentleman beyond reproach!” As Bingley closed the door behind her, he could still hear her speaking. “We could all take example from him… wait, Charles, what did you mean you have shocking relations?!”

He leaned against the mercifully closed door, feeling drained by the exchange, especially because it had been one of many since they had come to Netherfield. Dash it all, he thought suddenly, I am going to see Miss Bennet, and no one can stop me. The thought alone brought back something of his previous happy mood.

Chapter 4

July 19, 1810
London

My dearest Lizzy,

I am afraid I do not have much time to write, for Annabelle and Julia are sick and must be tended to; and what I write will not be pleasing news. It seems that your uncle is obliged to remain in London because of his business and we will not be able to take the trip to the Lakes after all. I know you must be severely disappointed, but please accept instead an open invitation to visit us anytime this autumn or winter, though it must be a poor substitute indeed. Your uncle and the children send their best wishes and hope that everyone is in good health.

Your loving aunt,
Julia Gardiner

Elizabeth tried to suppress her disappointment at this unwelcome news from her aunt; after all, she was not entitled to a trip to the lakes and her uncle's business was of paramount importance, but she had been looking forward to some kind of a diversion for months and the promise of traveling had been a bright point on her horizon. When Elizabeth had come back from Kent, she discovered that life at Longbourn had continued in the same way that it always had. She thought wryly that so much had changed for her during that brief trip that she somehow had expected others to be similarly affected, and yet, her parents and sisters and neighbors were exactly as she had left them. Jane was the only one who was different -- her expression and manner still retained the sweetness and placidity that characterized her, but her mouth was drawn into a tighter line and her eyes held a barely perceptible sadness that pained Elizabeth -- but even that change was so little noticed by everybody around as to pass completely unremarked upon. In quieter moments, Elizabeth could admit to herself that she was restless and discontented. Her verbal duels with Mr Darcy -- in what a different light could they be analyzed in retrospect! -- had opened a small window into a wider world, and that window seemed now tightly and irrevocably shut, leaving an emptiness that could not be filled.

She looked up from her letter at her mother, fussing about with her sisters' attire and making plans for some dinner party or other, at the familiar furnishings, the peaceful sun streaming through the window panes, and finally, at Jane's golden head bent over a piece of embroidery. Jane was smiling a little as she picked out a silken string, no doubt thinking of her Mr Bingley. Several days ago, when the rumor made its way into the neighborhood that Mr Bingley was to come back to Netherfield for the summer, Meryton was abuzz with speculation, ranging from optimistic to sympathetic to plain catty. Squeezing Jane's hand, Elizabeth had tried to ignore the talk, but that had been impossible, especially since her parents once again argued about visiting the Bingleys. It was in the middle of one of such arguments that Mr Bingley himself was announced and walked into their parlour. Other than during the first few minutes of inevitable awkwardness, no one who saw the way Jane and Mr Bingley smiled at each other could have mistaken their feelings, and Elizabeth was overjoyed at the gentleman's evident remorse and desire to please her sister, under which Jane blossomed like a proverbial flower. Elizabeth could not help recalling her heated conversation with Mr Darcy and wondered whether it was with his express permission that Mr Bingley had returned. She preferred, for her sister's sake, to think that Mr Bingley had simply realized how happy Jane could make him and had come back on his own accord, but a small part of her did wish that her reproofs regarding Jane -- she was ashamed of the way she expressed them, but not of the sentiment -- had prompted Mr Darcy to think more kindly of the match. So lost was Elizabeth in her thoughts that she did not realize the arrival of Mr Bingley himself until his warm greeting rang through the sitting room.

“Oh, Mr Bingley,” fluttered Mrs Bennet, “how you honor us with your visit, sir! Please, do sit down -- would you like some refreshments? And how are you finding the neighborhood after your long absence? I daresay you are glad to be back among us after the stifling air of London; I can never abide town myself but the girls do seem to enjoy it once in a while--”

“Mr Bingley,” Elizabeth interrupted, from sheer necessity of stemming the tide of her mother's monologue that threatened to engulf the poor man, “pray tell, are your sisters in good health?”

Mrs Bennet was about to flutter over Mr Bingley's sisters, but he got a foothold in the conversation first. “I thank you, Miss Elizabeth, they are in good health,” he replied, casting a shy look at Jane, who was blushing furiously from her mother's indelicate references to the gentleman's “long absence.” He added, smiling: “And I can see that you are in good health as well, and all your sisters…” The implication was lost on no one and Elizabeth's heart rejoiced.

“Of course they are in good health, my dear Mr Bingley,” Mrs Bennet began again, “the fresh country air is so beneficial to--”

It was Jane who interrupted this time, before they could all find out to what exactly country air is so beneficial. “And the weather,” she said gently, “is so delightful this time of year, do not you think so, Mr Bingley?”

Bingley beamed at her. “Yes, Miss Bennet, the weather is certainly charming.” As are you, he thought, but did not say out loud.

Finally, the wheels began to turn in Mrs Bennet's brain and, picking up Jane's not so subtle hint, she insistently ushered the young people out for a walk, whispering to Elizabeth that she need not stay quite close to Jane and Mr Bingley. Lydia and Kitty immediately ran off to Meryton, and Elizabeth was left with Mary as her sole companion, as she allowed her sister and Mr Bingley to overtake them so far as to be almost out of hearing distance. She had no intention of leaving them completely alone, as Mrs Bennet surely had in mind for her to do, but there was nothing wrong, she thought, with discreetly permitting them a little privacy. So she drew Mary aside and began a conversation about a subject which interested them both -- books; to Elizabeth's immense surprise, she actually quite enjoyed it -- either Mary's taste in reading material had improved or Elizabeth had learned to be more patient with her sister's opinions. Once in a while, she glanced over at her sister and Mr Bingley and noted with contentment that both were completely engrossed in their own conversation.

If, at that moment, someone would have told Bingley that there was a man in England happier than he, he would have surely laughed in disbelief. He was wonderfully, deliriously happy. The ten minutes of their walk together, exchanging glances and talking about small insignificant things -- the weather, his horses -- made the memories of the season in town retreat like a bad dream, and Bingley knew with a certainty that this is where he was meant to be.

“Miss Bennet,” he began tentatively, “do you think you are more suited to country living or do you prefer town?”

“Oh,” she replied with a smile, “I infinitely prefer the country. London, while interesting, is always noisy and there are ever so many people, it is impossible to find a moment of peace. And you, Mr Bingley?”

Bingley rejoiced at this confirmation of yet another important point of similarity between them. “I, too, prefer the country, Miss Bennet.” He hesitated a little and cleared his throat. “In fact, I can remember no happier time than those months my sisters and I spent at Netherfield.”

Jane blushed becomingly, but a wicked thought arose in her mind -- if he had enjoyed Netherfield so much, she thought, why did he stay away for the entirety of the winter and spring? It was a question she had pondered over during many a sleepless night and until it was resolved, she could not open her heart again. She said nothing, however, allowing Bingley to continue.

Though the day was not particularly warm, Bingley was perspiring from the importance of what had to be said here; he realized now, having dreamt of her face all these months, that though the unruffled placidity may be mistaken by others for lack of emotion, there were depths in the violet of her eyes that told an entirely different story. Right now, the story did not seem to bode well for him.

“Have you often been to London?” he asked.

“Not often, no, but my uncle and aunt reside there -- in Cheapside -- and my sisters and I are sometimes invited to spend time at their house.”

“Oh,” Bingley cried with feeling, “how I wish that your family had visited this winter! It would have been good to see some of our Hertfordshire acquaintances in town among the usual faces.” Bingley was careful to speak in the general, but he knew he really cared nothing for the rest of her family, much as he liked them.

Jane stared at him blankly. “But I was there!” she exclaimed. The words were torn from her before she remembered propriety and she colored and looked down.

Bingley's head spun. “You were in town! It is a great, great pity that we did not meet and that I am not acquainted with your aunt and uncle; I would have certainly called on them had I known. My sisters too,” he added for propriety's sake, though he knew it to be false, “would have much enjoyed seeing you.”

Pressing her lips together so that she should not speak words she would regret later on, Jane realized that Caroline and Louisa had kept her presence in town from Mr Bingley -- she found that this intelligence did not shock her; on the contrary, she felt a hot flash of anger, unlike anything she had ever felt before, course through her veins. No longer could Jane make excuses for the Bingley sisters, no longer could she consider their feelings in the matter. She was in love with Mr Bingley, Jane could not deny that -- to be his wife would bring her every happiness -- and she could not be ashamed of those feelings nor could she put them aside, no matter how much she had tried. Though her response was muted, her eyes darkened in spite of herself. “I had the pleasure of calling on Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst in town,” she said very quietly, “and some weeks later, they returned the call, though perhaps, because of the brevity of both of our visits, they had forgotten that it had occurred.” Masking the unexpected thrill at having made such a daring speech, Jane knelt down to break off the stem of a blue flower.

To say that a storm was gathering in Bingley's breast would be a pitiful understatement; for possibly the first time in his life, he was truly angry. Generally, his cheerful attitude and optimism allowed him to brush aside the mean behavior of others, thereby sparing himself the necessity of being upset about it, but this time, when the behavior originated with his own flesh and blood and was directed towards the likely source of all his future happiness, he could ignore it no longer. The veil did not fall from his eyes -- it had fallen a long time ago -- rather, he lost the tolerance that he felt before he ought to have towards those related to him and under his protection. His countenance darkened. “What you say must be so, Miss Bennet. Although, I wonder at my sisters' forgetfulness, they are well aware how much pleasure it would have given me to have seen you -- your family -- in town this winter.”

Jane raised her eyes to him and in them he read the beginning of a promise.

“I let myself to be persuaded,” he continued earnestly, “that the air in town would be more beneficial for me. The fault was mine for foolishly believing it, but oh, Miss Bennet, how wrong I was! I have known not one moment of happiness until, if you will allow me to say, until I saw y--… saw these fields once again. It took me unpardonably long to realize that, and I will always regret my mistake.” Bingley paused, thinking his next words over carefully. “I hope,” he said, “that the families here, which so graciously welcomed me last autumn, will not turn away from the acquaintance now and will allow me to redeem myself after my long absence.” He consciously used the same words as Mrs Bennet had used earlier, knowing what she had meant by them.

Jane colored and tried to control the mad erratic beating of her heart. “I am certain that this will not be the case, Mr Bingley. From what I have heard,” she allowed herself this admission, “everyone is very pleased that you have come back to Hertfordshire.”

They walked on in silence, the thoughts of both racing with newfound knowledge and the heady realization that their future was, this time, completely in their hands.

Chapter 5

Posted on Tuesday, 6 February 2007

“We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.” ~ Lindsey Billard

July 28, 1810
Pemberley, Derbyshire

Bingley,

I cannot but support your decision to return to Netherfield and pursue Miss Bennet's regard and affection. Whatever my prior opinions on the subject had been, they were made without full possession of the facts, and in any case, no one's opinions (even mine) are ever infallible; you may take them into consideration, but you must trust your own mind. I wish you luck with your quest and great felicity once you undoubtedly fulfill it.

And now, I must make a confession which I fear will distress you. I know you shall be unhappy -- justly -- about my part in this matter and I only hope to retain the great gift of your friendship. My only defense can be that I truly believed that I was acting for your benefit, though it is a poor excuse and I shall not hide behind it.

Darcy put his pen down for a moment, thinking of how to phrase his next words as to give Bingley as little pain as possible. Knowing the strength and permanency of his friend's attachment to Miss Bennet, Darcy realized that this admission might cost him a friendship, but he felt that it could not wait another day. Disguise of every sort was abhorrent to him and the fact that he concealed Miss Bennet's presence in town during the winter from Bingley's knowledge weighed heavily on his mind. What disturbed him even more was the knowledge that he had separated two people from each other who were not only well suited to one another but who were also truly in love -- a great rarity among the couples of Darcy's acquaintance. He could still vividly recall Elizabeth's flashing eyes as she accused him of keeping her sister and Bingley apart, and he, fool that he was then, had not only affirmed it, but had affirmed it with pride and conceit. Had rejoiced in his success! He closed his eyes in pain at the recollection. During the first month after the disastrous scene at Hunsford, pride had not allowed Darcy to acknowledge that he was wrong. He, who had always thought of himself as being fair and fair-minded, even where his own self was concerned, had dismissed Elizabeth's words at first as coming from spite or anger; but upon further, more reasonable, reflection, Darcy found that he could not continue to think in that way -- he was forced to accept the truth of her words and the truth about his own mistakes. Bitter as it was, he would not shy away from it.

For the first time in his life, Darcy had to face his own limitations. It is a difficult thing for a young man to do, especially a young man who is in position of great power and carries enormous responsibility, whose every command is obeyed and whose opinions are rarely questioned. For most people, their mistakes throughout the course of their lives gradually acquaint them with their imperfection, vulnerability -- with their humanity. Learning this is an essential part of living -- it is learning that we have the strength to begin anew a task at which we have failed, it is finding compassion for the errors of others, gaining a deeper understanding of life. It is a difficult enough process even if one is eased into it by the simple passage of time, but Darcy was thrown against it unexpectedly, as if against a solid wall, and it took several months of hard reflection for him to reconcile himself to the idea that he was far from being the kind of person he wanted to be.

This internal struggle had colored his activities since April and he found himself remembering Elizabeth's words during the oddest moments, and softening his approach, listening more, understanding more, remembering more. It was not because of Elizabeth that he was different; rather, it was because she knocked him off of the pedestal onto which he had unconsciously climbed and showed him how much more he still had to grow and accomplish as a man. Almost no one of his acquaintance noticed any change except Colonel Fitzwilliam and Georgiana -- Darcy thought wryly that this was due to the fact that all but those two thought him without fault indeed, seeing only the rich, handsome, clever landowner from an ancient family rather than a real person. Perhaps Bingley would have noticed -- but Bingley had too good, too trusting a character to really doubt his friends, which is why the letter had to be written. It remained to be seen whether their friendship could weather such a betrayal -- for Darcy did not minimize the meaning of his actions; if Bingley had done a similar thing, a betrayal it would have been -- but Darcy hoped that Bingley would forgive him. Indeed, it felt cathartic to set the truth down on paper. Perhaps admitting his fallibilities, accepting and fixing them, would bring him peace. He finished writing, sealed the letter and set it on the tray for the next day's post.

As he was finishing another letter regarding estate business, there was a knock on the door of his study; he bade the visitor to enter to see his cousin walk in with his usual firm step.

“Ah, come in, Fitzwilliam,” he said, inviting the other man to sit down. “I apologize, I have been a poor host today. There was much business that I had to attend to.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam sank comfortably into an armchair by the window. “You hardly need to be a host at all,” he replied smilingly, “I know this house and park almost as well as you do. Have you been writing to Bingley?”

The serious question, so unexpected from his jovial cousin, discomposed Darcy for a moment; he frowned at the intrusion into his private affairs, but could not help nodding. “How did you know?”

“I am sorry for prying, Darcy, I was simply hoping that you would write to him. He is a good chap, he deserved to know. I would not have said anything, but I felt last night that you made up your mind to tell him, and once you are determined to do something, you will do it at the first opportunity.” The Colonel smiled again. “You must give my deductive skills some credit -- after all, I am not a Colonel in His Majesty's Army for my handsome face alone!”

Almost no one else of his acquaintance had the same ability to dispel one Darcy's bad moods as Colonel Fitzwilliam, and this time was no different -- his cousin's good humor and easy manner served to ease some of the tension he had been feeling all day. Darcy relaxed against his chair and shook his head in mock exasperation at Fitzwilliam's shameless self-promotion. “Yes, handsome as well as brilliant -- I feel quite humbled by all this greatness!”

“As well you should, cousin,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied without pause, and they both laughed, acknowledging their constant lighthearted teasing of each other.

Once their laughter subsided, the Colonel looked at Darcy seriously. “I really came to tell you something completely different, Darcy,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I am to leave in three days' time.”

Darcy was alarmed at the sudden departure. “Leave? I hope nothing terrible has transpired that necessitates this, Fitzwilliam, I have greatly enjoyed your company.”

“And I am grateful for your hospitality, but unfortunately, duty calls once again. My General has asked me to take care of something for him at Baden and I would like to do him this favor, he has always treated me kindly and fairly. Baden is under French control at the moment, but beneath Bonaparte's notice, so it is quite safe and is, in fact, a fashionable watering place. The transportation and all the travel arrangements have been made in advance, so I anticipate the trip to be quite pleasant.” Colonel Fitzwilliam walked up to Darcy's desk and toyed with a bronze paperweight. “Listen,” he spoke quickly and convincingly, “why not accompany me? You need a change of air, I would welcome a companion. It will not be a dangerous journey, only a month or so in duration. Georgiana is gone and you have Pemberley running like clockwork -- summer is a quiet time in any case -- you would only be lonely here.”

Darcy looked down thoughtfully. At first, the Colonel's suggestion had seemed like madness to him -- to careen off to Baden, of all places, leaving Georgiana, leaving Pemberley… But Fitzwilliam was right, he had little to do during the quiet summer months and with Georgiana safely at Rosings, he did not relish the thought of spending so much time by himself. “Well,” he said sternly, hiding a smile, “I suppose someone should go with you, just to keep you from getting into too much trouble on the Continent.”

“Your faith in me is touching, Darcy,” the Colonel laughed.

They set out for the port of Dover the following week, Darcy having informed the family and dispatched instructions for the running of the estate during his absence. It turned out that the Colonel's General, being deeply grateful for the favor they were providing in undertaking the commission in Baden, used some of his considerable influence to ensure that the Colonel and his companion were given passage on one of the fastest and most comfortable ships that could be secured and received the necessary paperwork and permissions in due haste. Though Napoleon's attention was at the time diverted elsewhere, travel along the coast of France was still somewhat perilous and unpredictable, and they woke up every morning with a sense of danger and excitement tingling in their veins.

During their passage, Darcy had barely any time to himself -- he and Fitzwilliam, being a civilian and an Army officer, respectively, were eagerly learning the ins and outs of sea travel and witnessing first hand the skill of His Majesty's Navy. It was a very well run ship and the Captain, a gentleman by the name of Harville, was as solicitous to his passengers as possible once he ascertained that they had no pretensions of either running his ship or monopolizing his time. There were no women on board, though, as Captain Harville explained, it was not due to any general prohibition on his part. Darcy was very happy with the arrangement as it released him from the extra effort that socializing with ladies would have required.

He awoke early each morning, as was always his habit, and walked out onto the deck to watch the wide expanse of the pearl gray sky and ocean slowly separate into strips of brilliant blue and deep indigo, droplets of salt water hitting his face and the wind rushing past him and making him feel as though he were aflight. Darcy felt a curious freedom during those days -- so far away from everything he had known, it was difficult to think of domestic concerns. Somehow, in this no-man's mass of water, with only a thin, hazy strip of land visible in the distance, the spirit wanted to take flight as well and he spent his free hours -- time he never had at Pemberley -- reflecting upon the past calmly and introspectively, without guilt or anger or oppression. Invariably though, after Darcy had been lost for several hours in such reflection and his thoughts and mood began to darken, Colonel Fitzwilliam would find him and bring him back into the society of the gentlemen on board, where he found so much good sense and intelligent conversation that it was impossible to be silent and morose. Thus, time went by quickly and ere long, they found themselves disembarking the ship to take a coach through the forests of Bavaria and on to the Grand-Duchy of Baden.

Though the actual Duchy of Baden by that time had grown to almost a million inhabitants, the city itself was not as large as that. It was an old and serene place, nestled against a verdant hill and bordered on the other side by a lake the waters of which were said to contain medicinal qualities. Its red roofs stood out in a cluster against the greenery, punctuated only by the tall spires of the churches, its bridges sloped gently over the lake and the old buildings were well maintained, giving the city a neat, story-book appearance. Despite the turbulent times, there were many foreigners in Baden, resting at the fashionable spas and drinking the healing waters; in some ways, it reminded Darcy of Bath, but because of the international makeup of the visitors, much of the posturing that was so prevalent in the Bath society was refreshingly absent.

Their hotel was small but luxurious. It was all that could be arranged on such a short notice, summer being the height of the Baden season; however, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam could hardly complain -- their accommodations were run with a military precision by a man and his wife, who made sure their guests' linens were white and crisp and their breakfasts came promptly to their doors in the mornings, and in general, they could want for nothing better. In truth, Darcy reflected with a smile, it was the wife who did most of the running, while the husband fulfilled her instructions and made sure that his male guests had enough wine in their glasses at dinner; the couple seemed happy with the arrangement, however, and their contentment was reflected in their excellent hospitality.

During the first few days, the Colonel was occupied with the business that had taken them to Baden in the first place and Darcy was left to dispose of his time as he wished. It gave him a much needed respite. The preceding months at Pemberley had been unusually busy, with several unforeseen occurrences such as a fire and a sickness among the crops resulting in Darcy having hardly any time for his own pursuits. It was unexpectedly pleasant, then, for him to be able to simply sit in the library after breakfast and read the number of new books he had brought, to take brisk walks in the crisp morning air, watching the denizens of the city wake up and attend to their individual concerns, to drink wine and laugh at Fitzwilliam's bad jokes at dinner.

The sting had not yet gone out of Elizabeth's refusal, but he no longer felt anger; in fact, her refusal had paradoxically made him love her and understand her in a way he previously had not been able to do. Darcy knew how easy it would have been for Elizabeth to have accepted his suit -- after all, for a woman in her circumstances, a proposal from a man such as he would have been a solution to all of her family's problems. And yet, she had not accepted him because she would not enter a marriage without respect and affection. This simple principle, so like his own and so different from the ideas of the society women, aroused his admiration for her character.

“But you would forgive her prejudices?” Fitzwilliam had asked one night over port.

“Yes, I would,” he had replied levelly. “You and I both know the power of Wickham's charm. My behavior, my silence only reinforced his lies. Her other reproofs were justified.”

Fitzwilliam had shrugged. “You are your own judge, jury and executioner, Darcy.”

And so he was.

The morning hours, when the sun had not yet heated the cobblestones to an unbearable temperature, were the busiest social hours in Baden. Women made calls, the shops did brisk business and the promenade by the lake was filled with people and carriages. Darcy would have preferred to skip this exercise altogether, riding out into the countryside instead or browsing for new books in the little book-shops that could be discovered on smaller streets, but Fitzwilliam would not hear of missing this walk and he trespassed on his cousin's good nature by insisting that Darcy accompany him.

On this particular morning, Colonel Fitzwilliam felt happy and at peace with himself and with the world around him. He had completed the General's commission successfully, thus justifying his presence here, and could now enjoy himself. His other, unstated, errand was also, in his opinion, progressing nicely. Ever since their hasty departure from Rosings in April, he had noted with concern that his cousin seemed often disturbed and lost in thought. With the goal of uncovering this mystery -- though, he had some ideas as to what it all pertained -- he invited himself to Pemberley for an extended stay, and after subtle maneuvering of conversations and getting Darcy somewhat drunk enough times, he finally discovered the truth of what happened in Kent and Darcy's subsequent months of soul searching. Though he could not agree with Darcy about the entirety of his culpability, he was determined to bring some peace of mind to his cousin and friend.

Colonel Fitzwilliam cast a side glance at Darcy -- he seemed confident and relaxed, not as immersed into the seemingly impenetrable fog of his thoughts -- it was a welcome change, one that Georgiana no doubt will be very happy to see once they returned to England. He began to make plans for their eventual departure. So lost in his thoughts he was, that he hardly looked where he was going and almost bumped into a lady walking with her elderly maid.

“Oh, pardon me!” he exclaimed, and promptly forgot anything else he would have wanted to say. She was beautiful -- with black hair arranged around her small head in dark waves and her simple blue dress draping her figure elegantly, the color echoing in the depths of her eyes. Long lashes cast shadows on a smooth cheek. Their eyes met briefly before she glanced down again, and Colonel Fitzwilliam drew in a breath, captivated by the spark he saw there.

Summoning his courage and his German, which was the only language besides English that he spoke fluently, he coughed slightly and began: "Guten tag, Fraulein, Mein Name ist Colonel Fitzwilliam. Wie geht es Ihnen?"*

The lady, perhaps less shocked by his brazenness than a truly proper young lady should have been, raised her eyes towards his and smiled mysteriously without a response. Her smile, even such a slight one, sent shivers down Col. Fitzwilliam's spine. He tried again, thinking that he had been mistaken in her antecedents.

"Mademoiselle, vous avez un beau sourire..."** This time, he was sure she understood, as her eyebrow arched and her generous mouth turned up in amusement. Her maid looked alarmed for a moment, but seeing that her mistress was calm, she also relaxed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy, who was hiding a smirk, and became even more determined to find out where she was from. He gathered all of his knowledge in foreign languages. "Vashi glaza blestyat kak zvesdi na nebe,"*** he spoke again, with his most charming bow.

She smiled, a blush suffusing her cheeks with a lovely color, and held out her gloved hand, acknowledging the accuracy of his guess.

“I am Alina Rostov, sir,” she replied with a soft accent.

Darcy saw that Fitzwilliam practically teetered. He bowed politely and introduced himself, assessing their new acquaintance. She was strikingly beautiful, and Darcy, despite his assurance after Hunsford that he was not going to look at a woman for a long, long time, was drawn to the sparkle in her dark eyes and the amused smile, which was faintly and inexplicably familiar. His cousin was now making some flattering remarks about Miss Rostov's proficiency in the English language and was very obviously trying to appear to his best advantage in front of her.

“Oh, but I have some family in England,” Alina explained, still smiling. “My uncle, Mr Bennet, lives in Hertfordshire, have you ever been there?”

Darcy's jaw dropped. Mr Bennet! Hertfordshire! Now he knew why the eyes and the smile were familiar! A million questions crowded in his mouth, waiting to get out, but all he could manage was an incomprehensible "Buh... wha... how....Eliz..."

Both Fitzwilliam and Alina stared at him. "What language is your friend speaking? Does he not speak English?" she asked, perplexed.

Fitzwilliam elbowed Darcy painfully, but it helped him recover his poise. He tried to look dark and imposing -- that usually stopped people from questioning his actions -- but it did not seem that Miss Rostov was intimidated in the least. He should have known, he thought, that it would not work on a Bennet woman! He looked on through narrowed eyes as Fitzwilliam offered his arm to the lady and led her away, chatting amiably.

*Hello, my name is Colonel Fitzwilliam. How do you do? (German)
**Miss, you have a beautiful smile... (French)
***Your eyes shine as the stars in the sky. (Russian)

A/N: Two new characters are introduced in this chapter - Edward Fitzwilliam, the Viscount Harcourt and his wife, Diana Fitzwilliam, the Viscountess Harcourt. I thought it would be wise to give a little family history: Edward is the first born and heir of Darcy's uncle, the Earl of Sheffield (not Matlock, sorry guys). He is Richard's older brother and Darcy, Georgiana and Anne's cousin. The Earl of Sheffiled's seat is in Yorkshire and is called Asshaw Hall. Edward made a brilliant match several years prior to my story when he married Lady Diana, daughter of the Duke of Stone, bringing a large dowry and connections to the family. Most importantly, it was a love match and they are quite an enviable couple. They have no children thus far. Hope you like these two additions to our cast of characters! And now, on with the show.

Chapter 6

Posted on Saturday, 10 February 2007

August 5, 1810
Rosings Park, Kent

Dearest Diana,

You will no doubt be happy to hear that I have endeavored to liberate Georgiana from the wilds of Derbyshire; it seems that Darcy has, since April, been in a terrible mood (more on that next time) and we both know that she is too shy to complain and too much in awe of him to admit it. The poor child has been imagining that it is somehow her fault, I cannot understand why. It is well now, she is here with me for some time and I am attempting to provide her with some form of female companionship that she has been sorely lacking. Her companion, a Mrs Annesley, seems to be a good sort of woman, rather more intelligent than most, but surely, nothing can be so good for her development (and I flatter myself here) as the society of a loving cousin such as myself. I have managed to convince Mother (or, rather, I have allowed her to think she was convincing me) that the poor dear needs quantities and quantities of good food, fresh air, drawing classes and practice on the pianoforte, so Georgiana and I have been driving out in my phaeton every day, taking long walks and sketching and playing to our hearts' content. The weather continues charming, which has greatly added to our enjoyment of the above activities.

I trust you and Edward are doing well and so are our esteemed Aunt and Uncle. I would invite you to visit us here, but firstly, I know that you are going to town for the fall and secondly, the last time you and Mother were in the same room together, we began to be afraid that an unfortunate accident would occur! Oh, do let me know if you have heard from your brother, Richard. I know he is overseas and correspondence is unlikely, but I am curious as to how he is faring in Baden. Take care, my dear friend, and write to me with all the news from town. Until then, I remain,

Yours, &etc,
Anne

Diana Fitzwilliam, the Viscountess Harcourt, frowned over the letter. Her husband, noticing her furrowed brow over the top of his newspaper, immediately inquired as to its cause.

“I have just received a letter from your cousin, Anne,” Diana replied. “She writes that Georgiana is to stay with her and Lady Catherine in Kent for the next several months.”

“Surely, that is good news, my love,” said her husband perplexedly. “A young girl such as Georgiana should not be hidden away in the North for half her life. That,” he winked, “is for old people like us,” and had to hide behind his newspaper again to escape his wife's withering glare.

Diana continued, not dignifying the last remark with a response. “But Edward, you have missed the most important point, Georgiana is to stay with Lady Catherine! We must free her at once! Your aunt will either stifle the girl with attention or frighten her to half to death. Lady Catherine is such a--”

“Diana!” Edward looked up with a warning glance.

“Yes, of course, dear, I will not say it here, but you know perfectly well that I am right. Your own father says so, and she is his sister. In any case, even with Anne there, Lady Catherine will manage the poor child when what she really needs is guidance and controlled freedom.”

Edward looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded. “I see the merit in your conclusions, Diana. But why must we ride in for the rescue? Let us write to Darcy and suggest--”

“Your wonderful brother took Darcy off on some voyage to the Continent, if you recall, Edward,” Diana said disapprovingly. “Therefore, we are left to fend for her ourselves. Let us take Georgiana to town when we go in the fall; she can stay with us until Darcy returns. It will be just the thing she needs. She is at such a tender and impressionable age now, and though she is not yet out, she could truly benefit from the varied society she will find with us. Darcy is a wonderful brother, to be sure, but he cannot replace a woman's presence in Georgiana's life.”

“Oh,” Edward groaned, “Darcy will kill me! He hates for his decisions to be interfered with, you know that! And my aunt…”

“Then we shall just have to take Anne as well,” Diana said firmly. “Darcy simply wanted Georgiana to spend time with Anne, I daresay he cared not where. So you see, if we bring Anne, Darcy can have no cause to be displeased. As for convincing your aunt, well, next to Darcy, you are by far her favorite nephew. She will deny you nothing you ask of her, she has always spoiled and indulged you.”

Edward rubbed his temples in contemplation of the logistical nightmare that he knew awaited him once he undertook this scheme. “I have had no peace since the day I married you!” he exclaimed, albeit with more humor than real frustration.

Diana arched an eyebrow. “And you would not wish for it to be any other way.”

August 22, 1810
Asshawe Hall, Yorkshire

Anne,

Edward will come to fetch both you and Georgiana in three weeks' time and you shall come to London with us for the Little Season. Edward is now writing to your mother to arrange it all. Now, my dear Anne, please do not protest -- you know that once I have made up my mind to do something, there is no stopping me, and this is for your own good and for the dear girl's as well. I give you full leave to be angry at my high-handedness once we are in town. Really, please do come, we shall be more than happy to see both of you, and you cannot spend the entirety of your life in Kent.

Yours, &etc,
Diana

“How would you like to go to London, Georgiana?” Anne asked one morning during their usual quiet walk. Two imposing footmen trailed the girls, keeping in sight but just out of hearing distance, exactly as Colonel Fitzwilliam had predicted earlier.

Georgiana looked up with big, alarmed eyes. “London! Why, Anne, do you wish to go?”

Anne laughed a little. “In truth, I do not.” She looked around the lovely, tall trees that shadowed their path, the splashes of sunlight on the sweet-smelling lavender, the crisp green grass underneath their feet. “I want nothing more than to stay here all my life and enjoy this beauty, Georgiana. Alas,” she smiled dryly, “our cousin, Diana, has decided that we need more exposure to good society and has insisted that we accompany her and Edward to town when they go in three weeks.”

“Oh,” Georgiana sighed with relief, “it is to be with Diana. She is rather alarming at times, but I do like her ever so much.”

“So you would not mind? She asked in such terms that I would be loath to deny her. Diana almost never asks for anything, and when she does, it must be for a good reason.”

Georgiana hesitated a little. “Would I have to go to many balls and parties?”

“No, no, my dear” Anne replied understandingly, “as you are not yet out, you will not be able to attend, even if you had wanted to, so it is quite lucky that you do not, in fact, want to.” She frowned. “I suppose I shall have to go, however. I detest dancing with strange men, although if Richard were here, it would not have been quite so bad, for I daresay he knows everyone in town and would shield me from the worst offenders against decency and good taste.”

A little frightened by her cousin's frankness, Georgiana was unsure whether to be shocked or amused. “Is it really so bad, Anne?” she asked, a little breathlessly. “I have never been to a really big ball.”

Anne could not help smiling at her young cousin's curiosity. She sat down carefully on a large, dry log and invited Georgiana to do the same. The peacefully shining sun put her in an excellent mood and she was quite prepared to be gracious about everything, even London. “No, it is not really so bad, Georgie,” she said. “It is rather exciting, really. Though I have never had a Season due to my health, Mother and I have been up to London several times and have attended some wonderful parties. You shall see, dear, you will quite enjoy yourself when you come out. You will be wearing lovely clothes with some of your mother's jewels, no doubt; you will be the be most beautiful girl there and all the handsome gentlemen will want to dance with you.” Georgiana looked a little green at the prospect of so much attention focused on her, but Anne went on, oblivious. “There will be lots of music and tea parties and rides in the Park, and perhaps, one day, you will meet someone very special and--”

“No!” cried Georgiana, springing up abruptly and turning away. “I shall not meet anybody special ever again. I shall never get married, I do not wish to. I want to be always at Pemberley with Fitzwilliam.”

Anne was astonished at this uncharacteristic outburst and could only gape silently at Georgiana, whose face was contorted and flushed with an angry red color. It was almost as if the girl had deliberately wanted to shock Anne with her outrageous statement. Not knowing what to say, how to calm her, Anne could only repeat some banalities that sounded inane even as she was saying them. “How can you think that, my dear?” she said, trying to sound reasonable. “You are young, handsome, rich and well connected, you need not worry about being successful in town, why, everybody will love you…”

Anne's voice trailed off into silence -- she could not keep saying ordinary things when there was so obviously something very wrong. She wondered what could be so bad as to have upset Georgiana this much -- whatever it was, there had been little indication of it during the several wonderful weeks they had spent together, chatting, laughing, almost like sisters. She waited silently for the outcome of Georgiana's internal struggle.

“You have been very kind to me, Anne. Very kind,” the young girl said, walking a little way forward. The excitement of the previous moment having passed, the color left her face and her breathing subsided, but her brows were knit together in a frown and she was biting her lip in indecision.

Anne waited still, hardly daring to breathe, as if she were afraid to frighten a bird or a small creature.

Georgiana bent her head and looked at the ground with clouded eyes. “May I tell you something?” she asked with deceptive simplicity.

“Of course,” Anne replied softly, “you may tell me anything.”

“I almost eloped with the son of my father's steward last summer who wanted to marry me for my fortune,” Georgiana said in one breath. She then told the story of the whole shameful affair in a calm, detached manner, as if speaking of someone else, of a stranger. Indeed, perhaps she was speaking of somebody else, for she was not the same person as that silly, romantic, idealistic girl of the previous year. Many times during her tale, Anne's eyes filled with tears and at the end, she sighed with undisguised relief.

“I thank the Lord,” she said with feeling, “that you confessed the whole of it to your brother!” She then walked up to the shivering girl and hugged her tightly, not wanting to let go. Still holding her, she said: “I shudder to think of what would have happened…”

“Me too, Anne,” Georgiana whispered. Anne's mind was whirling with everything she had heard; she was at once filled with revulsion at the actions of Wickham and Mrs Younge, anger at Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam for permitting it to happen, and overwhelming, almost physical relief that the girl she was now holding was not lost to them forever. It was fragile -- very fragile -- the fabric of life, she thought, held together by one coincidence after another, one step in the wrong direction spelling disaster and another step preventing it.

“But you do blame me?” Georgiana asked at length.

Anne frowned. “It was a damn foolish thing to do, Georgiana,” she said, “you could have ruined your entire life! Of course, I blame you!”

Georgiana did not seem as surprised at Anne's harsh words as Anne half thought she would be, and nodded vigorously. “Good!” she replied with unexpected conviction.

“Pardon?”

“I deserve your censure, Anne! I know that my actions were inexcusable. I could have ruined my family's reputation and my own life as well, and what is worse, I deceived and hurt Fitzwilliam. I am no child; I should have known not to trust Wickham and Mrs Younge.”

“Georgiana,” Anne said gently, drawing Georgiana once more into her embrace, “at fifteen, you were little more than a child--”

“But I should have known better!”

“Perhaps, yes, perhaps you should have. You told your brother, though -- and you did not go through with the deception. You allowed your sense of duty and reason guide you, and it was a wise choice; your affections may sometimes lead you astray, but your inner sense of right and wrong will always show you the correct path to take, as it did last summer. I am not trying to trivialize what you did, but Fitzwilliam loves you, as do we all, and everyone makes mistakes and can be forgiven.”

Georgiana shook her head mournfully. “You are too easy on me, Anne. I do not deserve such understanding.”

“Yes, you do! Your brother thinks you do, and as you know, he is never wrong!” Anne smiled shakily, for the first time since Georgiana had begun her tale. “Georgie, I am glad you told me of this; I hope you can begin forgiving yourself now, I believe you deserve it. We shall talk about this some more tomorrow -- you will not be sorry then that you told me?”

“No,” Georgiana frowned, “I do not believe I shall regret it. I feel-- lighter, somehow, now that you know as well as Fitzwilliam and Richard.”

“Richard knew?” Anne asked intently, and then nodded to herself. “Of course he did, he is your guardian.” She looked at Georgiana brightly. “He respected your trust, as shall I. Come, now, let us go to the Parsonage and liberate Mrs Collins.”

Georgiana blinked in confusion. “Liberate?”

“Yes,” explained Anne patiently, “I will say that Mother mentioned last night that the widow Higgins absolutely must have help getting her firewood chopped, you will nod in agreement and Mr Collins will scuttle off to find a man to do it, solely to please me and Mother. Mrs Collins will then be free to give us some tea and the widow Higgins' firewood will be chopped. Unfortunately, she will have to endure an hour in the company of Mr Collins, but as she is almost completely deaf, I do not believe she will mind too much.”

Both girls giggled at this prospect and began the short walk to the Parsonage.

Chapter 7

Posted on Saturday, 28 April 2007

“Oh, the experience of this sweet life.” ~ Dante

August 27, 1810
Rosings Park, Kent

Dear brother,

I hope that this missive will reach you sooner rather than later and finds you and our cousin in good health. Please be assured that I am well -- more than well, actually, for Anne and I have been having such a lovely time together. The woods of Rosings are so beautiful at this time of year -- nothing to Pemberley, of course, but beautiful still.

The reason I write is that our cousins Edward and Diana have graciously invited Anne and myself to join them in town in three weeks' time. I asked Aunt Catherine whether it was proper for me to go without having obtained your permission first, but she said that since she is my guardian in your stead and she permits me to go, it would be all right. Would it be, Fitzwilliam? I truly hope that you will not mind, and if you do, write to Edward and I shall come home immediately.

Fitzwilliam, I must confess something to you -- I have told Anne. She has been like a sister to me, and she knew something was wrong, I could not continue deceiving her. We spent half the night in conversation; I have never felt as unburdened as I do now. She told me that I must learn to forgive myself, but I do believe she is too easy on me. I am relieved that she knows, it was difficult to keep a secret from her, with whom I have become so close.

I miss you very much, dear brother. I play your favorite pieces for Anne on the pianoforte, as well as Richard's, but Anne prefers Richard's selections best -- she says his taste is livelier. Do not worry about me, stay as long as you wish on the Continent, I am perfectly content with our family here. Both Aunt Catherine and Anne send their warmest regards and hope for your safe journey home. Please give my love to Richard.

I remain your loving sister,
Georgiana Darcy

“Darcy?” Richard asked frowning, “What has happened? You look as if you are going to hurt someone.”

“Damn Edward,” Darcy replied grimly, as if those words could explain everything.

“My brother? What has he done now to provoke your ire?”

Rising from his chair, Darcy handed Georgiana's letter to Colonel Fitzwilliam, who began reading at once.

“Having a nice time with Anne, I see. Excellent, excellent… Woods at Rosings beautiful… yes, they certainly are…” Suddenly, the Colonel stopped and stared. “Hold on a minute,” he said with alarm, “Edward and Diana are taking her to London? And Aunt Catherine sanctioned this, encouraged it even? Oh, I do not believe it!” He and Darcy exchanged glances full of apprehension.

Darcy gripped the sides of his armchair in an effort to calm himself. “I can believe it; Aunt Catherine would never deny Edward anything he asked. Georgiana dislikes London excessively, I cannot imagine how they convinced her to go. I cannot leave her alone there.” He rubbed his jaw in consternation, his mind already far away, making arrangements for their return.

“Well,” Richard attempted to pacify his cousin, “she will not be alone; Anne will be there and Edward and Diana, of course, and very possibly, my parents as well. And now that Anne knows -- that is a miracle in itself -- she will be able to prevent Georgiana seeing anyone who could remind her of him. Nothing untoward will happen to her.”

“I know nothing untoward will happen,” Darcy said impatiently, “but you must see that we need to be there with her, we cannot simply leave her at the mercy of our relations. She is young, easily excitable, and she is just emerging from the timidity that has almost paralyzed her since last summer -- she will need the two people whom she loves most at her side to brave the onslaught of society. As much as I love and respect our family… I would much prefer to be with Georgiana at this critical time.”

“But Darcy,” the Colonel protested, “Georgiana is not yet out, she will not see `society.' I see no reason to simply abandon all of our friends here and rush like mad back to England. Do not mistake me, I love Georgiana, but I believe she is safe enough with our family.”

“Unfortunately, she will see enough of society,” Darcy said coldly, turning away from the Colonel. “You may stay if you wish, Fitzwilliam, but I shall go back to England within the week. I must be there for my sister.”

For several minutes, both men were silent; then the Colonel sighed in defeat. “I believe you are right, Darcy,” he said, his voice low, “we must go back. She is only sixteen and I am her guardian as well, we cannot leave her. I had just so hoped-- well, perhaps we shall have several days to say our goodbyes.”

“Miss Rostov?” Darcy asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“I had no idea it was that serious, Fitzwilliam. We have certainly seen a great deal of her, but--”

“I know, I know!” the Colonel exclaimed, pacing about the room with nervous energy. “I know all the reasons against it. She is so young, barely nineteen and I am an old man of thirty; she is rich and I -- I do not have anything to offer her beyond a Colonel's pay and a soldier's uniform; but that is not the worst… If she were only English! Like this, however, our family will never accept her, even though she is the sweetest, kindest and most beautiful creature in the world. Is that not unfair, Darcy?”

Darcy frowned, refusing to enter into a pointless discussion about women and unfairness; he felt that he had had his share of both for the present. “Have you gone to her father, then?”

“Her father?” Colonel Fitzwilliam looked up, startled. “Er… no, I confess I have not. When I saw her two days ago, she said her parents had arrived, but I never though to seek them out. Do you really think I would gain by soliciting their consent?”

“You know, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy stated decisively, “for such a clever man, you can be exceedingly foolish sometimes. It is very improper for you to continue this pseudo-courtship without requesting permission from her father -- for all you know, she has not even apprised her parents of your meetings. You must call on them immediately and rectify this mistake.”

“But Darcy, you disapprove of the match…”

“Yes,” Darcy replied primly, “but even so, I am not going to allow my cousin to comport himself without dignity or propriety.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam's laughter rang out in the room; a familiar sound that somehow broke the tension that had been steadily mounting between the two men since the beginning of the conversation. “Thank you, Darcy,” the Colonel finally said with a smile.

“For reminding you of proper behavior in society?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam smirked. “For making me laugh!”

“You are simply nervous,” Darcy parried with an answering smirk, “because you have never spoken with a girl's father before. Let us go right away; we shall see how far your famous charm will carry you!”

Chapter 8

August 25, 1810
Longbourn, Hertfordshire

My dear Alexei,

The situation you describe certainly sounds alarming, I am glad you are assured of your children's safety in and outside of Russia. In contrast, it is quite peaceful here, we are in very little danger from Bonaparte's invasion; His Majesty's Navy has thankfully endeavored to keep him occupied elsewhere for the benefit of the rest of the civilized world. However, you are more than welcome to cast your lot with us here in Hertfordshire, if you should so wish it, but I feel that I must warn you in advance of danger quite of a different kind -- you will be subjected to the behavior and conversation of five of the silliest women in the country! Excepting my Lizzy, of course. Please do accept our invitation. Convey my fondest regards to Catherine and to your daughters.

Yours, &etc,
Thomas Bennet

The sun had already cooled somewhat in Baden during the third week of September, the heat of the summer a thing of the past and more than a hint of the autumnal chill permeating the air. Some of the gaiety had left the town along with the more fashionable set, leaving somehow a more dignified and sober atmosphere, all the more suited to the stately carriage that was this minute pulling up outside of a large house on a fashionable Baden street. The servants, who had come in an earlier coach and were now well prepared for the arrival of their masters, bustled on the street unloading additional trunks, and the maid stood ready with a warm pelisse in the event that her lady was chilled by the late afternoon wind.

At last, the door of the carriage opened and a stout gentleman emerged, holding the door open for a pretty, full figured woman. The couple was no longer in their early years, but they had evidently retained much of the affection that is usually attributed only to the young, and the gentleman was most solicitous in helping his lady descend from the carriage, himself holding her gloved hand and supporting her waist as she stepped out onto the stool deftly presented by a young, eager footman.

Proceeding inside the house merrily, they warmly greeted all the servants by name, laughing and exchanging comments about trivial things such as the weather and the state of the roads at this time of year, and in all, rather contributing to than detracting from the general chaos surrounding their appearance. All, however, felt the strain of the journey, and the maid, an elderly and outspoken woman who had been taking care of her lady for night on twenty years, fittingly summed up the feelings of the general assembly when she said, clasping her hands to her ample bosom:

“Oh, Princess, it is so good to finally arrive!”

“Yes, Dasha,” replied Prince Alexei, smiling genially at his wife, “it is indeed good to finally arrive, just as you say. Now,” he turned to the housekeeper, “where is my wayward child?”

The housekeeper sniffed crossly. “She is out walking with that Eugenie. At this time in the afternoon, with the wind so cold! That is what comes from allowing the French -- well, you must excuse me, sir, it is not my place to say so.” Clearly, the Frenchwoman's place in the household was causing some resentment among the other staff.

The Prince and his wife exchanged a silent look. “When did my brother and his wife leave?” the Prince asked, changing the subject.

“Yesterday morning, sir,” the housekeeper replied with more deference. “They wished to wait until you returned, but they were summoned home most urgently -- it seems that their eldest child was very ill indeed.”

“Oh,” the Princess exclaimed, “that is grave news, I hope…” she turned to her husband with a worried face, “Oh, Alexei, should we go back as well?”

He patted her hand soothingly. “Now, now, Katya, do not fret. I am certain it is nothing; you know we Rostovs all have the strongest constitution! Why, my brothers and I were sick many times as children, but it all came to nothing, and look at me, I am grown to a portly old age. I will see if Constantin left a note for me. If he wishes our presence, we will certainly go, but he and his wife may see our being there as only an unwelcome intrusion if we arrive uninvited.”

Their domestic conversation was interrupted by a commotion in the hallway, and a dark haired figure in a white dress flew into the Prince's arms.

“Papa! Papa! You are back! How I have missed you!” Alina pressed herself to her father, who smiled involuntarily at this energetic reception and stroked her head.

After a moment, she stepped away shyly and approached her mother. “Hello, Mamma. I have missed you as well, very much.”

There had been a coolness between them ever since the Princess had chastised Alina for her previous behavior -- the Prince had done so as well, but somehow, Alina found it easier to bear from her father -- but now, Catherine's eyes misted over and she took her daughter by the shoulders and pulled her into a warm embrace. “I have missed you too, my darling,” she whispered. Alina, relieved, returned the embrace wholeheartedly.

The next morning, Alina knocked on the door of her father's study and upon hearing his voice bidding her to enter, walked in to find both of her parents engaged in what looked like a serious conversation.

“Ah, daughter, come in,” Prince Alexei waved Alina to a chair. “Your mother and I were just discussing you.”

This kind of introduction has never boded well in the past and Alina shivered; her parents were looking at her expectantly, however, and she decided to simply have it out. “I must tell you something,” she said with a bravado she did not feel, “I have been meeting a gentleman during my walks for the past several weeks, a Colonel in the English army, and I think I that am in love with him.” She closed her eyes, expecting the storm to break.

Instead, she saw with utter amazement that her parents exchanged an almost amused glance and her father picked up a letter that had been laying on his desk.

“Ah,” he said, “perhaps what you have said explains that mystery, then.”

“W-what mystery?” Alina dared to ask.

Catherine watched the scene with a grave expression, belied by the twitching at the corners of her mouth that she could not suppress. “Your father,” she explained, “received a note from a Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam this morning asking for an interview. He was quite perplexed as to the identity of the mysterious Colonel and I am certain is now quite relieved to have it all explained to him.”

“We knew that you were -- meeting someone on your walks lately,” the Prince said sternly, but then added with more softness in his voice, “but you have just acquitted yourself by telling us about it in such a straightforward manner.”

Alina could only gape. “You knew? Did you set someone to spy on me? Whom?”

Both her parents chuckled at the mixture of indignation and relief in her voice. “Close your mouth, or else flies will get inside,” Prince Alexei smiled. “We did not set someone to `spy' on you, but do you really expect us to let you alone here, with only my oblivious brother and his harpy of a wife--”

“Alexei!”

“Oh, er, I apologize, my dear; I meant, his happy wife, yes, happy.” He did not, however, look repentant.

Catherine glared at her husband. “Dearest,” she then turned to her Alina, “we simply want what is best for you. You will understand one day, when you too are a parent. We had to know what was happening. I hope you see the necessity and forgive us.”

Alina thoroughly disliked when her parents explained their actions from their own perspective -- everything always made perfect sense then, robbing her of the ability to be the least bit angry or resentful. “Yes,” she mumbled reluctantly, “I see the wisdom in it, Mamma.”

“Good,” said Prince Alexei impatiently, “I am glad that this matter is resolved. Now, could you please tell me a little about this Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam? He is coming to call on me in an hour and I should not like to appear ignorant.”

Sources of Happiness ~ Section II

By Irene

Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter 9

Posted on Tuesday, 15 May 2007

“Dear Sir,

If it would not be too much of an inconvenience, I would appreciate a half hour of your time to discuss a matter of some importance. I shall call on you at one o'clock on Wednesday.

Yours, &etc,
Colonel Hon. Richard Fitzwilliam

Both Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were on edge as they walked to the Rostovs' townhouse for the Colonel's interview with the Prince; the reasons for their mood, however, were vastly different.

For the Colonel, it was indeed the end of an era. He could not believe that he, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the soldier, the confirmed bachelor, the son of an English earl, was this minute ready to ask permission to court the daughter of a Russian nobleman. Really, it was beyond crediting, and if it had not been happening to him, he would have even found the situation immensely amusing. Notwithstanding these sentiments, he could neither deny his feelings nor halt his actions -- he had fallen in love for the first time in his life. Alina was everything he could ever desire in a woman -- beautiful, lively, spirited, intelligent, sweet-tempered and, yes, with a fortune that would allow them to live quite comfortably. Some days, the Colonel imagined he could lose himself in the depths of her eyes, listening to the bell-like tones of her voice; life was more interesting when she was present, the very colors themselves brighter and more vibrant. He thought not about the numerous obstacles in their way, for he was certain that all would sort itself out in due time, but rather about the exciting life they would lead together once Alina was his forever. Alina's parents, however, gave the Colonel pause. From her description, they seemed perfectly pleasant, but he knew parents like that -- he had seen the fiercest of generals, lions of the battlefield, turn into purring tomcats when faced with the pretty sparkling eyes of their daughters, and turn back into roaring lions when facing the same daughter's prospective husband. He hoped, rather than believed, that Prince Rostov was not one of those fathers.

“For a man who has stood unflinching before enemy troops, you look very pale,” Darcy observed with an amused glance, as if reading his thoughts.

Colonel Fitzwilliam narrowed his eyes. “I certainly hope you are not implying that I am afraid of her father.”

Darcy smirked. “Oh, no, not at all. I was simply remarking on the rather interesting shade of your complexion.” He then had to move aside as Fitzwilliam swung his cane quite viciously in Darcy's direction.

“I hope you realize, my friend,” Fitzwilliam retorted, “that while I am in chambers with her father, so to speak, your duty will be to entertain the Princess. In other words, you shall get to spend a pleasant half hour with Miss Elizabeth Bennet's aunt, the sister of that lady's esteemed father!”

It was the Darcy's turn to turn silent and slightly pale. After so unexpectedly making the acquaintance of Miss Rostov, he had spent several very uncomfortable hours contemplating her relationship to Elizabeth. The coincidence of meeting her, in Baden of all places, was staggering, but in the end, Darcy was glad that it had happened.

For a short time after his disastrous proposal, he had believed that he could put Elizabeth out of his mind, but after seeing the sparkling eyes of her cousin, which so reminded him of Elizabeth's, he knew that it was a futile effort. Elizabeth had stirred his heart and his soul, he loved her. He realized it fully only when he was alone on the ship, looking out into the vastness of the universe and feeling a foreign emotion -- loneliness. His initial burst of passion had now faded into a deep longing, and Darcy could clearly imagine the life they could have had together; he could almost hear the laughter of their children, taste the sweetness of her skin. The love for her was a part of him now, and he woke up each morning with the realization that he needed Elizabeth and went to sleep each night missing her all the more.

After Hunsford, Darcy thought that nothing could bring them together again, for he had no reason to visit Hertfordshire and indeed, if Elizabeth hated him so, it would be ungentlemanly for him to impose himself on her. Even his friendship with Bingley, his remaining link to Elizabeth, was now uncertain. Consequently, after the initial shock of discovering that Miss Rostov was Elizabeth's cousin had dissipated, Darcy found himself anticipating the time he and Fitzwilliam spent with Miss Rostov, though he was ashamed to say that the pleasure did not arise solely from that lady's company. She was charming and bright, and although Darcy disapproved of Fitzwilliam marrying a foreigner, he felt that he had had his share of interfering in people's love affairs and in any case, there could be no objections to the lady herself aside from her not being English. Fitzwilliam was a grown man, after all, and Darcy had said his piece and now had only to support his cousin as a true friend should. When the three of them met in the park or along the main avenue of Baden, Darcy was sometimes startled by how like Elizabeth she was -- not overtly, but a hint of a smile, something about the eyes -- it reminded him sharply of all that he would never have. And yet, every time they met, he could not help searching out the resemblance, all the while feeling a pang in his heart that he could not suppress.

“Darcy, wake up, man, we are here.” Fitzwilliam tapped his arm lightly and Darcy looked up to find himself in front of an elegant house. A smart butler showed them into the well-appointed drawing room, where the Prince, the Princess and their daughter were awaiting their arrival. A becoming blush suffused Alina's cheeks as she perceived Colonel Fitzwilliam's entrance and she smiled nervously at the visitors. The necessary introductions were performed and they sat down for the obligatory period of small talk, discussing the weather, the Rostovs' journey, and their own errand in Baden. Soon, the Prince nodded suggestively to Colonel Fitzwilliam and invited him to retreat to the study. With a final glance that conveyed more anxiety than Darcy had ever seen in his fearless cousin, the Colonel followed Prince Alexei out of the room.

Prince Alexei closed the door of his study decisively and, with a gesture, invited Colonel Fitzwilliam to take a seat.

“In truth, sir,” he began without a preamble, “I am very pleased that you have called on me so soon after my wife and I arrived in Baden. It shows good sense and proper respect, and without that, I would have not allowed your acquaintance with my daughter to progress any further.” He seated himself behind the large mahogany desk, across from his guest.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was undeniably startled by this abrupt form of address, so different from the Prince's mildness when in the presence of his family. It had been a very long time since anyone had dared speak to him in this manner, as if to an unruly child -- his position as a Fitzwilliam and a Colonel in His Majesty's Army typically ensured that he was treated with at least polite respect. He bit back a sharp retort, recalling in time that this was the father of the woman he had come to adore.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied, with as much civility as he could, “I would like to assure you, however, that neither your daughter nor I have ever engaged in any inappropriate behavior which could have exposed either one of us to public censure.”

The Prince's frown receded a little. “That is a good beginning, young man. My daughter can be… spirited -- I am glad one of you has had the sense not to overstep the boundaries.”

“Your daughter” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, drawing himself up, “has always comported herself with the utmost propriety and respect for your authority.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Prince Alexei said calmly, diffusing the Colonel's anger. “This is what you have come to speak with me about, is it not?”

“Yes, sir.” Looking earnestly at the Prince, Colonel Fitzwilliam explained how he and Alina had met accidentally and how they had seen a good deal of each other during their daily walks. He made sure to mention that he had taken great care that they should never be in each other's company for longer than it was proper and that his cousin and her maid accompanied them at all times. “I have come to admire your daughter a great deal, sir,” the Colonel continued, a dreamy smile grazing his lips, “and I would like your permission to court her.”

The Prince sat back and sighed. He liked this young man, he really did, in spite of himself in fact; he liked his earnestness, his open countenance, his apparent attachment to and admiration for Alina. The Colonel came from an excellent family, and though had little money, his breeding and intelligence shone in his every word and gesture. Although Prince Alexei would have wished for his daughter to marry a Russian, he understood the hypocrisy in prohibiting the match because of the gentleman's English origins. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Sir,” he said, “I am highly gratified that a gentleman of your caliber has come to love my daughter. Certainly, she deserves no less. I am not inclined to deny your request outright, but I would ask you to perhaps amend your motives. Alina is so young, she is only nineteen, and after such a brief acquaintance, I do not believe she can know her own mind.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Colonel Fitzwilliam interrupted, his agitation rising as his hopes sank, “both your daughter and I truly believe in our love for each other. I am not asking to marry her, but a period of courtship should solidify our feelings while demonstrating their strength to you.”

Prince Alexei frowned at being interrupted, though he was secretly pleased that this young man was so eager to defend Alina's feelings and understanding. “Please, allow me to finish, and I believe you will agree with me,” he said. “You have known each other but a month; you are in love and I can certainly understand why you wish to proclaim your feelings to the world. However, society, as you know, is unforgiving, and all the difficulties you will face together multiply under public scrutiny. Court Alina privately, discreetly, allow time for all of this to settle, and then, when both of you are sure of your intentions, I will grant you permission to marry her.”

“But sir,” the Colonel protested, albeit more politely this time, “how shall I see her? We are even now called back to England and, while I will make every effort to return to Baden as soon as I can manage it, I am not at all certain it could be accomplished in a short period of time.”

“Ahh,” Prince Alexei smiled slightly, “but we, too, are traveling to England soon.”

The astonished Colonel looked at him questioningly.

“It was our intention all along,” the Prince explained. “The air in Europe smells too much of danger for our liking, and my wife and I have decided to take a house in London until that man is safely defeated, as I am sure he will be in due time. We are simply awaiting the arrival of my nephew, Peter, and then we will be on our way. So you see, it was quite fortuitous that you have been called away just at the time we were planning to leave ourselves.”

“Er… yes, of course, sir,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, still surprised at the neatness with which the events around him were settling into a tidy pattern. “I will do as you say, sir. Please allow me to call on you when you arrive to London.”

“Certainly, young man,” Prince Alexei replied, settling more comfortably into his char. “Now, tell me about yourself.”

As he watched his cousin and the Prince depart to the Prince's study, Darcy realized that he was left alone with the two women.

He hated this part -- he was now obliged to make conversation with two people whom he barely knew; even his acquaintance with Alina was slight at best, as she spent most of their time together talking and laughing with the Colonel. Luckily, the Princess perceived his discomfort and took up the reigns of the conversation.

“Mr Darcy,” she began, “my daughter tells me that you hail from Derbyshire?”

“Yes, ma'am, I have an estate there.”

“Derbyshire is a lovely place,” Catherine said warmly. “When I was a girl, my parents took me on a tour of the Peak District and I was left with the most wonderful memories. I am not sure whether you know, but I, myself, am English, although after so many years,” she chucked slightly, “I do begin to feel more Russian than anything. My brother has a small estate in Hertfordshire, I am told that you spent a little time there yourself?”

Though the Princess' soothing monologue had put Darcy more at ease, he could not help coloring at the mention of Hertfordshire. “My friend, Mr Bingley, is leasing an estate there called Netherfield,” he said, “I believe it is not three miles from Mr Bennet's estate.”

“Of course! I remember Netherfield well. My brother and I used to run through the woods as children.” She sighed at the old, half-forgotten memories. “You must have met my nieces, then?”

“I had the pleasure of seeing the Miss Bennets on numerous occasions,” Darcy replied carefully, looking down. He was afraid that if he looked at the Princess, with her kind eyes, she would see his inner turmoil, feel the emotions even now threatening to overtake him. In every look, in every intonation, he searched for Elizabeth, and maddeningly, he could find only traces. Until that moment, he had not realized how intertwined his thoughts were with images of her, how powerful were his feelings. And he made a decision.

“I hope your brother's family is well,” he said evenly, though his heart pounded.

Catherine's eyes widened for a brief moment. “Yes, I believe they are. Unfortunately, Thomas is an unwilling correspondent, but I believe my daughter has had better luck with another member of the family and writes quite frequently to Elizabeth, my brother's second daughter.” She watched the effect of her words and was not disappointed. During her years in the Moscow society, where sincerity was an even rarer commodity than in London, Catherine had learned to read the nuances of expression with a delicate accuracy. The calm and controlled demeanor of the young man in front of her could not hide his inner agitation.

Darcy turned to Alina, continuing on his chosen path. “I hope you will convey my regards to your uncle's family when you write to them next, and particularly to the Miss Bennets.”

Alina blinked in confusion, but catching her mother's encouraging glance, she assured Darcy that she would do as he asked. Apprehensive as she was about the Colonel's audience with her father, she discerned the undercurrents in her mother's conversation with Darcy, though she did not understand them.

After a brief silence wherein Darcy tried to formulate his next inquiry in general terms and failed completely, the Princess took pity on him. “I will also make sure,” she said, “to mention that I had met you in my next letter to my brother. I am certain my nieces will be pleased to hear that you remember them, since they are all still at home and new acquaintances are not as soon forgotten as they are for men of the world such as yourself.”

Darcy looked at the Princess gratefully. “I assure you, ma'am,” he said warmly, “I am not so much a man of the world as to forget so quickly.”

Catherine nodded, understanding, and began to speak on a more innocuous subject.

“Were you successful in your errand?” Darcy asked his cousin when they had walked a far enough distance from the house.

“Yes and no,” replied Fitzwilliam thoughtfully. “Her father gave me permission to court her, but asked that I do so privately. I suppose that will have to do for now.”

Darcy was not surprised; he imagined that if a similar situation arose with Georgiana, he would wish the same thing -- time away from the prying eyes of society. “So he was not so much of a dragon as you feared him to be?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam laughed. “No, I confess he was not. Neither was he, however, as mild mannered as he seemed in the society of his wife and daughter. I do believe he liked me, though, else he would not have allowed me to continue with my suit.” He beat his walking stick against the pavement energetically. “Did you know,” he said happily, “that they are going to London?”

Astounded by this news, Darcy almost stopped. “London? Of course not, how could I have known that? When are they leaving?”

“As soon as the Prince's nephew arrives, apparently. Luck has smiled on me, old man! I will see her in London!”

Darcy looked at the Colonel, who was oblivious in his happy daze. “Yes, luck,” he murmured distractedly. Perhaps his cousin was right, perhaps it was luck; or chance, or fate, he could not really say, but he felt that another door was opening for him, and that knowledge made his heart beat stronger and faster.

Chapter 10

Posted on Monday, 21 May 2007

October 21, 1810
Grovesnor Square, London

Dearest Lizzy,

Yes, the post mark is correct, I am indeed in London! Can you believe it? It hardly seems real. Father has taken a house for us here and we are going to spend some time in England, taking refuge from the storm threatening to engulf Europe. My cousin Peter has come with us -- I have told you about him before -- you will like him very much, Lizzy, he is like an older brother to me (well, a second older brother, but as I see him more than my real brother, well… I believe I am permitted to think of him as such) .

Lizzy, although we are not traveling to Hertfordshire for an extended visit (however, we hope your parents will allow us to come to you for a few days at least), my parents have asked that I invite you to stay with us in London for as long as your family can spare you! Is this not wonderful news? I am so excited, I can hardly speak (which is why I am writing). We can collect you on our way back from Hertfordshire. We shall really get to know each other, and not only through letters! Please, oh please do say yes! I will await your answer with the greatest anticipation. I believe my father is writing to your father to also request your presence with us. I hope we shall see each other very soon! I will end now, for I think I have exhausted my share of exclamation marks for one letter…

Your affectionate (and very excited, as if you could not tell) cousin,
Alina Rostov

Alina signed her letter with a trembling hand and laid it aside; she could hardly believe it -- they were actually in England! Her parents had given her the news in gentle tones, but she could not hide her excitement. All her life, she had traveled throughout Europe; she had seen clothes made in London, tea and other types of products imported from there, had heard tales of the splendor of London society and the beauty of the English countryside, which some even said could rival the beauty of her own country. And now, she was actually there! She stilled her hand against the writing desk and imagined seeing her beloved cousin and getting to know her mother's family. The soft voices of her parents seeped through the walls -- her dear parents, how she loved them, and how she loved everything in the world right now.

Picking up the candle, she crept out of her room and knocked softly at a door down the hall.

“Who is it?”

She pushed the door open slightly. “Peter, it's me,” she whispered.

The door opened for a brief moment to reveal a tall young man with dark hair and large grey eyes. He pulled her into his room and quickly closed the door.

“Malishka*, what are you doing here at this hour?” he asked, frowning. “Is ought the matter?”

“No, no, I just… I just could not sleep, Peter,” Alina answered sheepishly. “I am sorry if I woke you.”

His frown relaxed and the corners of his mouth twitched. “So, you go scampering about the place like a little white ghost?” He indicated with a gesture her billowing nightgown and the disheveled state of her hair. “What if anyone had seen you? You would have frightened the servants half to death. These English servants do not understand this sort of thing. And, you almost frightened me half to death, I will have you know!”

Alina looked up at him, almost fooled by the seriousness in his voice, but found that his eyes were smiling. “I did not think that men at the great age of thirty were so easy to scare as that,” she scoffed, seating herself in the deep armchair by the fire. “Now, tell me a story, like when I was a little girl.”

Peter ruffled her hair and took the other armchair. “You are a little girl still,” he murmured under his breath. He looked at her for several seconds, as if coming to a decision, and began a light-hearted tale of his exploits during his service with the Russian Army, and ended only when he saw that Alina's eyelids were drooping and she could not stifle a yawn. He ushered her out of the room then and, his own head full of thoughts, went to sleep.

*Little one (Rus.)

The next morning, Peter and Alina walked to the Park in the crisp autumn air. Though it was the end of October, the weather remained mild, and they could just catch glimpses of the majestic red-gold foliage of the trees through the grey buildings.

“Oh!” Alina exclaimed excitedly, holding on to Peter's arm, “It is so lovely to be here, do you not think? London is a wonderful city!”

“I confess that I do not see anything wonderful about it just yet,” Peter replied, shrugging. He looked around at the throng of people populating the streets, some going about their business doggedly and not paying the least attention to anybody else, some looking about intently to catch sight of their neighbors and acquaintances, eager to compare their own style of dress or coach, and the flash of an inevitable beggar child, immediately removed roughly by a smart policeman.

“It is not as beautiful as Paris,” he said, “nor as clean, and certainly cannot hold a candle to Moscow.”

Alina shook her head in exasperation. “Really, Peter, you are simply determined to dislike it, and I know not why. I find it very exciting -- new places, new people, new ideas -- does not this hold a promise for a grand adventure?” She smiled at her own fancy, making Peter laugh as well.

“Yes, perhaps you are right,” he acknowledged reluctantly. “And it is safer than Europe…”

Further musings were interrupted by the appearance of a party, members of which were familiar to Alina; it was Colonel Fitzwilliam and Darcy, walking with two ladies. Upon perceiving Alina, the Colonel's face lit up and he crossed the street and hailed her in his usual friendly manner.

“Miss Rostov, what a pleasure!” he exclaimed, bending over her hand. “I confess, I have been impatient for your arrival. I trust that your parents are in good health and I hope that I may call on them shortly.” He bowed politely, but his eyes sparkled in a warm greeting, making Alina's heart beat more quickly. Peter's dry cough brought them both back down to earth.

“Oh, yes,” Alina said hurriedly, remembering her manners, “I do not believe you have met -- Colonel Fitzwilliam, this is my cousin, Peter -- I mean, Count Orlovsky. Peter, this is the Colonel Fitzwilliam whom I met at Baden. You arrived the day after the Colonel had to leave back to England.”

Peter bowed. “Colonel, it is always a pleasure to meet a friend of my cousin's,” he said in a neutral tone. The Colonel bowed as well and acknowledged his own pleasure at the acquaintance. By this time, the rest of the Colonel's party had caught up with them, and he had the opportunity to introduce Darcy and the two ladies, who were of course, Anne and Georgiana.

They had spent the past week, since the return of Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam, listening to the Colonel's descriptions of Alina and her family. It had seemed so fascinating and so exotic, that they had been greatly anticipating meeting the object of their interest. Before them stood a lively young girl, uncommonly pretty and evidently possessed of good humor and a lightness of spirit that made it immediately obvious why the Colonel had been so attracted by her. Her manners were elegant and yet, so easy and friendly that she dispelled in several words any awkwardness of the first meeting. The Count, her cousin, presented a more mysterious figure. He seemed to be about Colonel Fitzwilliam's age and was certainly handsome, though very quiet. In fact, aside from bowing to the ladies with a warm smile and exchanging a few words with the gentlemen, he preferred to merely observe -- rather than participate in -- the conversation. Darcy and Anne both noted this and wondered what was behind the polite façade. Both also found themselves suppressing a pang of annoyance at the way Colonel Fitzwilliam so light-heartedly brought strangers into their tightly knit family circle.

Meanwhile, the object of their irritation was talking and laughing nonchalantly with Alina, having persuaded her to join their group and walk to the Park together. Alina took Colonel Fitzwilliam's arm and their group, now expanded by two, continued on their path. Anne heard the two of them chattering, saw their heads bent towards one another, amused by some private joke, and suddenly felt tired and cross, though she did not know why; nether the sunshine nor the mild temperature gave her any pleasure, the street noise grated, and all she could think about was returning to their townhouse.

“Miss De Bourgh, are you well?” a low voice inquired, and she turned to find Count Orlovsky bending towards her with concern.

She nodded. “Yes, thank you,” she replied quietly, so as not to alarm the others.

His grey eyes looked at her kindly. “Perhaps we should find a place to sit down?” he suggested, and when Anne shook her head in protest, he simply offered her his arm. After a slight hesitation, Anne took it and found that she was indeed tired and grateful to lean on someone taller and stronger than she.

After several minutes of silence, Anne realized that she held the responsibility for initiating the conversation; it was an unfamiliar feeling -- all her life, she had been Miss De Bourgh of Rosings Park, and she was accustomed to people talking to and trying to please her, not the other way around. After a brief hesitation, she decided to begin.

“How long are you planning to stay in London, Count?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“We have no fixed plans yet, Miss De Bourgh,” he replied. “However, we would like to wait out the war, if such a thing is at all possible. I hesitate to bring up the topic before a lady's delicate sensibilities.”

Anne laughed. “No, please, do not be anxious in that regard. I do not believe my sensibilities are so very delicate after all.”

Meanwhile, Colonel Fitzwilliam was very happily monopolizing Alina once again after their prolonged separation.

“Darling,” he whispered, “you have no idea how much I have missed you. The journey was miserable without you by my side!”

Alina blushed and glanced around quickly to make sure that no one else heard his amorous expressions. “I have missed you as well,” she replied warmly, “I was uncertain whether you would still wish to see me…”

She was amply rewarded with an ardent look and a brilliant smile that left her with no doubts of her companion's feelings; the look was returned in the same vein and both gazed happily at each other, as lovers are wont to do, until forced to stop by the practical necessity of crossing a busy street and avoiding being trampled by carriages.

They walked into the Park and for a moment, all conversation died down as they allowed its loveliness to overtake them. The trees had only begun to shed their leaves and many stood yet draped in their autumn mantles of red and gold; occasionally here and there, a leaf would float gently downwards on the soft winds, a flash of vibrant color against the blue of the sky. Even Peter, who was convinced that nothing could compare to the beauty of his native country, stopped involuntarily.

“Oh, how marvelous!” Alina exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “What a lovely park!”

“It is, indeed,” agreed Peter quietly.

Georgiana, who had been too intimidated by Alina's vivaciousness to speak, finally found her courage when the subject was one she felt so passionate about. “Oh, the country is really so much more beautiful,” she said wistfully. “There is so much open space and the flora and fauna is infinitely more varied than here. I wish you could see what it is like there…”

“Oh,” Alina turned to her, “but we shall! We are to visit my uncle and aunt in Hertfordshire soon. I do not know what it would look like to an impartial observer, but my cousin, who has lived there her whole life, seems to think it a charming place.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam, already thinking of ways to travel to Hertfordshire, looked over at Darcy. “Darcy,” he said teasingly, “you were in that part of England recently, were you not? Is it as charming as Miss Rostov's cousin suggests?”

Darcy glared at him. “Yes, quite.” The mention of Hertfordshire, so suddenly, disturbed him, and he struggled not to let it show; so many of his private thoughts were consumed with the place -- Elizabeth, Bingley and Miss Bennet, his behavior there -- that it was somehow strange to hear the name aloud. He still had not had a response to the letter he wrote Bingley; though, perhaps, it was not surprising, given that Bingley would naturally write to Pemberley. Darcy made a mental note to write to Bingley once again.

Aloud, he only requested that Miss Rostov convey his regards to her family. He wanted to ask more, but could not, and was grateful when Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired about the planned trip and its particulars; he was astonished to learn of the tentative plan to bring Elizabeth to London. He felt as if he could not quite absorb the import of that news just yet.

Darcy felt like a spectator, watching his cousin talking and laughing with Miss Rostov but unable to participate; Georgiana's hand felt warm against his coat, but his mind was far away in Hertfordshire. Would she still want to see him, talk to him, or did his harsh words last April destroy any chance he had with her? Time was so precious, and yet, he could not think of a reason to travel to Hertfordshire to see her. His rational self declared that it was the most foolish thing he could possibly do, and he could not, and neither did he wish to, ignore that part of himself. Love should not make one foolish, he thought, as he looked at Fitzwilliam whispering to Miss Rostov.

Later, in the evening, Anne sat next to him with her cup of tea. “So, what do you make of Miss Rostov?” she asked without a preamble.

“She seems a sweet, well-mannered girl,” he replied cautiously.

“Come, Fitzwilliam, that is not an answer. You knew her before today, you must have some sort of an opinion -- is she a good match for Richard?”

“All right.” Darcy turned to her. “No, I think she is not. How could she be, being a foreigner and so young, in age and in disposition? They come from different worlds, and they know too little of each other yet to make an informed decision. Her father was wise to insist on a private courtship.”

“Informed decision!” Anne laughed. “Happiness in a marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the disposition of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation.”*

Darcy looked at her closely. “Is that what you really think, Anne?”

“Yes, of course. How can it be otherwise? We have little choice in whom we marry -- other considerations must always intrude before love. I am fully resigned to it, Darcy. I only wish to respect my future husband, if such a one should come along, I do not hope or expect love.”

“Perhaps,” Darcy answered gravely, “perhaps, Anne.” He fought an instinctive desire to disagree with her, but he realized with a start that such was his own opinion about marriage not too long ago. Elizabeth had changed all of that -- it was not that he now expected to find love in a marriage, rather, Darcy could no longer see a happy future without her in it. The small flame of hope, kindled in Baden with the meeting of Miss Rostov, had now blossomed into a renewed desire to erase his past mistakes and show Elizabeth the kind of man she had helped him become. As the conversation of others around him retreated into the background, Darcy slowly allowed himself to imagine a different kind of happiness than he had ever known before.

* I think we all know where this comes from (hint: not from me - thank you, JA!) :)

Chapter 11

Posted on Sunday, 27 May 2007,

“To the outside world, we all grow old. But not to brothers and sisters. We know each other as we always were. We know each other's hearts. We share private family jokes. We remember family feuds and secrets, family griefs and joys. We live outside the touch of time.” ~ Clara Ortega

All four felt relieved when they left the noise and dirt of London for the wide open spaces of the road to Longbourn. Peter, especially, was pleased at the idea of this brief trip; he hardly knew why it should be so -- it was true that unfamiliar situations discomposed him somewhat, but in going from London to Longbourn, he was only stepping from one new location into another, even less familiar. He felt, however, that the family of his well loved and respected Aunt Catherine would surely be less -- less unpredictable -- than many of the people he had met in London during the first week of his exploration of that city. Peter attempted to scale back his rather uncharitable thoughts, but could not suppress his annoyance at the type of fashionable young man so often seen at the good clubs he had chanced to drop into. The connections his family had made enabled him to attain a recommendation that opened almost all the doors to him, even here in England, and he was no more impressed by the English dandies than he had been by their Russian counterparts. If he were honest with himself, Peter knew that he was homesick. He longed for his father's estate in the countryside, for the smell of fresh bread in the morning, for the slow awakening of the earth after its long winter slumber and for the cool breeze over the fields in the summer. Hearing the aloof, foreign sounds of English made him wish for the hearty guffaws of the Russian peasants, and drinking watered wine every night with dinner -- for a strong shot of vodka that would course down his throat and burn the insides of his chest.

Alina stirred against his side. She had been uncharacteristically quiet during this part of their journey, simply content to gaze out of the window and think her own thoughts. The passage from the Continent and their first week in England must have been exhausting for her, Peter thought, and then, looking at the dark head at his shoulder, recalled exactly why he had agreed to make this journey with his uncle.

The Princess observed the children from under closed eyelids; it was useful, she found, to seem asleep when she really had no intention of succumbing to the rocking motion of the carriage and the admittedly inviting warmth of her husband at her side. In her mind, they were still “the children,” though the time of them running around and playing in ponds was long over. Peter was thirty, and would soon take a wife, and Alina was like a rose in first bloom, not a child still but not yet a woman. Catherine's heart ached for Peter, for she had come to love and admire him very much since his return from serving with the Army and studying at the University. He had never truly found his place among the fast-paced life in Moscow and seemed most comfortable in the circle of like minded intelligent, industrious young men, who were always few and difficult to find among the frivolous group in town, bent on their own pleasure rather than on the betterment of their minds and their estates. Catherine gave a quick prayer of thanks that her own son, Alexander, seemed to have finally followed the footsteps of his cousins and settled down to a more sedate lifestyle. Glancing at her daughter, she pursued the trail of Alina's eyes and wondered whether she was thinking about her Colonel. He was a handsome man, intelligent and well bred and seemed kind, so Catherine would not be displeased with the union; and yet, in her heart, she yearned for Alina to marry someone not quite so energetic and charming, someone more like her own Alexei -- someone who would not overshadow Alina's enthusiasm for life with his own, but would nurture and understand her. Catherine supposed philosophically that one could not direct the flow of love and it would be hypocritical for her to try, but she thought that the mother's eye saw what Alina's nineteen year old girlhood did not. Natasha and Eugene -- now, that had been a good match -- she was certain there would be happiness. She thought drowsily about their wedding day, Natasha's bridal splendor, the flash of Alina's red sash on the white of her dress, Alexander's protective arm around her when the sleigh bearing Natasha and Eugene had ridden away in a flurry of ribbons and bells. Her kids… she has had her hands full with them, but they were good children in the end and God had been very good to her indeed. Then Alexei's warmth and the peaceful clacking of the horses' hooves on the road finally overwhelmed her and she sank into a fitful sleep.

The arrival at Longbourn had always been a noisy affair, even in the times of its previous mistress; the little village of Longbourn and the neighboring town of Meryton provided little excitement, and every new visitor was eagerly welcomed. Such was the case currently, especially after the whole romantic story of Mr Bennet's disgraced sister who was now a Princess had spread like wildfire among the four and twenty families the Bennets dined with. The occupants of the carriage took little notice of the people gawking at their progress, but could not ignore them altogether, and Catherine wondered for the first time what her brother's family would be like. Her niece Lizzy, she knew was an intelligent and lively young woman -- she gathered at least as much from her letters -- and her niece Jane was sweet and kind, but the rest of the family remained a mystery.

The carriage pulled up to the house Catherine grew up in, and she had to swallow past a lump in her throat, so much did it look like it had when she was still an idealistic young girl and resided there. Alexei pressed her hand understandingly and that was enough to bring composure back to her face. It was a different lifetime and she was no longer that girl.

The first thing they saw as they alighted from the carriage was a positive throng of women, descending upon them with introductions and embraces and, in two cases, inquiries about presents. When this tangle of feminine arms was sorted out, and Lizzy and Alina had found each other among squeals of delight, and Peter's coat and saber examined and admired, Catherine glanced around searchingly. At first, she thought he may not have come out to greet them. Though the past ten years of letters had done much to smooth the pain and regrets of earlier years, she realized there was still resentment and she was afraid, knowing her brother's nature, that there would never be forgiveness. Finally, she located him, standing by himself in the shade of the balustrades by the door. She walked over slowly.

“Hello, Tom,” she said, looking at him searchingly.

“Kitty,” he nodded.

Catherine took a few steps towards him. “I am so sorry…” she faltered.

That was Mr Bennet's undoing. If she had said anything else or had not looked at him in this way, he may have become angry and resentful, sarcastic, or simply silent. He had spent too many years and drank too many glasses of port imagining what he would say during such a meeting; but now that it was finally here, he found that all the bitterness drained out of him in an instant, and he took her outstretched hand and squeezed it warmly. And then they were embracing, and Catherine was crying, and he was stubbornly trying to hold back his own tears.

“Well, well,” Mr Bennet said finally, releasing his sister, “well, well.”

Catherine laughed. Some things never changed. “Marriage has been good to you, I see,” she said, prodding her brother's generous midsection.

“Yes,” he replied dryly, “the source of all my earthly joys.”

“Surely not quite so bad as that?”

Mr Bennet smiled. “No, not so bad as that.”

Then, his wife descended upon them. “Oh, my dear Princess,” she gushed, “welcome, welcome to our humble home. Please allow me to say how pleased we are to have you grace our abode with your presence. Mr Bennet and I--”

“My dear Mrs Bennet,” her husband interrupted hastily, “our guests must be very tired from the road -- please arrange some tea in the sitting room.”

“Oh, certainly, certainly!” Mrs Bennet fluttered, excited at this chance to prove her prowess as Mistress of Longbourn with a lavish tea display.

Catherine, who had gathered enough from his brother's letters over the years not to be surprised at this onslaught from his wife, barely contained a smile.

“Is she always this -- enthusiastic?” she asked innocently.

“Heh,” Mr Bennet replied, poking her in the ribs, “If you continue your insolence, I may just leave you to bear the full brunt of her fervor next time.”

“Shocking, Thomas!” And then the full company, including Prince Alexei, were startled to hear the quiet Mr Bennet and the dignified Princess giggling like schoolchildren at their own private joke.

They sat down to tea in the same sitting room which Lady Catherine may have bemoaned as inconvenient, had she ever seen it; however, none of the party felt the slightest inconvenience just now -- the substantial tea, the merry fire crackling in the grate and the chatter of seven women did not leave much to be desired for in the way of domestic comforts. This, all three of the men felt acutely, and relaxed in the sensation of it. Mr Bennet's eyes followed his sister and niece fondly; really, he thought, his memories dulled by the veil of time, she almost had not changed at all; and Alina was even more beautiful than he could have imagined. She resembled their mother so strongly that Mr Bennet was often at a loss for words during the days that followed.

Dinner was also a cheerful affair, even more so because Mrs Bennet, sufficiently in awe of her guests' rank and station in life, was on her very best behavior and remained most civil, if not at all clever. Kitty and Lydia were too busy giggling and flirting with the handsome Count, who to their chagrin did not return the sentiments, to discuss officers, and even Mary was politely but firmly thwarted by her older sisters from saying anything embarrassing. The Bennets' joy was further increased when Mr Bingley called and the happiness of Jane's situation was explained. A case of very fine wine, brought by the Prince as a gift to Mr Bennet, was opened and the happy blushing couple was toasted to many times during the evening.

Having waited a respectable amount of time after dinner, Mr Bennet invited his sister to join him in the library, leaving the rest of the female contingent in the somewhat startled hands of Prince Alexei and Peter. Mr Bingley was there as well to, presumably, lend support, but since he only had eyes for Jane, and she for him, his presence need not have been counted upon to fortify the male element of the party. Even Mrs Bennet did not protest her husband's maneuver in depriving them of his and his sister's company; she could sense that this was one of those times when it would be wise to fulfill her long-ago and oft-forgotten promise to obey. Not a soul ever knew, despite multiple inquiries from all sides, what transpired between the siblings in the hour which they spent alone. Some said, based on the servants' gossip, that there were sounds of tears, and some said that there was only the characteristic for Mr Bennet silence. Only Thomas and Catherine knew, but it was observed that upon exiting the library, he pressed her hand most affectionately and there was a slight moisture in her eyes, and on the morrow, many a servant's job was made easier because the Master was uncommonly happy.

Overall, it was a lovely day, Elizabeth reflected as she readied herself for bed, marred by only one thought, that she would have liked Mr Darcy to witness her family thus, and not at their worst, as he always seemed to have the misfortune of doing. She did not know why Mr Darcy seemed to be so often in her thoughts, but she found herself recalling him at the most unexpected moments. Elizabeth had felt such a keen sense of disappointment when she had received that letter from her Aunt Gardiner telling her of their inability to journey North this summer; in the back of her mind, she recalled that Mr Darcy's estate was in the North. They might meet at Mr Bingley and Jane's wedding, and then, she would let him know with a look that his extraordinary letter produced such a change of her earlier opinion as to enable them to become friends, if he still wished to speak to her. After the way she had behaved, Elizabeth felt that such a possibility was highly doubtful, but resolved to try nevertheless. Her train of thought was interrupted by her cousin entering her bedroom, which they were to share during the week of the Rostovs' stay at Longbourn.

“Lizzy,” Alina smiled as she nestled under the covers, “I feel as if I've known you all my life. It is such a pity that we live so far away and cannot correspond or see each other more frequently.”

Elizabeth looked with tenderness at the girl next to her. Through their letters, she had gotten to know her cousin quite well during the last ten years, and their meeting in person only confirmed the affection she held for Alina. “It is a great pity, dear,” she replied, “but perhaps we shall see each other more often now that you are established in London.”

Alina raised herself on her elbows with a stricken look. “Oh! Lizzy! Do tell me you are coming with us!”

“Truly,” Elizabeth said, “I do not feel that I can presume on your hospitality, Alina! It is a very kind offer…”

“No, it was not just a kind offer,” Alina exclaimed, “we all would like you to be our guest, and perhaps Jane if your parents will allow! Who else will guide me through the English society?”

“My dear, I know even less of English society than you do,” Elizabeth laughed.

Alina took her hands and looked at her pleadingly. “Then we shall be confused together. I am very determined, Elizabeth, please come!”

Elizabeth smiled gratefully. “I would love to. Thank you so much, I truly appreciate it.”

“It is I who am thankful, say no more about it.”

Elizabeth smiled again and pressed her cousin's hands. “Now,” she said, her eyes sparkling mischievously, “you must tell me about whomever you have been leaving out of your letters from Baden.” Seeing Alina's surprise, she continued with a smirk: “Do not attempt to conceal it from me by looking shocked, my dear cousin, I am too clever for such amateur tactics. Out with it!”

As Alina poured out her story to her cousin, Elizabeth sat in stunned silence. Colonel Fitzwilliam! Mr Darcy! It was beyond crediting that out of all people Alina should fall in love with in the entire world, she should find the cousin of the man nearest to her thoughts. Elizabeth was happy for the darkness which concealed her emotion.

“And did you suffer very much at the hands of his cousin?” she asked when she recovered sufficiently.

Alina frowned. “Suffer? No, not at all. Mr Darcy is a quiet man, that is true, but he is very much a gentleman.”

That word struck Elizabeth sharply.

“He asked about you most particularly,” Alina continued, “and was very insistent to Mamma that we convey his regards to you and your family. He is very pleasant and Mamma liked him very much.”

Elizabeth was all astonishment -- this conflicted directly with all her previous impressions of Mr Darcy. That he would be pleasant to people of rank and means she could easily believe, but that he inquired most particularly about her and sent regards to her family? What could have caused such a change in attitude? Surely, her reproofs at Hunsford, discourteous and inadequate as they were, would not have prompted such an alteration. She was gratified, of course, if perplexed, and drifted off to sleep with the most pleasant thoughts.

Chapter 12

Posted on Friday, 1 June 2007

October 23, 1810
London

Harrowby,

Attached are my further instructions for the harvesting, to supplement those I sent two weeks ago. I shall be there myself in a week or so, depending on the roads. I trust the enclosed sufficiently answers any questions that may arise prior to my arrival, but if it does not, or if something requires an immediate decision, do not hesitate to rely on your skill and experience to resolve the issue. If you need to contact me, I will be stopping over at my usual stop, the Rose Inn in Bedfordshire -- you may leave a letter to wait for me there.

FD

The week at Longbourn passed by quickly, for Mrs Bennet had attempted to fill their time with such amusements as were available in the country, Mr Bennet was more sociable than ever, and Mr Bingley was always ready for any activity that would include his beloved Jane. While the young people walked, read and played, Catherine and Mr Bennet sat together in the drawing room recalling their youth and laughingly comparing it to their present middle-aged state, while the Prince and Peter hid from Mrs Bennet in the library and sampled Mr Bennet's excellent reserves.

Mrs Bennet had never been happier -- not only were her guests exotic, rich and titled, but they also conversed with civility with any of her other invited guests and complimented her table and her house. It was truly the pinnacle of her social dominance of the neighborhood, even the light of Jane's engagement to Mr Bingley was dimmed slightly because these exalted personages were staying at her house. What Mrs Bennet did not know, and did not stop to ascertain, were the private feelings of her guests, whom she so thoughtlessly put on display before the whole neighborhood. Perhaps it was best after all that their culture dictated absolute respect for one's host and that their private conversations were conducted in a language Mrs Bennet could not understand.

“Katya, when are we finally going back to London?” the Prince asked his wife crossly on the sixth day of their stay at Longbourn.

Catherine looked over at her husband with surprise. He had been behaving so well this entire time -- too well, now that she really thought about it; she should have realized how difficult this provincial living would be for him. “Soon, darling,” she promised. “We will stay as planned, just two more days.”

The Prince's expression brightened a little. “Good,” he said, “because I think Peter and I have exhausted your brother's reserves of port. I shall have to send him two cases, just to compensate for what we drank.”

“Well, you did not have to drink it, dear,” Catherine reminded him gently.

“Oh,” Prince Alexei said darkly, “if you had had to endure the poking and prodding from Mrs Short -- no, wait, that was Long -- and Lady What's-Her-Name, I wager you would want to drink the port as well. And poor Peter! They descended upon him like vultures, parading their daughters in front of him as if they were prized cattle.”

“Oh, dear,” the Princess sighed.

“And that Bingley woman!” Prince Alexei frowned. “If I did not know better, I would have thought she was making up to me. What a disgrace! That Bingley fellow is a likeable enough chap, but to be cursed with a sister like that…”

Catherine suppressed a smile and put her arms around her husband; she knew that he needed affection when he was in one of his moods. “There, there, dear. We will be back in London soon enough. I daresay when the Season really gets underway, you will think fondly on these days of Mrs Long, Lady Lucas and Miss Bingley. The women we see in town will be much less amateur than this.”

“Still, one knows how to deal with subtlety at least,” her husband muttered. “I have never liked living in the country, except on our own estate, and this certainly does nothing to improve my opinion of it.”

“Alexei! This is my brother's house!”

“Oh…er… I am sorry, my dear,” he said, a little ashamed that his temper had carried him so far. “You know I like your brother very much. Really, it is just being here with nothing to do, and all these women… I just miss being alone with my own girls.”

He earned a kiss for that.

Their departure from Longbourn was no less noisy than their arrival had been, but differed in that they were taking away one of its inhabitants, Mr Bennet having consented to Elizabeth accompanying her aunt and uncle to London for the winter. Alina talked excitedly throughout the whole journey, punctuated by Elizabeth's lively and clever remarks which attracted even Peter to the conversation. The Prince and Princess simply watched the young people make the most out of a long carriage journey and exchanged amused glances every so often.

Upon their arrival, the Princess immediately noticed several cards which had been left for them during their absence. They did not know many people in town, but Peter's father, a cousin of the Prince, traveled to England quite often and had sent letters of recommendation ahead of their arrival.

The Princess picked out several cards from the pile on the heavy silvery tray.

“Oh,” she said nonchalantly, “I see that Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Darcy left their cards.”

Alina blushed furiously and Elizabeth started at hearing Mr Darcy's name.

“Perhaps,” the Princess continued in the same tone, “we should put off returning the call until next week -- we do have so many other people we should see first…”

“But Mamma!” Alina exclaimed pleadingly, and was about to present a full bevy of reasons for returning the call immediately, when she noticed that everyone was trying to restrain a smile and understood that her mother was teasing her. “Oh…” she said sheepishly and laughed at herself.

Catherine took pity on her daughter. “We shall all go tomorrow,” she said. “Colonel Fitzwilliam is staying with his elder brother, the Viscount Harcourt, in Berkeley Square.”

The morning came soon enough, despite Alina's fears that it would never arrive. Elizabeth dressed herself carefully in her room. There was no reason to suppose, she thought, that Mr Darcy would be present when they called, but -- her hand hesitated over the dresses hung in the closet -- she chose a light yellow muslin she knew particularly suited her. In fact, she recalled wearing it the night she played for Mr Darcy at Lady Catherine's dinner, when he had looked at her in [i]that[/i] way. At the time, she thought she was playing for the charming Colonel Fitzwilliam, but now, with the wisdom gained by time, she knew whom the flirty Italian pieces were really meant for. And yet, Elizabeth knew that she was not in love with Mr Darcy -- she knew him too little for that, their few meetings having been characterized by antagonism rather than thoughtful discourse. How he had fallen in love with her, Elizabeth could only guess, and that he loved her still she thought unlikely, but she knew that she wanted to see more of Mr Darcy and wanted to erase their previous misunderstandings and start anew.

The visit, however, brought disappointment to Elizabeth, for not only was Mr Darcy not in attendance at the Viscount's townhouse, she found out that he went to Pemberley to supervise some matters concerning the harvesting and would not be back for several weeks at least. It was unwelcome news, but Elizabeth resolved to enjoy herself despite his absence. The townhouse was very elegant and the Viscount and his wife, Lady Diana, were very correct and polite, if aloof. Colonel Fitzwilliam, however, compensated for any coldness on the part of his brother and sister by entertaining them with stories of the Continent for the duration of their visit. Even Georgiana Darcy, who was staying at the Viscount's townhouse while her brother was at Pemberley and was in the drawing room when they were announced, was provoked by his teasing into making several remarks, when there was the least danger of them being heard.

Even Anne had her share in the conversation. She noticed Elizabeth's astonished look and understood its meaning.

“You may well be surprised, Miss Bennet,” she said, taking her tea cup and sitting down next to Elizabeth, “at my liveliness here, when during your visit to Rosings Park I was quiet and reserved.”

“I thought perhaps London air agreed with you, Miss De Bourgh,” Elizabeth replied mildly.

“Oh, in a way, it does,” Anne smiled. “Although I do prefer the country more, I cannot say that I miss one aspect of our neighborhood…”

Elizabeth's eyes sparkled. “I believe I know what, or rather whom, you mean,” she said, laughingly.

“Oh, do forgive me, Miss Bennet” Anne suddenly remembered, “he is your cousin--”

“No, please, Miss De Bourgh,” Elizabeth replied, waving her hand slightly, “I am not offended, nor am I deceived in Mr Collins' nature. As long as I have known him, which is, admittedly not very long, he has only shown good sense in one instance -- in that of picking Charlotte for his wife!”

Anne nodded. “True, Mrs Collins is lovely. Mr Collins is indeed a very lucky man. You see,” she continued on her earlier train of thought, “the reason I am so hesitant to speak often when he is present at dinner is that he makes so much of every little thing I say that it quite embarrasses me.”

“You must at least admire the creativity of his address,” Elizabeth exclaimed, recalling some of Mr Collins's less ingenuous “elegant compliments.”

Anne shuddered, possibly remembering the same thing. “Oh, I do, I assure you. However, I cannot believe the sentiments are sincere,” she said, “nor am I comfortable with so much attention constantly brought upon myself. So I try to visit Mrs Collins when he is away on parish business, and my mother also keeps him quite busy. She, at least, does enjoy his company.”

“He certainly admires Lady Catherine a great deal,” Elizabeth said, “so it is fortunate that she likes his presence.”

Elizabeth was very pleased with this forthrightness on the part of Anne, whom she had dismissed at Rosings as a sickly creature with no manners or conversation, and they talked amiably until the visit came to an end. For her part, Anne had already formed a positive opinion of Miss Bennet, and thought that while Darcy could have made a far superior match in terms of money and connections, her spirit, frankness and joie de vivre would serve him better than any rich dowry of town heiresses.

Upon recalling that it was Alina's first visit to London, and that the Princess had not been there since she was herself seventeen or eighteen years old, Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately implored his sister and cousins to take the ladies to Bond street and show them their favorite shops. Lady Diana wanted to refuse, knowing that her endorsement of this scheme would be perceived by anyone who saw them together as acceptance of these newcomers -- of whom she knew nothing as of yet -- into the highest circles of London society. Such important decisions made hastily and without proper knowledge could be socially disastrous in London's unforgiving environment, and Lady Diana wanted a chance to be more familiar with this family before engaging on a definite course. However, Richard's pleading glance, Georgiana's palpable excitement, and most importantly, her husband's slight nod when she looked to him for his opinion assuaged her doubts for the moment and she gave her assent. Consequently, all parties having found themselves without engagements, the date was affixed for the morrow for their shopping expedition, and the visitors took their leave.

Later, when the Viscount and his wife were alone in their chambers, he caught her look and addressed her question before she even proffered it.

“I know what you are going to ask, my dear,” he said, “and yes, I really do think you should go with them.”

“But Edward -- should we really endorse people we know so little about? What if there is something untoward in their past or their behavior, will it be harmful to Georgiana when she comes out next year? I know you and I can recover from any scandal easily and we have no children, but Anne and Georgiana are under our protection and we must be very careful.”

Edward put his arms around his wife. “You are very attractive when you are impassioned like that,” he said smilingly. “But to respond to your concerns -- Richard and Darcy have both spent time with the family and have not seen anything amiss, and the Rostovs seem to be people of intelligence and fashion. I spoke with Count Orlovsky while you ladies were going on about shopping, and his father is actually a frequent visitor to London, and gave him a recommendation to the best clubs. I knew the name sounded familiar when I first heard it, but I could not immediately place where I had come across it before.”

Diana nestled further into his embrace, where it was warm and comfortable. “What have you heard?” she asked.

“I cannot remember anything specific connected with the name, which means there was had been no scandal, but I recall hearing that they are very wealthy and very well traveled. I believe the elder Orlovsky is actually in line for the Russian throne -- very distantly, though. The Count, his son, certainly has excellent manners. Besides, if Richard indeed means to marry this girl, which he apparently does, she can do no better than be seen in society with you. It will quell the gossiping tongues before they even begin to wag.”

“You are so eloquent,” Diana said dryly. “But her connections! Her cousin, Miss Bennet's uncle is in trade in Cheapside, and another one is a country attorney!”

Edward shrugged. “But one cannot fault the connections on her father's side, and their manners are quite perfect. Besides, you liked Miss Bennet for herself, despite the uncle in trade, did you not?”

“Well, yes, I did,” Diana admitted, smiling a little at the recollection of Miss Bennet's contribution to their conversation. She then grew serious and turned to Edward, looking at him searchingly. “Did you like Miss Rostov?” she asked.

“In truth?”

“Yes, in truth.”

“Let me preface my answer,” he replied, “by telling you that I do not like any women while I have you, my adorable wife.”

Diana sighed. “Oh, Edward, do be serious! And do not ever call me `adorable' again, if you value your life.” But she was pleased with his response nevertheless.

“In truth, I do like her. I do not think one could help it, she is a likeable creature, though she is too light and bubbly for my taste; but I think she will suit my brother just fine. To be sure, she is a foreigner, and society will not look kindly upon that fact, but she is young, beautiful, fashionable and very rich, and has the exotic aristocratic connections, all of which just might negate the initial prejudice… Especially if we show that we accept her. The rest of the ton will take their cue from us, as they always do.” He stroked her hair lightly. “Did you know, darling, that we have so much social responsibility lying on our fragile shoulders?”

“Indeed,” said Diana, folding away his thick silk robe and revealing broad shoulders that no one could have possibly called fragile.

“Oh…” Edward said quietly, his eyes catching the fire from the solitary candle in the room. “Yes, indeed.”

Chapter 13

Posted on Tuesday, 12 June 2007

“For gala dresses and the ball-room, the habiliments of the fair are yet more diversified; white and gold is still very prevalent, and lace gowns, both black and white, over various coloured satins: white satin, ornamented with a rich trimming of coqlelicot, with cornelian ornaments, for coral is now only worn in a morning, or to receive a small dinner party: pale pink gossamer satin, with pearl ornaments; and white crape and leno frocks for the younger part of the assembly, form the most prominent features in the annals of full dress.” ~ La Belle Assemblee, 1812.

The next morning, the most exclusive shops on Bond street received visitors in the form of a group of ladies, each of whom took the opportunity to add to her wardrobe, first selecting a dress pattern at Mme Lenore, the modiste, and then purchasing muslin, silk and lace at the linen-draper's, and completing the ensemble with gloves, slippers, ribbons and other female adornments. After a brief and discreet disagreement, Elizabeth was forced to submit to the fact that her aunt wished to do as much for Elizabeth as for her own daughter, and she accepted the welcome additions to her attire with pleasure and gratitude. Lady Diana generally conversed with the Princess and received such a favorable impression of that lady's genteel manners, even temper, and the Rostov family status in Russian high society as to be generally satisfied. The Princess's daughter, also, seemed to be a sweet-tempered girl, and though Lady Diana very much disapproved of Colonel Fitzwilliam's sudden and seemingly irrevocable affection for this foreigner -- why could he not be normal and marry an English girl? she thought -- she no longer despaired of his future.

Elizabeth Bennet, however, was not so easy to make out. Anne, who had stayed at home due to a headache, had hinted at many things without revealing anything, and Lady Diana found several instances during her pleasant conversation with the Princess when she could observe Miss Bennet without arousing the attention of the others. She had poise, this girl, one was forced to admit that at least; she was not as empty-headed and awe-struck as one would expect from a country Miss of obscure origin who was having her first Season in town. And, when those irritating Miss Claytons fawned all over Lady Diana, as they always did when they saw her, Lady Diana noticed Elizabeth hiding a smirk behind her gloved hand. Elizabeth was neither too bold nor too forward, though, which pleased that lady further. Perhaps, this forced excursion was not going to be as much of a disaster as she anticipated, Lady Diana thought with cautious optimism.

“My dear Diana,” she heard a familiar voice exclaim behind her.

She turned around and saw her friend from her schooldays. “Emma! I have not seen you these three years, where have you been?”

Her friend blushed pink under her hat. “His Lordship and I were in Italy for the first year, and then we settled at his estate in York. But,” she grasped Lady Diana's hand, “let us speak no more of me, tell me about yourself! How is the Viscount?”

Lady Diana frowned at this obvious evasion, but did not probe. “He is as usual,” she replied in a neutral tone.

Emma looked at her with unexpected intensity. “So marriage agrees with you? You are -- happy?”

“I -- yes, I suppose I am,” Lady Diana said, even more perplexed.

Suddenly Emma's intensity vanished; it was as if a veil had dropped over her eyes and she became charming again and smiled, shaking her blonde curls.

“Oh,” she said, “do introduce me to your friends!”

Lady Diana turned around and noticed that Georgiana and the other ladies had been waiting for her at a slight distance while she had been speaking with Emma. She performed the necessary introductions and watched as her friend spoke gaily to the Princess and the younger ladies, all traces of earlier unease gone. What has happened to her? she thought. She remembered their first entrance into society together, the first balls, the first suitors. Emma was younger than Lady Diana had been when she had her first Season, and her family was neither titled nor wealthy, though the name was old and well respected; it had not mattered to Lady Diana then, Emma had breeding and the sweetest disposition, and the two girls had navigated the glittering lights of the ton together. Towards the end of her Season, Lady Diana had met Edward, and everything changed for her in that first bloom of love; friendships and rivalries receded into the background, only her family and Edward remained. The next time she really saw Emma, she was already married to Edward and Emma was being courted by an older Earl with a grand estate in York, whose first wife had died suddenly without producing an heir. What has happened to her? she thought again, noticing a tightness around her friend's eyes, a sadness that the charming smile could not erase.

Emma turned to her. “Oh, I have forgotten the most important thing,” she said. “His Lordship and I are having a ball next week to celebrate our return to town. I have written the invitations, you will of course receive one shortly, but I would like to convey it to you myself.” After Lady Diana gave the appropriate answer, Emma addressed Princess Rostov. “Princess,” she smiled, “you and your family are invited as well.”

“Thank you, Lady Carrington, it would be our pleasure to accept your kind invitation, if we have no previous commitments,” the Princess nodded politely.

“I hope,” Emma added to Lady Diana, “that your brother, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and your cousin Mr Darcy are in town and will be able to attend as well.” She infused as much casualness into her voice as she could, but Lady Diana saw that she paled slightly and her hand tightened around her parasol.

“I cannot answer for them, but I will certainly relate your invitation,” Lady Diana said. “Darcy is currently at Pemberley, supervising the harvest, but if he comes back earlier than expected, I will speak to him. Thank you, Emma.” It came out more formally than she had intended, but Lady Diana felt that a great divide had opened between her and her former companion which she could neither understand nor breach. They said their farewells with all the appearance of civility and pleasantness on both sides, but Lady Diana allowed herself to look at Emma's retreating figure for a moment longer, and she wondered.

Chapter 14

Posted on Friday, 15 June 2007

“It has been asserted by a great author, that a people may be known by their amusements. If so, I think the present times would give a foreigner a deplorable idea of the English nation if he were to judge from their Country Dancing, which is considered one of their principal amusements, and is, in my opinion, a credit to the nation when properly conducted and executed, if not, it wants only the addition of grimaces to reduce it to the Dances of the savages of Terra del Fuego.” ~ The treasures of Terpsichore; or, A companion for the ball-room, T. Wilson, 1816.

Lord and Lady Carrington's ball was a definite crush -- Elizabeth felt that as soon as she walked into the hall and was immediately separated from her companions by a tide of people, all of them smiling, gossiping, hoping, dreaming, playing out the range of human emotions in the microcosm of the ballroom framed by gleaming crystal and a myriad of candles.

They had arrived very late, which accounted for the number of people already present. Elizabeth made her way amidst the ladies -- adorned with glittering jewels and clad in elaborate gowns -- and the gentlemen in their more somber formal attire, but looked in vain for her cousins. After searching for some minutes without success, she decided that she would be better served by observing the gathering from a higher vantage point, and to that end, moved towards the grand staircase on the other side of the room. However, as before, her progress was impeded by the crowd of people, and, hiding her annoyance behind her fan, she walked out into the narrow corridor hung with mirrors and paintings which flanked the ballroom. Its emptiness was a relief from the stifling air inside, and Elizabeth followed the corridor, hoping that it would lead her to another entrance, closer to the grand staircase. Candles shimmered in their ornate holders, casting flickering shadows on the portraits, rendering them almost alive and Elizabeth shivered and pulled her shawl closer about her. Her soft slippers tread noiselessly on the stone floors as she walked past several doors that were slightly open to reveal several offices and a small library. The house was very grand, and with the sounds of the ball echoing through the corridor, Elizabeth was not afraid; rather, her imagination took flight and for a moment, she felt herself to be the heroine of a gothic novel, uncovering hidden secrets in an imposing mansion. She laughed a little at the thought and walked along, glancing briefly at the paintings and wondering who the people depicted in them were.

So far, all of the rooms she had passed had been dimly lit and quiet, but voices from beyond the next door, left slightly ajar as if the occupants had forgotten to close it tightly in their haste, slowed her steps. Elizabeth knew it was wrong, but her momentary fancy and her natural curiosity drew her towards the light and the voices. What she saw through the narrow crack surprised her -- it seemed to be a small sitting room of some sorts, lit only by a few candles and the fire crackling in the fireplace; furnished in soft light damasks, rounded armchairs and intricately carved tables, it was definitely a feminine space. Therefore, it was a little incongruous to see a man's tall figure, elegant in his evening black, reclining against the high marble mantle of the fireplace. Elizabeth followed his gaze and only then did she notice a young woman sitting straight in one of the armchairs, head held high, but her hands twisting in her lap. Her beautiful face held uncertainty, and perhaps apprehension; The man's face mirrored both of those emotions. Seeing the intensity with which they now locked their gazes, Elizabeth knew that this was no ordinary rendezvous.

Much later, Elizabeth could not have told what force held her at that door, looking onto things which were none of her business, she only knew that she could not yet have left.

The young man was holding a letter in his hand, breaking the seal with a sudden determination and reading every word intently. The woman watched him with concentration and it seemed that neither of them breathed. After a moment, the color drained from the man's face and he threw the letter into the burning fire with a harsh laugh.

“He will not consent,” he said bitterly. “I need not tell you what he reminded me of, you know only too well. He will disown me and cast my name into the dirt, as he so eloquently puts it. My father has lived with his vendetta far too long to give it up now.”

The woman said nothing, but her shoulders seemed to bend forward a little as if in defeat.

“We could defy it…” The young man said, his voice hoarse and unsteady.

She shook her head hopelessly. “It is not only a matter of money, Edmund, or even of society -- you know how little I care for that. You are the only son, the only male who can continue the family line. You have a duty. We cannot battle this any longer. While your father lives, you must obey his wishes.”

There was a pause while he fought her statement, and then he closed the space between them in one step and sank onto his knees before her and sought comfort in the almost involuntary caress of her hands upon his hair.

“Oh, Jenny,” Elizabeth heard him whisper a choked cry.

The intimacy of it startled her out of her daze and she hurried away silently, cheeks burning, conscious of having witnessed a supremely private moment. Stumbling almost blindly into the first open door, she found herself once again in the ballroom, near the grand staircase which was her original, now almost forgotten, goal. Dazzled a little by her sudden entrance into the brightly-lit room, Elizabeth ascended the staircase slowly and sought out her family. Surprisingly, she found her aunt and uncle more quickly than she had expected and gratefully made her way towards them, pushing the disturbing scene she had witnessed to the back of her mind.

“Elizabeth, dear,” asked her aunt with a sigh when she approached, “would you fetch Alina for me, please? After that display, I must speak with her and I am too comfortably situated to rush about ballrooms like you young people do.”

“Of course, Aunt,” Elizabeth replied, “what display?”

“Oh,” the Princess shook her head, “I am glad you did not see it. She was talking to Sir Stephen Clayton with so much animation and so little restraint that I fear her behavior would have invited reproach from anyone who saw. My daughter forgets how reserved the English are; such openness, though not unusual in our circles back home, is not condoned here. I must speak with her so she understands. Now, Lizzy, would you please find her for me?”

Elizabeth nodded, moving off in search of her cousin. She was still distressed by what had happened, but she knew that it was not any of her business, the encounter had not been meant for an outsider's eyes, and so she resolved to forget what she had witnessed immediately. Her eyes scanned the ballroom looking for the shimmer of Alina's primrose colored gown, and unconsciously, also looking also for a tall, broad shouldered form of a certain gentleman. Elizabeth blushed when she realized what she was doing.

It took her a while, but she finally found Alina standing with three ladies, looking for all the world the picture of innocence and propriety, with modestly downcast eyes and primly folded hands. Two of the ladies were speaking to her and Elizabeth was shocked to find that instead of censure, they addressed her with a sort of benign amusement, as if scolding a naughty and yet a favorite child. Elizabeth wondered, not for the first time, at her cousin's easy way of endearing herself to people, so much so that they forgave and forgot her every fault. If Alina had been the least bit conscious of it, she would have been insufferable, but she simply went through life believing that there was at least some good in everyone, and surprisingly, the most unlikely people proved to answer her expectations.

Alina smiled sweetly when she spotted Elizabeth's approach.

“Lizzy!” she called out, turning to her companions, who surveyed Elizabeth with thinly-veiled suspicion. “May I introduce my cousin, Miss Elizabeth Bennet.”

Elizabeth curtsied politely.

“Lizzy, Mrs Isabella Stradbrook, Lady Alexandra Ethering and Lady Jennifer Ethering.”

The two elderly matrons, Mrs Stradbrook and Lady Ethering, inclined their heads in acknowledgement of her relationship to Alina. The third woman, whose face Elizabeth could not see earlier, turned around and made a curtsey just polite enough not to be considered an insult. Elizabeth realized with shock that this was the young woman whose rendezvous she had witnessed earlier, and it took all of her self control to maintain her composure; she felt so ashamed of having listened in to this woman's private conversation and she clenched her fists to keep from blushing. Lady Jennifer was possibly one of the most striking women Elizabeth had ever seen. Hers was a cold perfection -- so unlike Jane's warmth, Alina's sparkling vivacity or the dewy prettiness of young debutantes -- a sophisticated grace, an untouchable loveliness; she hid the light of green eyes under half-lowered eyelids and her beautiful features did not change expression in acknowledgement of Elizabeth's presence. Elizabeth was chilled by her impersonal rudeness, but recovered her poise and explained her errand.

“I suppose Mamma wants to reprimand me,” Alina sighed. “Do excuse me, please.”

“Go, child,” Mrs Stradbrook waved her away. “No doubt your mother had some words of wisdom for you. You had better attend carefully, you remind me too much of me when I was your age and that is never a good thing.”

Elizabeth suppressed a smile.

“Yes, ma'am” Alina curtsied to the three women and led Elizabeth away.

She linked her arm through Elizabeth's as they pushed their way through the crowded ballroom. “Is Mamma truly upset?”

“It was very wrong of you to be so open with Sir Stephen, Alina, people will talk. And -- if I may say so--” Elizabeth coughed, “I do not think Colonel Fitzwilliam would be pleased.”

Alina seemed to wilt a little. “I know, I know. I suppose I was not thinking clearly. I would not wish to appear improper -- or to upset Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

Patting her hand, Elizabeth relented. “Come, I do not need to chastise you. Tell me instead about your companions.”

“Oh, Mrs Stradbrook is perfectly lovely. She has a son who is not yet thirty and I hear he is very handsome, Lizzy.” She gave Elizabeth a conspiratorial look.

Elizabeth shook her head and smiled. “Stop trying to find me a husband! Were the other two ladies mother and daughter?”

“Oh.” Alina made a face. “That is Lady Alexandra Ethering and Lady Jennifer Ethering. Lady Ethering is not so bad, but Lady Jennifer treats everyone with equal disdain. I have heard that she was disappointed in love, but I do not believe it for I have never seen any emotion from her.”

“Alina, that is unkind! You should not judge people based on rumors and appearances.” As she said it, Elizabeth realized the irony in her statement. It brought back uncomfortable memories.

Alina giggled. “You sound just like Jane, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth smiled. “As long as I do not have her sweetness, there is little danger in that, cousin. Now,” she raised her eyebrows at Alina, “I hope you have left a dance for Colonel Fitzwilliam!”

Alina blushed. “Shhh, Lizzy, of course I have. In fact, he asked me first.”

“I hope,” said a quiet male voice behind them, “that you have left one for your cousin as well.” They turned to face Peter, who had just arrived.

“Peter!” Alina almost embraced him from habit, but remembered at the last moment that such a thing was not done in England. “I thought you were not going to come--” she teased him, “something about `boring' and `pompous' and `infinitely preferring a book'…” Elizabeth stifled a laugh -- it sounded so like what her sister Mary would have said.

“Well, little one,” he replied, “how could I resist coming, knowing that such illustrious personages as yourself would be in attendance. And Miss Bennet, of course.” He inclined his head towards Elizabeth politely.

Several emotions flashed across Alina's face like quicksilver. “Oh, Peter, you are always teasing me; but I am glad you are here nevertheless and I will certainly dance with you, as it completes my dance card!” Peter bowed with a small smile. “And,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and frowning a little, “I am not so little anymore, Peter.”

He made a show of looking her up and down appraisingly, but his voice was serious when he answered. “I can see that, and I apologize for my mistake.” He turned to Elizabeth. “May I have the favor of a set also, Miss Bennet? If your card is not full already, which I daresay it may well be.”

As it so happened, Elizabeth's card was empty, due to her foray into the corridor, so she acquiesced with pleasure, acknowledging the compliment. The young Count Orlovsky was a welcome partner -- besides being Alina's cousin, he was also possessed of quiet good looks, a sharp intellect and a store of knowledge which made him an interesting conversationalist in and out of the ballroom. However, even had Elizabeth been inclined that way, she had seen the look he gave to Alina, and that look, though restrained, hinted at more than cousinly affection. Elizabeth only wondered that Alina could not see it, but, she ruefully thought, perhaps the women in her family were not good at detecting that sort of thing when it was aimed towards themselves.

The rest of the ball passed in the fashion of other balls. Elizabeth was asked to dance and enjoyed her partners; the number of catty and disdainful looks directed at her was less than she had anticipated and she hoped that, in time, she would gain the acceptance of London society. She would have liked to say that she did not care what they thought of her -- but she did care, and she was glad that people she had previously met had smiled at her and some had actually approached to speak with her on their own accord. To be sure, her cousin's influence was in large part responsible for that. Though strangers -- and what was worse, foreigners -- the Rostovs had somehow fit into the ton life better than Elizabeth did; it seemed that their life in Moscow had been very similar, excepting the difference in language. Alina navigated the waters of the ton effortlessly, whereas it took all of Elizabeth's education and courage not to flounder. And, what was the most astonishing, society had actually accepted them as one of their own. In part, it was the Fitzwilliams' acceptance of them, no matter how grudgingly it was done in private; in part, it was their great wealth and title, their intelligence, wit and almost flawless English, their beautifully tailored, fashionable clothes and that unconscious air of breeding that seemed to entitle them to respect and admiration in the highest circles -- but also, it was somehow recognized that the Rostovs were of the right kind, and doors opened for them which would not be open to Elizabeth.

Mr Darcy not being at the ball stung more than Elizabeth was willing to admit. She hoped that it was because he was still at Pemberley, and not that he was purposefully avoiding her, that he held her in such contempt after her shameful behavior in Kent and did not wish to risk being in her company again. She could not ask, of course, for even a casual question would mean so much. Elizabeth imagined that his feelings for her were gone, and though she had not sought his affection, she felt the loss of it keenly. She determined to brave the disappointment of not meeting him as best she could; after all, she reasoned, it was not as if she were in love with the man. However, she could not rid herself of the memory of the man sighing the name, “Jenny,” with such exquisite tenderness, such -- no one had ever said her name in that way; nay, no one had ever looked at her in that way… except for Mr Darcy. She brushed the thought aside and resolved to enjoy herself without silly romantic fantasies of the kind her younger sisters might indulge in.

Elizabeth did not see Lady Jennifer again, the rumor went that she felt unwell and left early, but she did see the young man who was with her in that room, a Lord Talchester, who was in attendance on his mother and sister. His face was a mask of politeness, but his eyes were dark pools of sorrow and his laugh, when it came, was forced and hollow. Though in the excitement of the dances Elizabeth almost forgot the conversation she had overheard, Lord Talchester's unhappy face came up again and again in her memory during the carriage ride back to the Rostovs' townhouse.

It still haunted her as she was settling in to sleep, so she was startled when she heard a soft knock at her door. She opened it to find Alina in her nightdress, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, holding a candle.

“May I come in, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth ushered the girl inside. “What is the matter? Is something wrong?”

Alina bit her lip in consternation. “I do not want to intrude, but I felt that something was wrong with you. I am not looking for forced confidences, but I wanted to make sure -- I wanted to make sure that no one -- that you were not…” She trailed off, not knowing how to finish, but Elizabeth understood. Her cousin, in her own way, had discovered that people who smiled and simpered at her, may have turned a cold shoulder to Elizabeth, and wanted to somehow give comfort if that had happened. Elizabeth's heart melted at this sweetness, and she quickly assured Alina that nothing of the sort had taken place.

“What is it, then?” Alina asked. “I noticed how quiet you were during the ride back -- is something else troubling you?”

“I do not think I can say, it is not my story to tell,” Elizabeth sighed, torn between the need for secrecy and the desire to speak of this to someone. Jane, she knew, would only be shocked at her reprehensible behavior of eavesdropping on a private conversation, and oddly enough, she trusted Alina not only to not judge, but also to not divulge what she told her to anyone else.

Alina turned away, hurt. “As I said, I did not want to intrude. I simply wanted to know that you were well. You may be assured of my silence, Lizzy, for though I might be a young and silly thing, I know well the value of keeping my friends' confidences.”

Elizabeth knew the truth of that statement, so little by little, she revealed the scene she had witnessed between Lady Jennifer and Lord Talchester. She blushed fiercely when recalling how she came to acquire the information, but finished the story.

Alina's eyes looked big in the candlelight and she was thoughtful for some minutes. “Yes,” she said at last, “I remember hearing something about this -- I had forgotten to tell you. Apparently, the Talchesters and the Etherings have been feuding with each other for generations, no one knows the real reason; it is doubtful whether they even know themselves anymore. It is not openly spoken of in polite society, of course, so I have only heard rumors. Lady Jennifer is the only child of the Etherings and the male line in his family ends with Lord Talchester, so you can imagine what the families felt when the two fell in love. It is all very Romeo and Juliet, Lizzy, except that their parents will not let them marry. Both of their fathers were so violently against the match that all London knew about it. Lord Ethering died three years ago, and everyone thought that after the death of his archenemy, the old duke would now consent to his son marrying Lady Jennifer, but he remains as stubborn as ever. What you saw tonight was possibly just one of the many attempts Lord Talchester has made to gain his father's consent.”

“But,” Elizabeth asked, horrified by the cruelty, “why do they not defy their parents? Both must have separate incomes, and surely, society would look kindly upon them…”

“Did you not hear what Lord Talchester said?” Alina asked sternly. “He is the last male descendant of the house, he owes a duty to obey his father's will. He would be disowned otherwise, and the line would die out with his father. They are of very old noble blood, it would be unthinkable to allow that to happen. They could wait for the old duke to die, but it may be years and years, and they both must marry. Lady Jennifer is almost seven and twenty and Lord Talchester must also soon choose a wife.”

Elizabeth wanted to protest, but then thought better of it and accepted it as an inescapable part of this new world she had entered.

“Lizzy,” Alina whispered, clearly still affected, “we must help them.”

“Help them! We are barely acquainted with them, and it is none of our business. In any case, I highly doubt that either Lady Jennifer or Lord Talchester would accept our help, even if we could give it. And what could we possibly do? No, it is silly to even think about it.”

“I do not know, Lizzy, but it pains me to see anybody suffer so, especially two such people. Though I may jest that Lady Jennifer is superior, I hear that they are both as noble of character as they are of blood.”

Both girls sat quietly for a moment, lost in thought, and then Elizabeth shook her head. “Alina, how can I make you understand -- there is nothing you can do, and it would be unwise to try. You must leave it alone.”

“It is such a story,” Alina sighed. “Perhaps I can talk to Georgiana -- Miss Darcy, I mean. I need not use names… She is not yet out and is unlikely to know about whom I am speaking.”

“Oh, it is `Georgiana' now, is it?” Elizabeth smirked, amazed again at her cousin's way of breaking barriers -- Elizabeth herself could hardly get two words out of the shy girl when they met.

Alina colored, looked down. “Oh, she is the sweetest girl, Lizzy,” she said. “And such a lady, much more than I ever will be with my rashness and jumping about. Her brother raised her, did you know?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth admitted guardedly.

“What a fine brother he is,” Alina said, awe in her voice. “I only wish Alexander had paid half as much attention to me as Mr Darcy does to Georgiana. Jane says you dislike the man,”

Elizabeth choked.

“But,” Alina continued pleadingly, “he is Colonel Fitzwilliam's cousin, and we shall be brought often into his company. I would ask that you give him a chance. Georgiana -- she says that he is kind and thoughtful. Surely, a good brother cannot be a bad man, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth released a breath she did not know she was holding. “No,” she patted her cousin's hand, “he cannot be. I do not dislike him, Alina, truly. Oh, I admit, I have not always like him, and I do not know him well enough to like him now, but…” she trailed off, unsure how to explain what she felt.

Alina put a warm hand on her shoulder. “But…”

Elizabeth did not know what came over her -- it was the ball, the wine, the darkness, and her cousin's kind eyes -- but she rushed the words out. “When I am with him, it feels… it feels familiar somehow, as if I can tell him anything, and he would understand. What a funny thing it is, I had not even realized it when I was in his company; but now, looking back on the whole of our acquaintance, I know that I have been more frank with him than I have ever been with another man.” She frowned and looked down at her hands. “It makes no sense, but there it is.”

“No,” Alina said quietly, thoughtfully, “it is not so strange. I know just how it is.”

She would not say more, though, and the moonlight streaming through the window illuminated their faces. This is what it must mean to grow up, Elizabeth thought. There is no simple `like' and `dislike' any longer; complicated thoughts, complicated emotions. She sighed. “We are a pair, are we not,” she said with a rueful laugh.

Alina looked up, smiling genuinely. “But of course we are,” she exclaimed. “We are young, we are beautiful, and we are loved -- at least by each other! Is that not a thing to be thankful for?”

Elizabeth shook hear head. “One cannot even sulk indulge in a good sulk with you around!” she exclaimed with mock petulance.

Meanwhile, the Viscount and his wife were preparing for sleep after the tiring ball. Usually, Lady Diana preferred her own light and spacious chambers, but on a chilly night such as this one, with limbs aching deliciously from dancing, she knew the delights of sharing a bed with her husband who could always be relied upon to soothe and warm her just as she needed.

After establishing herself comfortably, she suddenly recalled the one thing she had neglected to ask her husband.

“Edward?” she said frowning slightly.

“Mmhm?”

“Emma, Lady Carrington, was excessively attentive to your brother tonight, did you not think?”

“Mmm…”

“Is there a specific reason she should be quite so attentive?” she asked.

“Mmm…”

“Edward!” her tone was dangerous.

Her husband gave up feigning sleep and sat up in bed, sighing. “Yes, my dear?”

Lady Diana looked at him pointedly.

He sighed again, becoming slightly aggravated at having to answer questions in the middle of the night. “Well, what do you wish me to say, I know as little about it as you do. I recall some talk at the club three years ago, but -- ahem -- I was quite preoccupied myself at the time, courting you, and such… Besides, the talk died down when she married Carrington and they went away, so it is of no importance now.”

“Yes, but--”

“My brother,” his voice hardened, “conducts his affairs in his own way. Not very differently, I might add, from most gentlemen of the ton. I do not presume to interfere. Besides, I thought you disliked her.” Lady Diana understood that he was now speaking of Miss Rostov.

“She is such a -- nice girl,” she murmured. She did not know herself why she took such interest in the affair, but she found the thought of Colonel Fitzwilliam and Lady Carrington abhorrent.

“In any case, he has not done anything yet, I presume” the Viscount said, his voice softening.

Lady Diana shook her head. The appearance of interest had been all on Emma's side, at least this night.

“I will speak to him, my dear, but have faith in my brother. If he is really in love with Miss Rostov, ten Lady Carringtons will not sway him. And if he is not, she had better find out now, while their understanding is not yet public. 'The course of true love never did run smooth',” he quoted unsympathetically.

“Hmpf.” His wife went to sleep thinking that he was perhaps cruel, but unfortunately correct.

Sources of Happiness ~ Section III

By Irene

Beginning, Section III

Chapter 15

Posted on Sunday, 24 June 2007

“Pray don't talk to me about the weather, Mr. Worthing. Whenever people talk to me about the weather, I always feel quite certain that they mean something else. And that makes me so nervous.” ~ Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

The day after the Carringtons' ball, the ladies residing at the Rostov townhouse felt it incumbent upon themselves to visit with the ladies residing at the townhouse of Viscount Harcourt, not only to thank Lady Diana for her kindness in introducing them to her various acquaintances, but also for a certain member of their group to see Colonel Fitzwilliam under the pretext of a collective visit.

They were shown into the drawing room, but to Alina's great disappointment, only the ladies of the house were present therein. Lady Diana noted her questing eyes and with half a frown and half a smile, discreetly sent a servant to inquire after her brother's whereabouts.

The Princess immediately engaged Lady Diana in a quiet, polite conversation and Anne wished very much to show Elizabeth the latest letter from Mrs Collins, so it was left to Alina to entertain the shy Miss Darcy. At first, conversation did not flourish, but then Alina inquired about Miss Darcy's embroidery, showed her a stitch she had learned in Switzerland, and spoke so well of Handel and Mozart, that even Georgiana, who was uncomfortable with girls near her own age, found herself very interested and talking much more than she had anticipated.

“Do you not long to be out, Miss Darcy?” Alina asked.

Georgiana flushed. “When my guardians feel that I am ready to come out,” she said stiffly, “I am certain they will let me know.”

“Oh,” Alina was taken aback, “I meant no offense, I apologize! Every young lady of my acquaintance can speak of little else but having a Season, I assumed that you were just as anxious to have yours as well! But I understand,” she continued, bending her head towards Georgiana, “it can be a positively harrowing experience, to be exhibited like that.”

Georgiana looked up at her uncertainly. “You-- you do?”

“Of course!” She laughed, shaking her head, “My own sister dreaded it. In fact, she escaped to our family's house in the country after only two months and married an old family friend. If I were not as thick-skinned--” she shrugged, smiling.

Georgiana's eyes widened at this speech. “Thick skinned?” she repeated, a little dazed.

“Yes, well, I am, really. I never mind what anyone says to me, unless they are my family or close friends. My cousins always tease me for it, but I cannot help it, I do not take offense when people who do not know me at all say awful things about me, for I know it cannot be the truth!” Alina raised her shoulders with a grin.

“My cousins tease me as well,” Georgiana ventured. “Colonel Fitzwilliam the most, I think, but I know he means well.”

“Oh,” Alina felt a warm rush at the mention of the Colonel's name. “I danced with him last night -- twice!” she whispered, leaning in to Georgiana. “He is a lovely dancer. Is it due to your tutelage?”

“Oh, no, Miss Rostov” Georgiana exclaimed, mortified. “I would never -- oh,” she relaxed, “you are joking…” She smiled sheepishly. “I suppose I am a bit slow to catch on.”

Alina laughed and pressed her hand. “Perhaps my joke was not very funny!” She cocked her head and looked at Georgiana. “Miss Darcy, may I ask you a favor?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do please call me `Alina.' I would feel ever so much more comfortable. All my friends do, and we are soon to become --” She wanted to say “cousins,” but remembered herself in time. “We are soon to become friends, I hope.”

Georgiana blushed and nodded. “Yes, Mi-- Alina, I will try. You must call me Georgiana, then.” It had been a long time, perhaps since her brother took her out of school, that she had had a friend. Except Anne, she thought, but Anne was also her cousin and that made things different. Georgiana liked this girl with laughing eyes very much and wished, quite impartially, that she could be as gay and carefree as Alina always seemed to be.

Colonel Fitzwilliam practically burst into the room. “Hello!” he exclaimed brightly, including the whole room in his greeting. Lady Diana prevented herself from rolling her eyes. “My dear Princess,” he continued, approaching Catherine, “how have you been? Miss Bennet, you looked charming at last night's ball, you must wear that gown more often!”

He walked on, dispensing pleasantries, until he reached the settee where Alina and Georgiana were waiting for him.

“My dears,” he said warmly to both girls, and pulled up a chair. “Georgie, you are looking quite well today! This embroidery is just wonderful, you are very talented. Is she not accomplished, Miss Rostov?”

“Very,” Alina agreed. “I only wish I could do half as well, but I am afraid I am very clumsy with the needle.”

“Nonsense,” Colonel Fitzwilliam disagreed, “I have seen your work, and is very lovely.”

They smiled at each other, and Georgiana quietly rose and moved away, knowing that they would not notice her absence.

Colonel Fitzwilliam only saw that the seat next to Alina had become vacant and moved himself into it. “Did you enjoy the ball last night?” he asked in a low voice.

“Oh, yes!” Alina exclaimed, blushing.

“I hope you dreamt of me…” he whispered, touching her arm lightly.

“Richard!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam grinned. “If that is the way you will say my name when I anger you, I must remember to do it more often,” he said, thinking how delightful it would be to be married to her.

“Richard, do stop being so silly.” Alina moved away a little for the sake of propriety, and then smiled to herself, wondering how it came to be that she should be the proper one. “The ball was nice indeed,” she said primly, “Everyone I met was very pleasant.”

“Oh,” Colonel Fitzwilliam shook his head, bemused, “you will be dissuaded of that notion as soon as you know them more closely. We all have our failings. Did you see Elliot slip away with Miss Cray before dinner?”

“Elliot? I do not believe I met him…”

“Sir William Elliot. The one with the handsome, superior wife.” Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. “Chases everything with a skirt, Elliot does; notorious for it!”

“Bur surely--” Alina frowned slightly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam waved a hand. “Oh, he does it all the time. Most of the men do, I daresay it is the same in Moscow. You have nothing to worry on my account, however,” he assured her, touching her hand again, “I would never be that kind of a fool.” He continued speaking lightly about the ball -- the music, the food, the people who had not been invited -- but Alina could not focus on his words, she kept thinking on what he had said about Sir William.

When they got home, she sought out Peter in the library. He was sprawled out on a chair, legs stretched in front of him, the corners of his mouth bent in a small smile at something he was reading. He sat up, however, when he saw Alina.

“Well, hello,” he said, “you have an odd look on your face… did your visit not go well?”

She sighed and sat on the corner of a chaise. “I feel odd, Peter… that is -- I know I should not, but I do. Does that make sense?”

Peter thought about it for a moment. “Er… no.”

“Oh, well, it does not matter,” Alina said, rising. “I should occupy myself with useful things, accomplishing things.”

Peter frowned and held her back with a look. “I think you should tell me what happened,” he said.

She sat back down and folded her hands primly on her lap. “Richard -- Colonel Fitzwilliam -- we were talking, and he told me about Sir William Elliot, and how he -- he has affairs with many other women and that it is more the rule than the exception…”

Peter's expression was inscrutable. “Well, you are not a child anymore, you know how it is. You have been in society enough. Unfortunately, it is the same everywhere, Moscow or London.”

“Oh, yes,” she said impatiently, “I know, but it was the way he spoke of it, so casually, without censure even, as if it were all one big joke! I am not naďve, Peter, I do know what happens, but I suppose I never thought--” she broke off.

“Did he say he condones such behavior?” Peter asked carefully.

“No, he said that I shall have nothing to worry about. All the same… Well, I daresay it is nothing and I am making a mountain out of a molehill. Really, I am very silly sometimes!”

Peter tried to smile reassuringly. “I think you are right, you have nothing to worry about. If you really love him, and he really loves you, then all will be well.”

“Well, yes,” Alina said uncertainly, “yes, I suppose so.” She brightened. “Thank you, Peter, it is always so good to talk to you!”

Colonel Fitzwilliam was walking out of Townhall & Spencer's with a new snuffbox. It was a very nice snuff box and he was pleased with his purchase. He also had picked up a necklace for Alina -- a thin gold chain with a delicate cross -- it was quite fashionable at the moment and he thought she would like it. He imagined her laughing that tinkling laugh of hers, like a brook bubbling over in the spring, and her eyes lighting up with delight. A strong, polite voice shook him out of these agreeable musings.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam,” the voice said.

He looked up to see Alina's cousin walking up to him. “Ah, Orlovsky,” he said cheerfully, “Going up to Townhall & Spencer's?”

“No,” Peter replied dryly. “I was actually hoping to meet you, Colonel.”

With faint surprise, Colonel Fitzwilliam inquired politely, “Oh?”

There was hesitation in Peter's manner, but he sighed and said, his voice quiet but strong. “I was hoping to speak with you on the subject of my cousin.” Not allowing the Colonel to reply, he continued. “I know she is rather fond of you, and I do believe that you are fond of her…”

“How can you doubt it?” cried Colonel Fitzwilliam with feeling, “She is the most charming woman in the world!”

“Yes, undeniably.” Peter paused. “I also know the habits of a certain set of young men in London. You see, Colonel Fitzwilliam, while traveling with the Russian Army, I have been to a number of places in the world. There, I have met many women whose husbands, either with their knowledge or without, are content to be very fond of their wives but to also -- er -- develop close friendships with a number of other women.”

“Good God, man,” Colonel Fitzwilliam exclaimed, “You are not suggesting that I would--”

Peter cut him short. “I am not suggesting anything to you in particular. However, if I were to speak with my cousin's future husband, I would suggest to him that he give up any thought of developing such intimate friendships. Family ties are very strong for us, Russians. I would wish a long and -- ehem -- healthy life for any of my cousins' husbands.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood agape, looking blankly at Peter. This was one of the very few times in his life when he was rendered completely speechless -- with surprise, with shock, perhaps even with righteous indignation. How dare the Count speak to me this way… the insolence!

Peter glanced at the Colonel, his eyes friendly again. “I am very glad we had this talk,” he said mildly. “I hope that we understand each other.” And he turned and walked away, swinging his cane easily.

Chapter 16

A little rudeness and disrespect can elevate a meaningless interaction to a battle of wills and add drama to an otherwise dull day.” ~ Bill Watterson

When Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to his brother's townhouse, another unwelcome surprise awaited him. Raised voices coming from the drawing room alerted him to the presence of guests, and the butler answered his questioning glance in low tones: “Your Aunt is here, sir, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

Oh Lord, he thought, not that old--

“Richard, thank goodness you are here,” Anne said, coming down the stairs. “My mother just arrived.” They exchanged a knowing glance, and Colonel Fitzwilliam thought with regret that retreat was now impossible. With a deep sigh, he took Anne's arm and brought her upstairs.

The picture in the drawing room looked dangerous indeed, the battle lines having been clearly drawn. On one side, stood his Aunt, quivering with indignation, and on the other, stood his brother and Lady Diana, her lips pressed thin with anger and color in her cheeks. It looked like the conversation, if it might be called such, had gone on for quite a long time before his appearance on the scene.

“Oh!” Lady Catherine gestured to him, “you dare show yourself here! Unfeeling, selfish boy!”

He cleared his throat, but did not have a chance to say anything, as Lady Diana came to his defense: “And where should he show himself, may I ask, Lady Catherine? He lives here, as does your daughter!” she exclaimed, eyes flashing. The Viscount closed his eyes, as if in pain.

“Hello to you, Aunt,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said calmly. “I do not believe I have the pleasure of understanding how I have provoked your ire…”

“Ha!” Lady Catherine whirled to him, “you do not have the pleasure! You can imagine, young man, that I, myself, did not have the pleasure of learning about some most important developments from you! No, I had to find out from that odious Mrs Price! `Lady Catherine,' she says to me in that annoying voice of hers, `do you know that there is talk that your own nephew is cavorting with a foreigner?'” She looked around distastefully. “A foreigner! Can you imagine! What a disgrace for our family!”

“Aunt!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed angrily. “I do not `cavort' with anybody! Miss Rostov is a most proper and intelligent young lady--”

“She is a foreigner!” Lady Catherine said loudly and accusingly.

“Well, yes,” Colonel Fitzwilliam looked slightly bewildered, “she does happen to be from another country… but her family--”

“A ha! A foreigner! Oh, I knew this would happen if I allowed all of you to conduct your own affairs! Is our lineage to be thus polluted?”

“Madam,” Lady Diana's cold voice rang out, “you forget yourself! While you are in my house, you shall comport yourself with the dignity expected from one of your breeding and your position and refrain from insulting my guests or their friends!”

Lady Catherine turned to her, then, eyes glittering maliciously. “Your house?” she asked, scorn tingeing her voice, “your house, indeed! This is my nephew's house, and you are but a--”

“I am the daughter of a Duke, Lady Catherine” Lady Diana said in steady, clear tones, allowing the many shades and implications of that sentence carry around the room. Lady Catherine looked at her, impotent with rage.

The Viscount finally spoke, his voice sharp with warning. “Aunt, you have said quite enough. Remember the respect due to my wife and lower your voice! This is her house as well as mine, and though I have a great love for you, I will not stand by idly while you speak to her thusly.”

“Thank you, Edward,” Diana inclined her head in his direction. “Lady Catherine, if you wish to remain welcome here, I urge you to re-think your approach.”

Lady Catherine looked from one person to the other and, not finding sympathy in anyone's eyes, turned to the window, her shoulders slumping. “Oh,” she mumbled quietly, “I know, I am just a poor, old aunt, who only wishes to be of use, why should my opinion be counted?”

The tension in the room had broken, and Colonel Fitzwilliam, rolling his eyes to his brother, approached his aunt and put an arm around her shoulders, leading her to a chair. “Oh, Aunt, you know we all love you and treasure your advice, for you always give such good advice!” he said, his usual charm in full force.

“Yes, Mamma,” said Anne quietly, taking her mother's hand, “we do all love you very much.”

Lady Catherine turned her head away. “No, no, you do not. I can see that I am not welcome here any longer… I shall leave immediately…”

The Viscount and his wife had a silent battle of wills. Lady Diana sighed - family was family. “You are welcome,” she said, almost gently. “But you must see that…”

“Oh, yes, dear, I know, I am sorry. I should never have raised my voice at you, you know that I have always loved you.”

“Mother feels things very strongly,” murmured Anne.

“Oh, I do, I assure you!”

Lady Diana gritted her teeth and left to give orders for the preparation of another guest room. Her husband ran out after her.

“Thank you,” he said, pressing her hand. “You know how I detest these scenes.”

“At least she apologized,” Lady Diana sighed. “Is it too much to hope for that she will refrain from criticizing the food at dinner?”

He shrugged. “Yes, but you knew that. Yours is the stronger temperament, my love, so you must bear the most.”

“You do love her,” she accused.

The Viscount smiled indulgently. “She dangled me on her knee when I was a baby and kissed my scrapes and bruises when I fell from trees and secretly brought food to me when I was in disgrace with my parents and was sent to bed without dinner… how can I not love her?”

“Yes, you have always been her favorite nephew.”

He brought his wife's hands to his lips. “Thank you for understanding,” he whispered.

Lady Diana's lips twitched in a smile. “She does rouse my temper like no one else,” she mused. “At least we shall not be dull.” And with a long-suffering sigh, she continued on her quest to find the housekeeper.

Chapter 17

Posted on Friday, 29 June 2007

"Is love a tender thing? It is too rough,
Too rude, too boist'rous; and it pricks like thorn." ~ Shakespeare (Romeo and Juliet)

Colonel Fitzwilliam arrived at Lord and Lady Hardcastle's ball very early, contrary to his usual habit. Looking around to ascertain that none of his particular friends were yet here, he walked nonchalantly from one group to another until he stepped out onto the smaller, secluded balcony overlooking the garden. The door opened once again behind him and closed with a soft thud. The smell of female perfume assailed his nostrils and he turned around to look into the achingly familiar face.

“Richard,” she whispered. “I am glad you have come.”

He kept himself from touching her. “I could not have stayed away, I had to see you one last time.”

That he had said “last” was not lost upon her. Emma sighed and wrapped her arms around herself. “I-- I have missed you these three years,” she said hesitantly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam swallowed. “I do not think you should say that to me. After all, you are a married woman now.” He had not wished to taunt her, but could not help the bitterness of his tone.

Emma turned away, as if struck. “Yes,” she said after a pause, “I am married, though surely it brings me no joy. My husband--”

“He mistreats you!”

“Well, no,” she admitted, “not as such. He… finds his amusements elsewhere.”

Leaning back on the balustrade, Colonel Fitzwilliam let out a quiet, “Oh.” He was not surprised at her confession, many men in London amused themselves elsewhere than their wives' beds; he reminded himself that her happiness was no longer his problem. He looked at Emma for a while, seeing the young girl he had loved. She was still strikingly beautiful, though there was a sadness in her eyes now that he knew he had no right to see. “I am very sorry your marriage was not all you anticipated it to be,” he said presently.

Emma bit her lip, pained, and looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “This is all you can say to comfort me? It is not very like you, this is not the man I remember.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam felt unexpected anger and resentment surging through him. “Well, really, what do you wish me to say? I loved you, walked after you like a love-sick puppy, and you married -- you married him! Not because you loved him, no, but because--”

“Richard!” Emma cried, “I had to! My family would never have allowed me to marry you.”

“Oh, of course, because I am only the second son and I could not upkeep you in the style to which you were accustomed. Can you be surprised at my not being happy to have been thrust aside for title and a fine estate in the country?” Colonel Fitzwilliam turned away; he did not want to look at her face, for he knew that her power over him was not gone as he had thought previously. He had not forgotten, the memories had simply sunk into a fog that now lifted with her presence, and he felt the urge to take her into his arms. “No,” he muttered, “no, this cannot be.”

“Richard,” she implored, putting a small, warm hand on his arm. “Please, do not be so cross with me. I did what I had to do, can you not understand? Now, I have given my husband an heir, and he wants nothing more to do with me. I am free, Richard, free!”

He stared at her, uncomprehendingly. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that we can be together again now…”

Recoiling, Colonel Fitzwilliam freed himself from her touch. “Emma… it is you who does not understand. I loved you, a long time ago, but this is not how I would want to love you again.”

“Oh, do you mean, because of my husband? Pooh,” she waved her hand dismissively, “that has never stopped anyone before, why should it stop us?”

He shook his head. “It is not the same. I care about you. I cannot do this.” He saw Alina's face in his memory, the two women were so different, yet each held a piece of his heart -- how was he to reconcile that? He needed to get away and think, to understand what was happening to him. He realized that Emma was still looking at him, her gaze faintly puzzled. He took her hands gently. “I cannot do this,” he repeated. He wanted to say also, my heart is not free, but he saw veiled hostility in her eyes, and stopped the words before they came out.

Emma looked at him for a few moments, her eyes unreadable, and released his hands, stepping so close to him that he could almost feel her breath. “I understand,” she said, sighing softly. “I am very, very sorry, Richard. I only hope you can forgive me and see that it was the only way for me.” She looked up at him, the diamonds around her slender white throat glittering in the moonlight, a pendant dipping low. “I would be your friend.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam's breath came in short gasps as he struggled to gain control over himself. “I -- I will always be your friend,” he managed to say.

She touched his cheek delicately for a mere moment. “Thank you.” Her skirts rustled as she turned around and walked back into the ballroom, leaving only that maddening smell of flowers to taunt Colonel Fitzwilliam.

After Emma was gone, his head cleared and he began to review their encounter. How that woman stirred him! Even after three years, when he thought he had gotten her completely out of his mind, the mere familiar scent of her clouded his judgment so that he could barely recall what he had said. Lord, he had been a fool about her three years ago, and if he was not careful, he risked becoming a fool again. Women were women, he thought, but women who had power over you were dangerous. He was not going to allow that to happen again.

Colonel Fitzwilliam stood on the balcony for some time, thinking of whether he should acquaint Alina with the whole situation. Given Emma's penchant for the dramatic, he supposed that he should say at least something, but he knew not what. Guiltily, he thought that he should probably speak with his brother of these latest developments; his brother would hear anyway -- secrets were notoriously difficult to keep in London -- and it was much better that he heard it from Colonel Fitzwilliam himself. This determination cheered him up immediately, and, resolving to think no more of this until he spoke with the Viscount, Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped out into the ballroom with the return of the usual spring in his step.

He sought out Alina in the throng of people, but found Elizabeth instead.

“Miss Bennet, it is a pleasure to see you, as always!” he said, approaching her from behind.

Elizabeth turned at the sound of her name and found Colonel Fitzwilliam bowing to her charmingly. “Likewise, sir,” she smiled and, looking around him involuntarily, felt a stab of disappointment at once again not finding Darcy in attendance.

He saw the direction of her gaze and added apologetically, “I seem to be the only representative of the Fitzwilliam family tonight; I understood that my cousin Darcy would be back in town already, but he must still be detained by urgent business. I am sure nothing less could keep him away.”

Elizabeth blushed, aware of how transparent she must be to him. “I am perfectly satisfied with your company, sir,” she said lightly.

“Excellent,” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied, “perhaps that means you will favor me with the first set? I have previously engaged Miss Rostov for the second one.”

“With pleasure, sir.” She allowed the Colonel to lead her onto the dance floor where the couples were forming the lines for a country dance. The music was lively and the conversation was pleasant, and Colonel Fitzwilliam really did his best to engage her attention, but Elizabeth could not deceive herself anymore -- she would have rather been dancing with Darcy. She sighed. What was it about that man, she thought, that even in his absence he affects me so? Suddenly, the music seemed a little too loud and the colors too bright, she just wanted to leave these people to their merriment and seek a quiet hour of reflection and solitude.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice, full of concern, startled her out of her reverie. “Are you well, Miss Bennet?”

“Oh, yes,” Elizabeth answered with as much gaiety as she could, “how could it not be, with such a charming partner? Even an old country dance seems refreshed.”

The Colonel bowed, acknowledging the compliment, but his eyes were serious, contemplative. “Yes, I take great pleasure in dancing,” he said, looking at Elizabeth probingly, “unlike my cousin who almost never participates in the sport unless he is made to.”

The dance separated them, giving Elizabeth time to compose herself. When they met again, she was able to respond with a tolerable degree of indifference. “I daresay your cousin can follow his desires wherever he wishes, but for myself, I find it a delightful entertainment, and I am pleased that you enjoy it as well.”

Teasing remarks of mutual admiration then followed, and as the dance had come to an end, the Colonel escorted Elizabeth to her party, now clearly visible, and gathered Alina for the second set. Peter politely asked Elizabeth to dance and she accepted with relief, knowing that he would not be a demanding conversationalist. Perhaps sensing her mood or perhaps for a reason of his own, he stayed quiet for the duration of their dance, only once remarking on the large number of people filling the ballroom. Indeed, it was very crowded, but the figure she sought still failed to appear. She swallowed past her disappointment. The air suddenly felt hot and stifling, the music seemed jarring and the familiar steps of the dance did not bring their usual comfort and pleasure. Elizabeth was overcome by the desire to go home -- home where she would be loved by her family, where the surroundings would not oppress her, and where everything was simple and understandable, even her own emotions.

After the set with Peter had ended, a Mr Raleigh, whom she had briefly met once before solicited her for the next, and though her only desire was to find a quiet corner somewhere, she complied; Peter did not seem to understand the subtle pressure of her hand on his arm, and to decline would seem very rude after she had just danced two sets in succession. Elizabeth danced with increasing weariness and a lack of pleasure that was uncharacteristic of her; even her partner noticed and remarked upon it, but was too much of a gentleman to delve any further. It seemed as if the dance was lasting forever, but as the music changed, Elizabeth realized with relief that only one set remained until dinner. In vain did she look for anyone she knew well enough to join; her own cousins seemed to have disappeared and Colonel Fitzwilliam as well, and she was just about to brave the dense crowd in search of her family when she felt a pull on her arm and turned to find Sir Stephen Clayton smiling at her benignly.

“Miss Bennet!” he exclaimed loudly. “What a pleasure to see you tonight, and looking lovelier than ever!”

His effusions made Elizabeth very uncomfortable, especially because she had heard of his reputation as the most outrageous flirt, but she felt the eyes of several matrons turn to her and returned the smile, though with considerably less enthusiasm. “Thank you, sir.”

He continued in the same vein: “Really, Miss Bennet, you are one of the brightest jewels in London at this time -- a veritable feast for the eyes. Please, do me the honor of dancing the last set with me!”

Elizabeth saw that he was drunk and colored in embarrassment, feeling more and more eyes turn to her. He took her arm and short of outright refusal, she could do nothing to stop him and, fuming internally, followed him to the dance floor to join the couples. Sir Stephen kept up a steady stream of chatter, all the while holding Elizabeth's hand a second longer than the dance really demanded, his eyes remaining on her even when their partners changed. Elizabeth could not wait until the dance finished. Before the music even stopped, she excused herself from her tiresome partner and went in search of a quiet corner where she could rest for a minute and hope that the insistent pounding in her head would cease. She found a small balcony off the side of the room that was mercifully empty and with a sigh of relief, slipped outside.

Holding her burning face out to the wind, she contemplated her own fickle nature. When Mr Darcy had been in Hertfordshire, she had clearly missed seeing any of his good qualities (or, if she was honest with herself, she willfully ignored them), all because of a stupid comment he made. It was monstrously rude of him to speak so, especially in a crowded ballroom where people might overhear and carry his words onwards, but all in all, especially with the dislike Mr Darcy had generated, it was really nothing. Mr Wickham's improprieties were much more grave, and had Elizabeth's pride not been bruised, she might have seen that and not blinded herself to the faults of one and the virtues of the other. Her cheeks flamed in remembrance of the accusations she had flung at him in Kent… and his response… “God bless you.”

Elizabeth sincerely hoped that he did not despise her family so any longer -- that was the one thought that brought her back to reality. Good man he may be, but she could never be free with anyone who thought so low of her. However… he had been so solicitous to her uncle, aunt and cousins in Baden, had sent his regards to her family especially, had evidently striven to put things right between Bingley and Jane… These circumstances demonstrated a deep change within the man's opinions. Elizabeth wished Mr Darcy could hurry up and get back to London so that many of these speculations could be put to rest and not simply simmer in her overactive imagination.

So lost was she in her thoughts, that she did not notice the balcony door open softly and Sir Stephen Clayton walk inside, the speculative look on his face hidden by the darkness. She started as he said her name softly.

“My dear Miss Bennet,” he said, taking her gloved hand and caressing it in a way that made her shiver with disgust. The smell of wine filled the air around her.

“Sir Stephen,” she replied curtly, trying to dislodge her arm.

“I am so happy to find you here alone,” Sir Stephen said, lowering his voice intimately, “There is something I have long wished to speak to you about.”

Elizabeth frowned. What was the man about? “Sir,” she said, stirring, “I really must return to my party. They will soon be looking for me.”

“Pish posh,” he waived her denial away, relinquishing her hand for a firm hold on her arm. “I have some things I would say to you, my lovely, sweet Miss Bennet.” His eyes strayed towards her neckline and Elizabeth felt anger rising. She tried to pull her arm away, but he held on with a force which made her wince. Elizabeth tried to protest again, but he pulled her forward, and his eyes now held very little mirth or good will.

“Come, now, Miss Bennet, you can be at no loss to understand the reason for my speaking to you thusly.” Sir Stephen's voice was pitched for her ears alone and his eyes glowed with malice and lust. “You must have seen my admiration for you, and being a pretty, healthy country girl such as yourself, I am certain you are no stranger to such invitations.”

It took several seconds for Elizabeth to really understand what he meant -- she had never been more shocked in her life at such a proposition from such a man. “Sir!” she said forcefully, breathing hard, “you forget yourself! Unhand me this instant!”

He just smiled lazily. “I would lower your voice if I were you, Miss Bennet. You would not wish for the whole world to know what we are speaking of -- everyone will assume that we have already entered into … ahh… an arrangement such as I propose. What will it take? I am rich, Miss Bennet, I can give you jewels you have only dreamt of, and trinkets and clothes--”

As angry as Elizabeth was, she realized that causing a scene would only bring censure to herself and to her family, and that Sir Stephen's position in society would protect him above all else. At the same time, her position -- alone with a man on a secluded balcony -- was precarious at best and dangerous at worst. She tried, fruitlessly, to disengage her arm, and failed. His grip on her was causing pain, and her previous headache -- abated for a moment by her anger -- returned twice as strongly. Her head was spinning.

“Sir,” she hissed, “I demand that you release me right now. In fact, I find your suggestions intolerable and disgusting. I have never had such degrading words addressed to me and I would ask that you immediately forget everything you have said to me as if it never happened. You may have sunk so low as to believe that I would be willing to enter into such an `arrangement' with you or with anyone else, but do not mistake me, I have not descended to the same level!”

Instead of releasing her, however, his grip became tighter and more excruciating. His eyes flashed with drink and wounded pride and he threw her against the balustrade painfully. Elizabeth tried to push past him back into the room, but his large form blocked her escape, and what was even worse, blocked her from the view of the rest of the room so no one could come to her aid even if they had wanted to.

“Insolent girl! You should be honored that I even pay attention to an insignificant, low-born country miss such as yourself,” he spat out. “You have no idea what your refusal will do for your reputation -- I have the kind of power to ruin you and your inconsequential relatives. After I am done with you, you will not think of refusing me again!”

Elizabeth had had enough. Not caring about causing a scene, not caring about anything except escape, she brought her foot sharply upwards and kicked the drunk man squarely in his shin. She would have kicked higher, but the delicate silk of her dress constrained her movements, and she did not wish to return with a torn dress and arouse even more questions. Predictably, he wailed in pain and humiliation.

“You bitch!” he growled, through clenched teeth. “You will pay for this, I promise you!”

Elizabeth was preparing to kick him again, but the balcony door opened and, as if introduced by the hand of drama itself, Mr Darcy strode through it forcefully. Sir Stephen's angry words died in his throat with a pitiful, gurgling sound, and he could do nothing but stare.

Darcy measured Sir Stephen with a cold look. “What were you saying, Clayton, about payment?” he inquired in a calm, measured voice. Elizabeth, shocked as she was by his sudden appearance, caught the subtle notes of danger in his tone, and apparently, so did Sir Stephen. He seemed to shrink into himself and cower.

“I-- er… well, you see,” he stuttered, “Miss Bennet and I were just talking, yes, talking.” He giggled drunkenly. “I was joking with her, yes, that if she loses a certain bet, er… well… you know…” he trailed off, as Darcy continued looking at him.

“Yes, I see,” Darcy said, his words clipped. “Perhaps I can settle that payment with you in Miss Bennet's stead?”

Sir Stephen's eyes widened with fear at the implication and he shook his head. “N-no, no need, Darcy, no need at all. As I said, er, I was not really in earnest.”

“Good,” Darcy said, his voice filled with scorn, “Then perhaps you would wish to rejoin your wife in the ballroom now?” It was offered with the sound of a suggestion, but with an air of finality that made it a command.

“Of course, yes, thank you,” Sir Stephen mumbled and then almost ran inside to the now empty room to find where the dinner was being served.

Darcy watched him with undisguised contempt, and then turned to Elizabeth. “Are you well?” he asked gently.

Now that the ordeal was over, Elizabeth found to her frustration that she was shaking and could not stop; her legs would barely hold her up and her hand was trembling against the balustrade. “I thank you, yes,” she replied in a hoarse voice.

Darcy offered his arm and she took it, grateful to lean on his solidity. “Do you wish to go stay here for a moment before rejoining the others?” he asked in a neutral tone. “The ballroom is empty now, everyone has gone in to dinner, you need not be afraid of anyone coming in.” Elizabeth nodded and drew in a calming breath of air, allowing the wind to cool her flaming cheeks. She shivered in the night air, and Darcy, almost without thinking, took off his own jacked and placed it about her shoulders. She sighed deeply.

“Thank you,” she said after a moment, when she had recovered, looking up at him with wide, dark eyes. Darcy was suddenly very conscious of being in his shirtsleeves.

“Please, do not thank me,” he said tightly and looked away. “I did what any gentleman would have done.” Echoes of their meeting at Hunsford rose up between them like ghosts.

“Oh.” Elizabeth colored at her own presumption. She had thought, albeit for a moment, that it was for her, but of course, he would have done this for any person who was in distress; that was his nature. “Well,” she lifted her shoulders, “that fact does not make me less grateful for it, sir.”

Darcy frowned. “I hope, Miss Bennet,” he said, “that you will put this unfortunate incident of your mind entirely.”

“I, too, would wish that,” she replied frankly, wondering at how easy it was for her to trust him. “I cannot, however, forget his threats against my reputation or my family.”

Their eyes met once again. “I can assure you that you have nothing to fear on that account,” Darcy said with a quiet certainty and Elizabeth again detected the hardness in his tone; though his whole attitude and stance was of cool control, his eyes were filled with shadows.

“I am in danger of wanting to thank you again,” Elizabeth said teasingly, hoping, for his sake, to dispel his anger.

He laughed then, relieved that she seemed in good spirits despite of what had just transpired; it was a rich laugh that warmed Elizabeth from head to toe -- she wondered why she had never noticed it before.

“Then let some things be left unsaid between friends,” he nodded. “Although as far as I saw, you hardly needed my help.”

Elizabeth colored -- surely, that had not been the behavior of a gentlewoman! “I -- I did not want to hurt him…”

“Yes, I think you did,” Darcy replied, his mouth twitching in a smile.

She smiled too, looking up at him. “The situation called for some -- creative thinking,” she agreed.

Darcy laughed, throwing his head back. “Indeed, you are a formidable opponent,” he said, looking happily into her sparkling eyes. “I hope I will never be on the opposing end of your -- er -- creative thinking.”

Elizabeth dimpled. “I believe, sir, you have been on that end several times, though mostly to my own detriment.”

That admission, though made in jest, silenced Darcy, throwing him into memories of their past encounters. An almost awkward silence settled over them -- Elizabeth suddenly realized that they were alone and that she was wearing his jacket, which smelled disturbingly male and felt unfamiliar and heavy on her shoulders. She divested herself of it and held it to him.

“Thank you, I am quite warm now.” She turned away while he shrugged back into it, thinking of the strange turn of events that had brought them together again.

“Perhaps I should take you back to your family now,” Darcy said somewhat stiffly, the comfort of the last ten minutes having been broken.

“Oh, yes, of course. It is very kind of you.” Elizabeth thought she understood. He had done his duty as a gentleman, and now, he wanted to leave again. Was she wrong in acknowledging the happiness she had felt while they were together? She sighed, accepting his arm, and allowed Darcy to lead her back into the ballroom.

Almost as soon as they walked into the dining room, now bustling with servants and people crowding around a very full buffet, Alina sought her out. Mr Darcy discreetly dropped her arm.

“Oh, Lizzy,” she exclaimed, after having greeted Mr Darcy, “I have been looking all over for you! Mamma has one of her migraines -- she is very, very sorry to take us away from the ball, but she would like to go home right away. Papa has already called for the carriage.”

“Oh! Of course, I shall be down immediately! You must go ahead to her, Alina, I promise I shall not be long.” Alina left quickly and Elizabeth turned to Mr Darcy.

“I am sorry, but I must go now,” she said, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “Thank you again for -- for coming to my aid.”

His eyes were dark and inscrutable. “Please, no gratitude between friends,” he said quietly. “Goodbye, Miss Bennet, until we meet again.” With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Elizabeth to ponder his last words.

Chapter 18, Part I

Posted on Friday, 13 July 2007

“My dear father, when one pays a visit it is for the purpose of wasting other people's time, not one's own.” ~ Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband

The next morning, the Rostov townhouse was very quiet. The Princess, still feeling the after-effects of her migraine, was resting in her chambers and Prince Alexei, eager to accommodate his wife in every regard, stayed with her in reading quietly to her from her favorite book of poems. Peter, feeling the need for exercise, went out riding in the Park, and thus, the two girls found themselves alone in the breakfast parlor.

“Not too tired after last night, Lizzy?” Alina asked, looking at Elizabeth with concern.

Elizabeth shrugged and said absentmindedly: “It was a very -- strange evening.”

Alina's eyebrows climbed upwards. “Really? Now, Lizzy, none of your usual reticence, you must tell me what happened.”

Elizabeth sighed and rolled her eyes -- her cousin's persistence was well known in the family and to deny her would only make her more curious, and thus, more persistent. She related the encounter with Sir Stephen, leaving off the part that involved Mr Darcy -- it was too delicate a matter to share with anyone just yet. Alina listened with rapt fascination; nothing half as exciting had ever happened to her, she thought.

“You kicked him where?” Alina asked with obvious admiration when Elizabeth was finished.

Elizabeth coughed. “In the shin, dear.”

“Oh, I should have aimed a bit higher,” Alina said impartially.

“Alina!”

“What?” she opened her eyes very wide, “do not be coy, Lizzy, you were thinking the same thing.”

Elizabeth had to admit that she was.

“I hope Mr Darcy did Sir Stephen no further injury after you so thoroughly demonstrated your kicking skills,” Alina said innocently, hiding behind her teacup.

“What?” Elizabeth sputtered, “How did you know? I mean,” she attempted to correct herself, “what can you be speaking of, I really have no idea!”

Alina laughed for a full five minutes at Elizabeth's discomfort. “Oh dear,” she said, patting her cousin's hand, “You should have seen the look on your face, Lizzy. How did I know? Why, anyone could see it when he brought you in to dinner, the man had eyes only for you. When I took you away, he looked positively crushed -- in that inscrutable way of his, of course. I only wonder that you could not tell!”

Elizabeth mumbled something about all the women bearing the Bennet genes being blind to the attentions of the opposite sex. Alina looked at her strangely.

At that moment, the butler entered the breakfast parlor, interrupting their conversation.

“Miss,” he addressed Alina, “there is a visitor awaiting you.” There was mild, well-bred distaste in his tone.

Alina glanced at the clock. “Oh, goodness, we are very late over breakfast today,” she exclaimed. “You had better bring whoever it is into the gold salon -- who is it, by the way?”

“A Miss Bingley, miss,” he bowed and left the room.

Alina stared at Elizabeth.

“Mr Bingley's sister,” Elizabeth explained in a stage whisper. “She was not at Netherfield when you visited Longbourn.”

“The one angling after Mr Darcy?” Alina asked, also in a stage whisper.

“Alina!” Elizabeth exclaimed in her normal voice, shocked that her young cousin would speak of such things and so coarsely. Alina, so well-mannered in public, was alarmingly direct in private. “You must not speak like a fish-wife,” she admonished. “But yes, that is the one.”

“From your expression, I expect that I shan't like her.”

“Oh, it will be much worse than that,” Elizabeth remarked darkly.

What was Miss Bingley doing here, and most importantly, why would she call on them? Mystified, they walked over to the gold salon to await their guest.

Miss Bingley stood in the hall where that odious butler had left her and contemplated her plans. What a great surprise it had been to have been approached at a card party by none other than Lady Carrington -- just the kind of rich, beautiful and well-connected lady that Miss Bingley had wanted to become friends with for some time but had failed miserably. Lady Carrington, her neck and wrists positively dripping with diamonds, had been so kind to Miss Bingley, inquiring about her family and even granting her permission to call at the Carrington townhouse the next day. When Miss Bingley had called, Lady Carrington had been most charming and attentive again and Miss Bingley felt that she was on her way up in society if such persons as Lady Carrington began to take notice of her. Of course, Miss Bingley thought, the very rich had their eccentricities. For example, why had Lady Carrington been quite so interested in the Miss Bennets and these Russian nobodies? Well, Miss Bingley mentally corrected herself, judging by the location of their townhouse and by the fine furniture, the Rostovs were not exactly nobodies, but… Naturally, Miss Bingley instantly offered to find out all she could about the Rostovs, whom the detestable Miss Eliza was so conveniently staying with. Fine eyes, indeed!

At that moment, the butler interrupted Miss Bingley's musings by coughing slightly and saying, while looking down his long nose at Miss Bingley: “Miss Rostov will see you in the gold salon, madam” and without even waiting for a response, turned around and walked a mere shade too quickly, compelling Miss Bingley to hurry behind him. Miss Bingley vowed to spill a drink on the impertinent man at the first opportunity. Now, however, she had a part to play. She swept into the room with a rustle of her skirts.

“My dear Miss Bennet!” she exclaimed in her most engaging tones. “What a delight to discover that you are indeed in London. I simply had to come and see you.”

Elizabeth and Alina exchanged bemused looks. “Thank you, Miss Bingley,” Elizabeth replied, matching the other's tone “it is indeed a pleasure to see you, one that my sister Jane enjoyed when she was in town last winter, I believe.”

Miss Bingley had the good grace to blush a little while Elizabeth performed the necessary introductions, though the feeling did not last very long as she was consumed with curiosity about this girl that Lady Carrington found so interesting. Her survey did not bring her any pleasure -- she saw that Miss Rostov was well formed, wearing fashionable, well cut clothes, and had a pleasing face and the same sparkling eyes that Mr Darcy had so admired in Elizabeth. Miss Bingley was torn -- on one hand, it would behoove to be very polite to a rich, beautiful young woman such as Miss Rostov; on the other hand, however, this same rich, beautiful young woman may get ideas above her station and aim for several men Miss Bingley considered to be strictly her own territory, hence Miss Bingley felt it was her duty to deliver an adequate set down which would immediately show this upstart whose interests dominated.

“You townhouse is charming, Miss Rostov,” she said with the most sincere smile she could manage, which was not very sincere at all. In fact, the townhouse was more than charming -- it was tasteful, which Miss Bingley could instantly recognize and envy, despite having little taste herself. “Of course, not being from here, you do not know town as well as I do, so if you would allow me to give you some friendly advice, Berkeley Square is considered the most fashionable address. It matters little, of course, but…” Miss Bingley trailed off with an elegant shrug.

Alina blinked. “Er… thank you, Miss Bingley. I will relay to my father your suggestion for a more appropriate address. May I inquire, in what part of London do you yourself reside?”

Miss Bingley's thoughts raced quickly, for she could not tell this little minx that the Hursts' townhouse was in a neighborhood that was only barely considered fashionable any longer. “It is… very near Berkeley Square,” she lied carefully.

Elizabeth turned her to Miss Bingley confidentially. “Then we shall be very nearly fashionable together,” she said with an air of commiseration that Miss Bingley was sure to despise.

Miss Bingley's nostrils widened a little at this, but she rallied. “It is so fortunate that you have relatives staying in town, Miss Bennet. Otherwise, you might have been consigned to your aunt's house in -- where was it again -- Cheapside?”

Elizabeth was about to retort that she would gladly stay with her aunt rather than with the Hursts who, she imagined, did not live anywhere near Berkeley Square, but Alina was faster. With her sweetest smile, she said: “I know that I am very new to London, Miss Bingley, but I have heard that people of commerce, some of whom live in Cheapside, now also find it quite convenient to reside in Manchester Square… It has become quite the new Cheapside.” She fluttered her eyelashes and rang for refreshments.

The blow was well dealt, for the Hursts' townhouse was in Manchester Square, which had once been a fashionable area, but was now populated by respectable tradesmen more so than any people of the haute ton. Due to lack of funds, not alleviated even by Louisa's dowry, the Hursts could not purchase a house in an area better suited to their taste and so chose to spend as much time with Mr Bingley in the country as they could. Damn her, Miss Bingley thought. How could she know of this, the little-- She narrowed her eyes. “It is certainly no Cheapside yet,” she managed to say scornfully.

“What a pity,” countered Alina, “for Georgiana -- Miss Darcy, I believe you may be slightly acquainted with her -- was just saying that she would very much like to go shopping to Cheapside, but has been so far unable to do so due to the distance.”

Both Miss Bingley and Elizabeth gaped at her, for different reasons. Elizabeth had never seen her cousin look quite so sly or quite so triumphant. She realized that Alina was enjoying verbally besting Miss Bingley! Elizabeth had always seen Miss Bingley as a necessary evil, to be ignored rather than taken head on, but it was obvious that her cousin had different ideas. Well, she had to admit, the look on Miss Bingley's face at hearing Miss Darcy referred to as “Georgiana” and her relationship with that lady deemed “slight” was very funny indeed.

Miss Bingley was shocked into a brief, choking silence. During her long, albeit very shallow, acquaintance with the Darcy family and with Miss Darcy in particular, she had never been allowed the privilege of calling her “Georgiana.” Not even when she had accidentally slipped in hopes of being asked to continue the informality. No, Miss Darcy had simply looked at her very coldly and accepted her apology with a slight nod. And here was this -- Miss Bingley, who had been given a lady's education after all, could not think of a ladylike word to describe this impertinent upstart -- practically brandishing “Georgianas” about in a most forward manner. The insolence! Miss Bingley narrowed her eyes angrily.

“I am surprised that a lady with Miss Darcy's taste and education even knows where Cheapside is,” she said, smiling poisonously. “You must have misheard her -- your grasp of the English language being what it is -- for I am quite certain she meant `Bond Street,' where the good shops are. Miss Darcy is quite a lady, you know. Or perhaps you may not know, your own acquaintance with her being so brief.”

Alina bristled at the multiple insults in Miss Bingley's speech, especially the implication of herself not being quite a lady for knowing where Cheapside was. Alina may have been slightly spoiled by her parents, but she prided herself on judging people on their merits rather than their address. Elizabeth saw her cousin slowly turning red and decided it was time to intervene.

“Speaking of Bond Street, my dear Miss Bingley,” she said cheerfully, “We have recently had the good fortune to be recommended to Mme Lenore, who graciously consented to make up some dresses for us. You have been to her salon, have you not?”

“Of course I have,” lied Miss Bingley, but her confidence was flagging. Oh, she thought, these odious Bennets, insinuating themselves everywhere! First, it is “Georgiana” and then Mme Lenore -- it was too unbearable. Mme Lenore was the most sought after and elusive modiste in London and her dresses were the envy of every lady in town. Everybody knew that even to get an appointment with Mme Lenore, one had to be recommended by an existing client, and the woman had the most exclusive clientele. “Who recommended you?” Miss Bingley could not help asking, through clenched teeth.

“Lady Diana Fitzwilliam, Miss Darcy's cousin,” Elizabeth replied, succeeding in keeping almost all the smugness out of her tone. Alina winked at her behind a teacup.

“Oh…” Miss Bingley replied weakly. The clock then struck the half hour and Miss Bingley rose hurriedly. It had been a most unpleasant visit, but at least, she would have a lot to tell Lady Carrington about this shrew of a girl.

“I fear I must keep another engagement,” she said, curtsying. “Thank you for tea, Miss Rostov, Miss Bennet.”

“It was delightful of you to call on us,” Alina smiled charmingly at Miss Bingley's retreating back. However, and in spite of convention, she did not ask Miss Bingley to call again. The footmen looked at their young mistress approvingly.

“Well!” Alina turned to Elizabeth, once she was sure that Miss Bingley had gone. “What a ----!” and she confirmed her fish-wife tendencies by saying a very shocking word.

For once, Elizabeth did not admonish her, but simply nodded in agreement. She sank deeper into the comfortable settee. “I feel as if I need something positive after that odious woman -- fresh air, sunshine, anything!”

Alina appraised her speculatively. “I think we must visit Georgiana,” she said, suddenly businesslike. “She will want to hear all about the ball. Stay, I will go get Peter. I heard him come in, but he is probably hiding out in the library, having been informed of our visitor.”

Elizabeth looked very alarmed. After all, she and Mr Darcy had parted on such terms, she could not just go traipsing into his house! “No, my dear, I think I have got a headache. You may go and I will stay here and read.”

“Nonsense, Lizzy,” Alina said firmly. “We shall all go. Only you and Peter must keep Mr Darcy occupied because I have something very specific I would speak to Georgiana about.”

She left the room quickly, before Elizabeth could recover enough to protest, and went to the library where she was almost sure she would find Peter.

Chapter 18, Part II

Posted on Saturday, 27 October 2007

“So whilst our infant loves did grow, disguises did, and shadows, flow from us…” ~ John Donne, “A Lecture Upon Shadow”

Alina peeked into the library, and sure enough, Peter was stretched out in his favorite chaise, his profile outlined against the light streaming from the window. She paused by the door, noticing how truly handsome he was; of course, Alina had always known that Peter was very attractive -- women pined after and flirted with him all the time -- but now, in this moment of quietude, she somehow felt a proprietary sense of acknowledgement of this fact. After all, what did all those women know of his looks -- they had never seen him smile with genuine humor and affection, had never seen his grey eyes flash with barely suppressed mischief, had never known the gleam of intellectual excitement -- in short, they knew nothing of what really made him so different from other men who had the great misfortune of being merely handsome and vapid. Of course, she thought with sudden cattiness, Anne de Bourgh seemed to appreciate all those things well enough. Many times she had seen Peter and Anne bent together in conversation. Alina could not say why that thought was so disturbing, for she knew herself to not be the type of woman who was ill satisfied until she collected the attention of all the men present. She would not begrudge Anne, and yet --

Alina shook herself free of these silly thoughts, a mere reaction, she thought, to this new environment and the hostile people, where anything familiar seemed more dear than ever before. The Bingley woman's visit must have called up more feelings than she had realized. She shook her head again to purge these strange emotions and walked into the room.

“Peter,” she said with forced gaiety, “you have had a very lucky escape, my dear, and I cannot help feel that it was not so very unintentional…”

Peter looked up from his book with a slight smile. “No, you are quite correct. I heard a shrill voice in the drawing room, and the servants had those kinds of looks, so I fled here immediately. I make my most humble apologies.”

“Yes, well, but you shall have to make up for it,” Alina said impatiently.

“Anything, my Princess,” Peter nodded with a hand on his heart and his eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. Then, he thought about it for a moment, seeing Alina's eager face. “Almost anything,” he corrected himself hastily.

“Hmpf. Well, I suppose `almost' anything shall have to do,” Alina smirked, sitting down on the corner of the chaise he was occupying. “It will be no great pain, I assure you. Simply put, Elizabeth and I would like you to accompany us to the Darcys, upon whom we wish to call. And, when we are there, you must make sure that Mr Darcy and Elizabeth have a chance to speak without being interrupted.”

Frowning, Peter shut his book. “Matchmaking?”

“No! Really, I am not. I cannot disclose the reason, but I promise, I am only allowing nature to take its course. Why, just watch them closely when they are together, and if you tell me that I am wrong, I shall stop interfering immediately.”

She looked so sincere that Peter had to relent. “As long as Elizabeth knows what you are about to do, I will play along this one time only.” He smiled and held her hand for a moment. “I do trust your judgment, my dear, have no doubt of that. I just want to make sure you are not putting yourself in where it would do more harm than good.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the butler. “Madam,” he coughed, “Mr Darcy, Miss Darcy, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss de Bourgh are here. I have escorted them to the Blue Room.”

“Good Lord! Mr Darcy!” Alina exclaimed, jumping up. “What -- I was not expecting him here!”

Peter hid his amusement behind his hand. “Quite right, thank you, Wilkins,” he nodded. “We will be there presently. Miss Bennet--”

“I conducted her to the Blue Room to meet your guests, sir.”

“Ah. Excellent. Thank you, Wilkins.” He turned to Alina. “My dear, there is nothing to worry about. The Blue Room is our best drawing room and we are both quite presentable. Wilkins' subtlety of distinction is perfection in itself. Or is it the Colonel's presence that discomposes you so?”

“No, it is not that! I was just not expecting them here, and… well… I do not like surprises!”

Peter laughed openly now. “No, you do not like surprises that disarrange your previous plans!”

Alina drew herself up in mock indignation. “I see no difference. In any case, you will remember what I told you about Him and Her?”

“Aye aye, captain of obvious references. Lead the way.”

The conversation in the Blue Room was already well on the way, and Alina saw at once that it was due in large part to Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne's efforts. While those two were upholding their end of the conversation, Darcy and Elizabeth were looking at each other while trying to give the impression of looking the other way and Georgiana was throwing glances of mute appeal at both of them.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rose and spoke with enthusiasm as soon as they entered the room. “Ah,” he said, “Miss Rostov, Orlovsky. As you see, we have come to inquire how you are faring after yesterday's festivities and to invite you to take some air with us by walking to the park.”

Alina was delighted at the prospect, especially because it would give her a chance to throw Darcy and Elizabeth together. “How fortunate that you have come then,” she replied to Colonel Fitzwilliam, extending her hand, “I had exactly the same idea just a minute ago!”

He bent over her hand while murmuring a gallantry about great minds. Alina caught Peter's eyes and was surprised to see that there was an expression of coldness in them, so unlike his usual demeanor. At the next moment, however, he addressed himself to Anne and Alina thought she had probably imagined it all.

“I am glad you came just as you did,” Colonel Fitzwilliam whispered to her, “Anne and I were running out of topics for conversation!” He looked meaningfully at Darcy and Elizabeth.

“I understand your meaning perfectly,” she whispered back. “Perhaps if we leave them to walk together…”

He looked at her with admiration. “You are uniformly charming, madam!” he said, “We must implement your suggestion at once.”

It took little time for the party to assemble and, only a short walk later, they were all in the cool lanes of Hyde Park. It was slightly earlier than the fashionable hour and they were not on the main road; as a consequence, they were able to walk with some privacy and without being stopped every minute by friends and acquaintances. The Colonel offered one arm to Alina and the other to Georgiana and Peter quickly claimed Anne for his companion; Elizabeth and Darcy, to their mutual embarrassment, were left to walk together slightly behind the other members of their party, the lane not being wide enough to accommodate more than three.

After some time of walking in silence, Darcy finally cleared his throat. “I hope, Miss Bennet,” he began quietly, “that you are feeling quite well after -- after last night.”

“Oh yes, thank you, sir. Very well indeed,” Elizabeth replied, coloring. She did not like to think of what had transpired at the ball.

“You must not blame yourself for what happened,” Darcy said suddenly, and Elizabeth was amazed at the accuracy with which he read her feelings.

She looked up at him for the first time since they began walking. “You are too kind, Mr Darcy,” she said. “However… if I had just been more careful, more observant… I must confess that I am not familiar with the ways of the haute ton; it is - different - from home, I feet like an outsider.” She looked up. “I very much appreciate you coming to my defense last night, but I would like to forget the incident altogether. I will not be so foolish in the future.”

“You were not -- no, it was not your fault, you must not blame yourself. It is not so very different, only there are more people and therefore more unscrupulous and depraved characters.” He paused as several people passed them. “But,” he continued in a different tone, “I cannot fully agree with your philosophy of forgetting -- for me, the painful incidents of the past bring useful lessons.”

Elizabeth twisted her parasol and fought to slow the beating of her heart. “I would carry the lesson with me, sir, but would rather leave the pain behind.”

“That,” he said with a wry smile, “I believe I can learn to like, though I am not certain I am able to adhere to it completely. Such is my nature, I am afraid.”

She returned his smile. “Then nature cannot be changed? `God never made His work for man to mend'*?”

“Ah,” he said with seriousness, “Perhaps we cannot change in essentials, but with time and self-reflection, we can be molded, perfect our understanding and direct it into the proper channels. I cannot presume to mend His work, but I can attempt to know myself.**”

The words resonated with Elizabeth. “You speak well, sir,” she said. “I have felt that same thing myself -- to truly know oneself is a great achievement.”

“The task of a lifetime, Miss Bennet.”

They walked forward, both thinking of each other's words and their shared understanding. There was an unexpected humility in Darcy's expression that Elizabeth was surprised to find echoed in her own heart.

“Do you know,” she turned to him with a smile, “that this may well be the very first time we have agreed on something?”

Darcy looked down at her, the corners of his mouth twitching. “It is a novel experience. If you prefer, however, I can instantly become disagreeable again.”

“No, please,” she laughed, “allow me to take pleasure in this rare moment.”

He bowed. “I do not believe,” he said presently, “that you would enjoy it if we were always of the same opinion.”

“Goodness, certainly not,” Elizabeth said with mock horror, “There is nothing which would frighten me more. However, there seems little danger of that ever happening.”

Darcy seemed about to speak but then simply smiled and refused to take her bait. Instead, he held out his elbow. “The path becomes uneven here, Miss Bennet, do take my arm.”

As Elizabeth linked her arm through his and felt the warmth of his coat, she reflected on the strangeness of the situation; only a short time ago, she had hated him, accusing him undeservedly -- at least in part -- of deeds vile and despicable; only a short time ago, he announced with insufferable conceit that he was ready to lay aside all his doubts about her lack of dowry and connections and allow her the honor of becoming his wife. Only yesterday, he had come upon her in that ridiculous situation and did not turn away, as she thought he must. They had not know each other at all, but it seemed that had known themselves even less. And yet, Jane was to be married to Mr Bingley and she was now walking in Hyde Park on Mr Darcy's arm.

It would perhaps not be accurate to say that she was a different woman than she had been last April, and he was certainly not a different man, but something had changed in both of them. He had been courteous to her family in Baden and now he was, if not supportive, then at least not disparaging, of her cousin's alliance with Colonel Fitzwilliam. Though he was by no means talkative still, he spoke with an unaffected sincerity and without the condescension of their previous encounters. Last night and even now, he looked at her as a person, not simply as a lower step on society's ladder. Seeing him without the veil of hostility she had imposed on herself in Hertfordshire, albeit unknowingly, she noticed the way his gravity of demeanor wavered when she teased him, his tender regard for his sister, the depth of even their most casual conversation…

“Miss Bennet,” he said suddenly, “my sister and I are to visit Kew Gardens tomorrow. Would you do us the honor of accompanying us? Georgiana, I know, would very much like your company.”

That was a compliment for which Elizabeth was unprepared. Although he said “Georgiana,” she heard in his tone that he was speaking for himself as well, and her heart delighted in it. She smiled and colored and was able to reply that the honor and pleasure would be all hers in such an outing.

* John Dryden
** “Know then thyself, presume not God to scan; The proper study of mankind is man.” Alexander Pope

“Well, Lizzy?” Alina asked with shining eyes upon their return home.

Elizabeth tried to look innocent. “The walk was very pleasant, if that is what you mean. The Park is beautiful even at this time of year.”

“Oh!” Alina threw up her hands. “You know very well what it is I do mean. Tell me, what did you talk about? You looked so comfortable on his arm, I almost envied you. He is a very handsome man!”

“Alina,” Elizabeth laughed, trying to stay the tide of her cousin's conversation. “we spoke of a number of things. I may have quoted Dryden to him.”

Alina wrinkled her nose. “Dryden! Not that boring old -- oh, Mamma says I should not speak of famous poets so. However, could you not at least have quoted someone romantic?” She tilted her head and intoned dreamily: “`I loved you; and perhaps I love you still, The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet It burns so quietly within my soul…' Ah, now that is truly wonderful!”***

“Indeed,” Elizabeth laughed, taking Alina's arm, “I will not argue with you for I know how you love that great poet, but as for me, he is too melodramatic. I feel as if he would whither away and die if the lady did not return his love.”

“Is that not how it should be?” Alina asked, sighing. “If he really loved you, he would suffer in your absence.”

“Oh, dear,” Elizabeth said lightly, leading Alina to the music room, “I think I should take your education in hand. Let me compensate for my lack of appreciation for Russian poetry by playing some of the music you brought. I will not even attempt to pronounce the name of the composer.”

Elizabeth could not explain it, but she did not want to share her conversation with Mr Darcy with anyone; even a letter to Jane was postponed because of her reluctance. It was all too new, too uncertain, to be subjected to light-hearted teasing and dissection by the curious members of her family. She would ask her uncle's permission to visit Kew Gardens, but other than that, she could not bring herself to tell even Alina, though Elizabeth knew her cousin would be disappointed.

Elizabeth looked at the dying fire in her room with an unconscious smile. She had been surprised at the alteration in his manners, and yet, when he looked at her, she felt that it was her own understanding that had changed. Tomorrow could not come soon enough.

*** Alexander Pushkin

Chapter 19

Posted on Sunday, 4 November 2007

November 3, 1810
Netherfield, Hertfordshire

Darcy,

Received your letter. Your explanation of the events of last {smudge} came as a complete surprise. I had thought you honor{blot}, and most importantly, I had thought you my {smudge}est friend. I had no idea you were such a {smudge}ful {blot}. In fact, if you were here, I would {smudge} your {smudge} so hard that you would not recognize yourself. You {smudge}y {blot} of a {blot}, I am going to {blot} your {blot} and {illegible}{illegible}{illegible}{very large smudge}.

evidently written some time later

Darcy, I was unfair, I must own to you that the fault is entirely mine. I am the {blot} that left Jane all alone. I should have made my own decisions. I realize that you were only trying to be a friend, although I still believe your interference was officious and unwarranted. I have forgiven you, of course, although I do not know if I can ever forgive myself. I would like you to be the first of my friends to know -- Jane has agreed to make me the happiest of men; I do not deserve her nor such joy. If you see Miss Elizabeth in London, where I am told she is staying with her Aunt and Uncle Rostov, please try not to insult her, or you shall have to answer to her future brother, and more pertinently, my {smudge} is going to connect with your {blot}. We are going to be married here in Hertfordshire at Christmas and you will do me a great honor if you would stand up with me.

CB

Darcy's lips twitched over his tea while reading Bingley's letter at breakfast. He was relieved to finally receive it; knowing his friend's indecision, he waited to write until all was settled with Miss Bennet. Despite the menacing and -- thankfully -- almost fully illegible first half of the letter, he knew with relief that Bingley had forgiven him. Darcy found himself feeling truly happy for Bingley and for Miss Bennet, and slightly envious that his friend's affairs, as opposed to his own, had been concluded so quickly. He had no doubt now of their felicity together -- for Miss Bennet was clearly the kind of woman who could make Bingley analytical of his own feelings and actions, and also the kind of woman who could give his friend the intense joy that practically radiated from every word in the second part of the letter. Darcy chuckled inwardly, entertained by the image of Bingley as a fierce protector of his future sister.

Georgiana looked up at him inquiringly.

“I received a letter from Mr Bingley today,” he explained.

“Oh?” her voice sounded anxious and alarmed.

“He is announcing his engagement to Miss Jane Bennet.”

“Oh! But that is wonderful! I do hope they will be happy together, even though I have not met Miss Bennet; but Miss Elizabeth and Miss Rostov are so very--”

“Georgiana,” Darcy stemmed the relieved flow of his sister's conversation, “you need not have married him if you did not desire it. I hope you know that.”

Georgiana colored and was silent for a long moment. “I would not have wished to disappoint you, Fitzwilliam,” she said very quietly. “You can be very -- direct -- with your wishes, and at that time, I would have done it just because of that.”

“But not anymore?”

“No,” she said in a firmer voice, “not unless you had a very good reason.”

He put the letter down and reached over to put a finger under her chin. “I am glad of that, my dear,” he said gently. “I will always be here to advise you, and you cannot expect me not to try to plan for you nor guide you, for I am your older brother as well as your guardian--”

She smiled. “I would not suspend your pleasure in that… nor mine.”

“However,” he continued, “I hope that you and I will make the decisions regarding your future together.”

“I should like that.” Georgiana's eyes filled with unbidden tears and she swallowed. “I love you so very much, Fitzwilliam. I-- I want you to be happy.”

“I already am,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

They sat at the table silently, finding it difficult to return to mundane conversation.

“Do look at the rain,” Georgiana said in a casual voice. “Do you think it will abate anytime soon?”

They both laughed at the sudden awkward change of subject, until Georgiana recalled their plans for the day and sobered instantly.

“Oh, no, look at the rain!” she exclaimed, with real alarm this time. “It cannot rain today -- what of our outing to Kew Gardens with Miss Bennet?”

The mood in the room instantly soured as neither could think of a way to remedy the situation.

“Perhaps,” Georgiana said tentatively, “we could invite them to tea?”

Darcy nodded after some contemplation. “We shall have to invite the Prince and Princess, as well as the Count and Miss Rostov, you know.”

“Oh, but they are very charming, Fitzwilliam, did you not find them so?”

“I did, but will you be comfortable with so many people here?”

“I-- I do not know… But perhaps it is time for me to stop hiding behind Anne.”

“If you wear your new blue dress that makes you look like a piece of the summer sky in Derbyshire, you need not worry at all,” her brother said, surprising her with this uncharacteristic for him speech.

“Oh,” she blushed, “I had no idea you noticed my gowns. Really, Fitzwilliam.”

“Yes, I am becoming sentimental in my old age, Georgiana. I am proud to have such a beautiful young lady for a sister.”

“Really, Fitzwilliam,” she repeated with another self-conscious blush and a smile. “I will go and write the note to Miss Rostov.”

The invitation was duly written and a reply was received with the information that Miss Bennet and Miss Rostov would be happy to accept, however, the other family members had to decline. The Count had a prior engagement and the Princess had come down with a slight cold and was being taken care of by her husband. Brother and sister infinitely preferred this arrangement, for although they liked the Rostovs and the Count, both were more comfortable with entertaining a smaller party.

Several hours later, the carriage with Elizabeth and Alina, having made a short journey down Grovesnor Street, pulled up to the Darcy townhouse.

“Oh,” Alina exclaimed, looking up at the noble edifice, “it is charming, Lizzy. I do hope you will entertain often…”

“Alina!”

Alina giggled. “Yes, fine, I will stop. It will do you good to feel how it is to be on the receiving end of teasing once in a while, cousin.”

They were announced and promptly led into a graceful drawing room where Georgiana awaited them. They were not there five minutes when her brother also joined them. Elizabeth had not known quite what to expect, but she was pleased to find that the house was full of comfort and charm without being overbearing or stiffly fashionable. She was really pleased to see Georgiana, whose shy timidity and sweetness reminded her a little of Jane when they were both younger. Darcy, she could not say whether she was pleased to see or not; “pleased” was not precisely the word - her stomach knotted after one glance from his dark eyes and she could barely speak three words together without blushing.

“This is a lovely house,” Alina said, once they had greeted their hosts, with much more politeness than she had when she teased Elizabeth earlier. “You must be very proud to have it in your family. Georgiana, you look positively glowing, I must solicit you for an afternoon in Bond Street sometime very soon for I should like your opinion when I order my next gown.”

Georgiana blushed at the easy compliment and wondered at Alina's ability to put her at ease with almost no effort. Her new dress and her guests' sincere appreciation of it gave her confidence and she surprised herself by addressing several remarks to Alina and Elizabeth without being prompted to do so by her brother.

Alina's steady stream of light chatter could have drawn a hermit from his shell and in Georgiana, she found a willing participant who needed only a little encouragement. Elizabeth joined their discussion several times, but felt rather like an older sister watching her younger siblings, and she could not compete with Alina's stories from Moscow and from her travels on the Continent which fascinated Georgiana. With Elizabeth and Alina talking, and Georgiana inexplicably contributing, Darcy could hardly get a word in edgewise; he was content to simply watch his sister participate in a conversation with another young lady of her own age, and occasionally, to glance at Elizabeth's profile outlined against the silver light of an overcast afternoon. She was so lovely that he could not have said much even if he had wanted to, the words just would not come, and he could not say what needed to be said in front of spectators.

When he brought his attention back to his sister, Alina was just inquiring about her sketching.

“Oh,” Georgiana replied, blushing, “it is nothing remarkable, but Anne and I did paint a great deal while I was at Rosings. The woods are so beautiful there…”

“Oh, do show them to me, please!” Alina exclaimed. “I am certain they are very much worth looking at.”

Georgiana blushed even more fiercely. “I fear you will be disappointed… However, if you really wish--”

“I do!”

“…There are several in the music room, along with some very fine family portraits.”

Alina rose. “No, please,” she said, seeing that Darcy and Elizabeth were to accompany them, “do stay here. We shall be back almost immediately.”

She grasped Georgiana by the arm and led her out of the room, taking care to leave the door open.

“I have much to tell you,” she whispered energetically. “Have you heard of the very tragic story of Lord Talchester and Lady Jennifer? You must know someone who can do something about this dire situation. Your cousin, Lady Diana, perhaps? She seems like a lady for whom nothing is impossible…”

Darcy looked after the retreating figures with raised eyebrows.

“I believe, Mr Darcy,” Elizabeth remarked, hardly able to contain her mirth, “that we have been outmaneuvered.”

“Your cousin would have made a very fine general, Miss Bennet,” he agreed dryly.

“If she were to hear you, she would take your words as a compliment!”

“I feared as much,” he sighed, but there was laughter in his eyes and Elizabeth relaxed. “I hear I am to congratulate your sister,” he spoke again.

“Thank you, she claims that she is indeed the happiest of women and I believe that it is truly so.”

Darcy smiled. “Bingley assured me of his own felicity just as fervently. I received a letter from him this morning.” Silently, he took the letter from his pocket and offered it to Elizabeth. She took it, wondering that he would share his private correspondence with her.

“As you see,” he said after Elizabeth had finished reading, “his decision to ask for your sister's hand was entirely his own. As for me, after my part in the business, I was very fortunate to retain his friendship.”

Elizabeth smiled weakly. “I believe you were also fortunate to be separated from him by distance. I can guess at the meaning of some of the more ominous parts, though they were almost fully obscured by ink stains.”

“Indeed,” her returned her smile. “I wish I could not guess quite so well.”

“Thank you for showing it to me, Mr Darcy. I needed to know that Mr Bingley chose Jane because it was his own heart and mind that spoke to him.”

Elizabeth was silent for a moment as she handed the letter back, but then looked up at Darcy with sparkling eyes. “It seems, however, that I have gained a fierce protector in my future brother. You had better take care to stay in my good graces, sir!”

“I assure you, madam, I will take the greatest care,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Will your sister come up to town now?”

“Oh, almost certainly. For it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a beautiful lady in possession of a handsome fiancée, must be in want of wedding clothes! They plan to marry by Christmas and Mamma has the whole house in uproar getting ready for such an important occasion. I am in no doubt that she will squire Jane to London as soon as it is humanly possible and thrust her into mountains of lace and lakes of silk and muslin.”

Darcy bore the image of a fussing Mrs Bennet stoically. “That sounds quite dangerous,” he said. “I wonder how ladies can bear it all.”

His tone was very serious, but Elizabeth had seen enough of him to recognize an expression in his eyes that could be called merriment if the rest of him participated in it. “Indeed,” she replied with a dramatic sigh, “all the difficult tasks fall to us, women. The gentlemen see only the end product. I am not worried for Jane, however, for my Aunt Gardiner and I will be there to safeguard her from the worst of it.” Elizabeth paused. “Most likely, Jane will stay with my family in Gracechurch Street.”

“I should like to meet your aunt and uncle,” Darcy said, the statement shocking Elizabeth more than his earlier teasing had. “I have heard much of Mr Gardiner, he has built a fine name for himself in the business circles.”

Elizabeth colored and did not know what to say. Mr Darcy wanted to meet her family! From Cheapside! She could not believe it. “Surely -- that is… I am certain they will be very pleased to make your acquaintance, but--”

“Perhaps,” he said tentatively, “if they are not otherwise occupied, Colonel Fitzwilliam and I have a box for the theater for Thursday next week. The play is King Lear, one we both particularly enjoy, and it is said to be a fine performance. I can speak for him that we would both be delighted to have you and your family join us.”

“I thank you, Mr Darcy, and will convey your invitation with great pleasure, as I am to dine with my aunt and uncle tonight. I hope -- I hope very much that we shall be able to attend.”

Elizabeth tried to keep her voice steady, but oh, how she wanted to go home, to her own room, and think for an hour of what this all meant! Could it be a simple offer of friendship? Nay, it must be more, he must still love her; she felt her breath quicken and her heart leap at the thought. “Do you favor King Lear, then, of all the Bard's plays?” she asked to distract herself from her emotions.

“I do, yes. And you?”

“It is too sad for my taste. I am afraid I prefer the comedies.”

Darcy rose in an excited manner and came to stand before the fireplace, leaning on the mantle. “Yes, very true, it is sad; however, it speaks of the human condition, of love and loss, wisdom and redemption…”

“Perhaps, but so do the comedies, with many less tears…” Elizabeth shrugged, smiling at his animation. He argued with her until Alina and Georgiana rejoined them, and the ladies took their leave.

Chapter 20

Posted on Wednesday, 14 November 2007

“… And so, my dear sister, I enclose this sketch, which is the design for your bridesmaid dress. Please do make sure the pelisse (a design for which is to follow in my next letter) is done in a complimenting color - perhaps it would be best to solicit Aunt Gardiner's advice. I have made out a schedule for all that we still need to do before the wedding and I enclose a small list of purchases I would very much appreciate if you could make and send back here with the next post. Mr Bingley and I send our love to you and all our family, but Lizzy, please, do not forget to order your dress soon for it may take several weeks to make up and may not come out right the first time…”

Elizabeth shook her head and replaced the rather thick packet that came for her from Longbourn on her vanity. What had happened to her sweet and serene sister? With her engagement, Jane had put aside her soft and compliant characteristics and had begun to organize her wedding with a military precision. The neighborhood looked on in astonishment as she out-Mrs-Benneted even Mrs Bennet herself in her desire to become one with her beloved. Mr Bingley, in equal parts alarmed and amused at this change in his bride, signed the checks, thinking that even if some part of this side of her personality would carry over to the management of his household, he was going to have a very efficiently run house. Mr Bennet revised his initial prognosis of their future and no longer felt that every servant will cheat them. Most importantly of all, Jane herself, who had never had anything of her own to organize, was happy, and made everyone else happy with her radiance.

Elizabeth placed the sketches in her reticule to show to her aunt and smiled at her sister's newfound sense of freedom.

She walked out of her room and knocked on Alina's door.

“Come in!” she heard her cousin's voice.

Alina was already dressed for the card party, which Elizabeth would not attend in favor of having dinner with her aunt and uncle, and was engaged in placing some small flowers in her hair.

“What do you think?” she turned to Elizabeth. “Do they suit me? Colonel Fitzwilliam sent them this morning.”

Elizabeth assured her that the flowers suited her very well indeed, but Alina remained unconvinced.

“I think,” she said sighing, “that I should wear them, for Colonel Fitzwilliam will be at the party and will be gratified to see it, but perhaps I had better just pin them to my dress.”

Elizabeth noticed her cousin's strange mood, but decided not to remark on it, and instead, hastened to say that the flowers looked lovely in any position. “You are not excited about the party?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, Lizzy,” Alina sat on her bed, “I really do not know myself. They are all alike, these parties. I thought that it would be somehow different in England, but it is all the same - women simper and gossip and men drink, flirt and talk of politics, not necessarily in that order. I do believe that I enjoy myself much more when we are just in our family circle.” She sighed again.

“But… Colonel Fitzwilliam will be there…”

Alina averted her eyes and studied the embroidery on her slippers.

“Alina,” Elizabeth asked, coming closer and taking the girl's hands, “are your feelings towards Colonel Fitzwilliam— are they not what they used to be? You may tell me, you know, I only ask because I care for your happiness.”

Still looking away, Alina gave the tiniest shrug and Elizabeth could see that her eyes welled with tears.

“I really do not know my own mind,” she whispered. “I did love him, ever so much, but now… I am not certain of anything anymore.”

Elizabeth sank down on the bed next to Alina and put an arm about her shoulders. She really did not know what to say - humor was her usual weapon for such a situation, but whereas Jane would smile through tears, she had a feeling that Alina might not.
A servant knocked on the door and Alina wiped her eyes hastily.

“Your uncle's carriage awaits you downstairs, Miss,” an apple-cheeked maid said to Elizabeth, curtsying.

Rising, Elizabeth turned to her cousin. “I must go, but I am going to find your mother,” she said rather uncertainly.

“No, Elizabeth, please. I shall be fine, I promise,” Alina protested. “Give my regards to Mr and Mrs Gardiner when you see them. Do not think about this, it is nothing.”

Elizabeth frowned and went in search of her aunt. Upon hearing her niece's concern, Catherine immediately hastened to her daughter's room. She entered the room, but instead of speaking, simply walked over to the window and stood next to her daughter, taking her cold hands into her own warm ones.

“What shall I do, Mamma?” Alina asked, her voice full of misery.

“Oh, my dear.” Catherine drew the girl into an embrace. She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but she did neither - she still recalled what it was like to be twenty and be confused about life, when every little thing seemed like it would end the world - she knew that any call to reason now would only push her daughter away.

“Sit down and tell me about it,” she said gently.

Alina sighed. “I - I do not even know where to begin.” She thought for a moment to the beginning of her acquaintance with Colonel Fitzwilliam. “When I met him, my heart used to flip a bit every time I saw him. Do you know what that feels like? Well,” she peered up at her mother keenly, almost as if seeing her clearly for the first time, “of course you know.”

Catherine smiled a little smile. Did she really still look at Alexei that way? Fancy, after all these years… And Alina noticed! Her daughter was growing up.

“I felt so funny when he would speak to me or smile,” Alina continued. “Like this whirlwind of emotion welling up inside me, like I could cry just from looking at him.”

“And now?” Catherine prodded, when Alina had fallen silent.

“Now… I suppose I still do, a little. Except - I do notice what he says much more than I did back then. He makes me feel quite uncomfortable sometimes, the way he speaks of marriage as if it were a lovely walk in the park. Perhaps it is because he has not lived with his parents since he was a little boy; they sent him away to school and then to the Army. If he had, he would have known that marriage… at least the kind of marriage I want to have - like yours, Mamma - is so much more difficult and wonderful than that. And not only that, it is many other things as well.”

At these words, tears did come to Catherine's eyes and she felt that, if she had given her daughter just that one understanding, she had fulfilled her duty as a mother. She stroked Alina's cheek tenderly.

“Oh my dear child,” she said. “you are right, it is exactly like that, and you must find someone who understands and is willing to share that with you. Colonel Fitzwilliam is a good man and I have no doubt that he loves you, but you must do what your heart tells you is the right choice. Marriage is for the rest of your life and you must think carefully whether your dispositions and your ideas of life suit before making such a commitment.”

Alina nodded.

“Perhaps if you spoke with him…”

“It is not that… I do feel as though I still love him… my heart still flutters when he smiles at me, but - I do not know how to explain it…”

“You love him,” Catherine said carefully, “but you are not certain you like him?”

Alina looked up. “Yes, yes! It is exactly that. How is that possible?”

“Sometimes, my darling, people grow apart, even though they retain affection for each other still; and sometimes, it is not love but infatuation that had captured the heart previously - only you can really know. Let us go to the party tonight, you can speak with Colonel Fitzwilliam yourself. You are no longer a little girl and you must make a decision. Talk to him -- he deserves no less than that.”

Squaring her shoulders, Alina stood up. “You are right, as always, Mamma,” she said a little sadly. “I must make my own choices. Let us go.”

Catherine followed her daughter from the room, thinking all the time of the comedy and tragedy of life and of the rite of passage her daughter was making into adulthood.

The card party was a small, intimate affair, if one could call the gathering of forty or so people, all glittering with their own self importance, small and intimate. The Rostovs were invited because they were new in town and had become the fashion, and the guests, bored as they were with seeing the same faces year after year, came to listen to the Prince's exotic stories of Europe, see up close the Princess's Parisian gowns and listen to the pretty Miss Rostov's bell-like laughter.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, who came with the Viscount and the Viscountess, wished to see Alina. They had not seen much of each other as of late and he was eager to tell her about a new pair of grays he had recently acquired for his phaeton and ask her to ride in the Park with him. She had not been as cheerful as usual the last time they spoke and he wanted to make sure that nothing had particularly upset her. He found that it was becoming more and more difficult to engage her attention and to put the smile he so adored on her face; it annoyed him slightly that their intercourse was not so easy as it was before.

What he did not expect was to also see Emma. She was with her husband this time - a large, indolent man, who had more eyes for his cards and his drink than he had for his wife - and she caught his gaze as soon as he walked into the room. Something of their old connection still remained then, he thought as his heart skipped a beat. Emma had been in his thoughts constantly - her luminous face, softly framed by waiving hair, her fragility and the sadness in her eyes. Could it really be that she had been forced into her situation? Was there anything he could do to relieve her unhappiness; and should he? His feelings for Alina almost seemed to recede into the background as he considered his past with Emma and relived the emotions of that time. Hours of reflection at his club and a bottle of French brandy finally brought him to the realization that he could not, must not see her or speak with her, for his own sanity at least. He loved Alina, he wanted a new life with her, and he did not wish to think of the past any longer. And yet, when Emma raised her eyes toward his as he entered the room, Colonel Fitzwilliam could not help the increased pace of his heartbeat.

He stood watching as his brother and Lady Diana joined one of the tables, waiting for Alina and her family to arrive; a warm hand descended onto his sleeve, and startled, he glanced down to see Emma's curls next to his shoulder.

“Lady Carrington,” he nodded, watching with annoyance as many people in the room turned to look at them. Some even put their lorgnettes up.

Emma lowered her eyelashes and released his arm. “Colonel, it is a pleasure to see you here. Will you walk with me? The room is very hot.”

Feeling many eyes on him, Colonel Fitzwilliam knew it would be impossibly rude to decline, so he put on his most charming smile and offered his arm to the lady.

“Have you thought any more about what I said?” she asked in a low, throaty voice as they walked the perimeter of the room. Her arm was warm and soft and very white, the alabaster skin glowing in the candlelight.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, in spite of himself, felt a stirring of desire for her; it had burned hotly before, and now, he could have her. She had made that very clear. It took all of his strength as a man to make his reply.

“I cannot - we must not see each other.”

She looked up sharply. “Because of that Russian chit?” she asked, unable to keep spite out of her voice. “She is nothing, I will not mind if you marry her.”

At her words, Colonel Fitzwilliam felt as if she had doused him with cold water. He looked at her anew, wondering how words like these could come from someone with the face of an angel.

“How can you say that?” he asked quietly. “What has become of you, Emma?”

Her face lost all its color. “I have tasted real life, Richard,” she said bitterly. “And have found it not to my liking.” She released his arm. “Leave me. Please, just go.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam backed away and then left the card room. He walked to the dining room where the buffet was laid out and took a plate of he knew not what, staring at the food and yet not seeing any of it. His mind was in turmoil. All these years, he had held up Emma as the image of all that was good and pure; he had loved her and had missed her terribly; he had thought that his love had returned. Now, he knew that it was only nostalgia that had re-captured his heart when he saw her beauty. And yet, how could he say that he loved Alina with all his heart when just an hour ago, he was afraid that he loved another? Perhaps that too was not love, but if not, what was it? He had never thought so hard about relationships, they had always just happened, and he was unused to the complexities of the decisions he knew he must make.

“Richard,” he heard his brother's quiet voice. “I must speak with you.”

He groaned. “Now? Can it not wait?”

The Viscount looked grave. “No.”

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed and followed his brother out onto the patio where they could speak without being interrupted.

“What do you think you are doing speaking to that woman?” the Viscount said harshly. “She made a fool out of you once and is about to do it again! Do you have so little regard for your own dignity and for Miss Rostov's feelings?”

“You have no right to lecture me,” Colonel Fitzwilliam retorted angrily. “I am not ten anymore and my life is my own.”

“I do when it comes to the honor of our family, and you know that perfectly well,” his brother replied hotly. “I do not interfere with your life very often, but when I do, I have a good reason.” His voice softened and he put a hand on his younger brother's shoulder.

“I know that you only say this because you care about me,” Colonel Fitzwilliam relented, “but I will ask you to leave this to me. I know what I am doing, truly.”

Lord Harcourt looked at him intently. “I hope so,” he muttered. “Otherwise, Diana is going to have my head on a platter.”

They both laughed, relieving the tension. “Do not worry,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said quietly, serious once again. “I know what she is. It is myself that I have yet to understand.”

Nodding, the Viscount left him standing in the cold November air, looking down at the arriving carriages and searching for a certain dark head and bright eyes.

Darcy House - after the card party

Three men sank into the comfort of lushly upholstered chairs and listened to the cracking of the fire in the warm library of Darcy House in Grovesnor Square.

“Pass the brandy,” the Viscount said lazily to his brother, and poured himself another half a glass.

“Leave some for me, old boy,” Colonel Fitzwilliam admonished, stretching his arm out for the bottle.

Darcy just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “At this rate, you will both be foxed before the hour strikes,” he said.

“That,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said, gesticulating with his glass, “is precisely the point, my dear cousin.”

His voice was unsteady and Darcy exchanged an amused glance with the Viscount, wondering whether to call a footman to help the Colonel to a guestroom. Lord Harcourt, as if understanding the direction of his thoughts, shook his head almost imperceptibly.

“Tedious party,” he said nonchalantly and threw Darcy a meaningful glance.

Colonel Fitzwilliam emptied the contents of the glass into his mouth and coughed. “Not the party that was tedious,” he mumbled.

Darcy's eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Women, my friends,” the Colonel said, slurring his words, “it is women who are tedious. Never know what to think of them, the maddening creatures. They love you and then they hate you and then they love you again.”

Lord Harcourt coughed. “Lady Carrington was present tonight,” he said as an aside. Darcy nodded, understanding. He had heard that she was back in London with her husband and fervently hoped that she would stay away from his cousin, whom she had used very ill.

Colonel Fitzwilliam sighed. “She was there. Looked like an angel, she did, and offered herself to me.” He shivered. “Said she would not mind if I married Miss Rostov, as long as she could still have me. Do all women want to own you body and soul?”

He was much more drunk than either of the other two had realized, but they knew that it was much better to let him talk it out than to send him to sleep in this mood.

“Not all,” the Viscount said gently.

“Miss Rostov would not,” Darcy added quietly.

“No,” the Colonel said in a strong voice, “she is too good, too gentle a creature.”

He was silent for a moment and then put his glass down with such force that the table shook.

“Damn it all,” he bellowed. “I cannot do this, `tis not right, not fair to her. Yesterday, I was ready to say that I loved another woman. How can this be love?” He looked beseechingly at his friends. “Tell me, both of you, how can this be love?”

Darcy looked down, thinking of Elizabeth. He could admit to himself that he was very much in love with her, much more so now that he had seen her again. During the months since Hunsford, she had haunted his imagination, but how much better was the real woman than the one he held in his thoughts! Such warmth, such life… Darcy had never actively sought out young women, and since falling in love with Elizabeth, they had completely ceased to exist to him. No, if his cousin had room for anyone else in his heart other than Miss Rostov, he could not really have loved her.

The Viscount was the first to break the silence. “You are certain,” he said carefully, “very certain that you cannot love her?”

“No,” Colonel Fitzwilliam slumped back in his chair, “Perhaps I could, in time, but I do not think that I do right now -- love her, I mean -- and… everything is so muddled in my head. How did I get myself into this fine mess? What will I tell her? I feel like the worst kind of an arse.”

“You are the worst--” Lord Harcourt began, but fell silent at Darcy's pointed glare. “Fine,” he muttered, “I'll hold my tongue.”

Darcy sighed. “You cannot break the engagement, Fitzwilliam. If she wants you, you are hers.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” the Viscount exclaimed, “you cannot be so correct all the time, Darcy!”

“I was not finished,” Darcy said with a cold glance towards his cousin.

“Oh… er -- sorry -- no offence taken, I hope.”

“None, thank you for asking. Now, as I was saying, you cannot break the engagement, but you can try to ascertain the nature of her feelings. You had said before that she seemed less inclined to you than before -- speak with her, perhaps she feels the same way as you do. And if not…” he trailed off and shrugged.

“If not,” the Colonel said quietly, “I will spend my days making her happy. It is my responsibility.”

The other two nodded in agreement and watched the fire silently.

After a while, the Viscount chuckled. “Taking advice from Darcy about love…” he said, his shoulders shaking, “'tis like asking a cow to teach you how to fly. Oh, really, I do wish I could tell Diana, she would be vastly amused.”

Darcy just glared at him and took away the brandy.

Chapter 21

Posted on Monday, 19 November 2007

“I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance.” ~ Lady Bracknell, The Importance of Being Earnest

Alina,

I have spoken with my cousin, Lady Diana, of Lord T— and Lady J—. She looked very shocked at first and then she laughed. Then, I told her what you said, that she seems like a lady who can make anything happen, and she said, very dryly, “I shall try not to disappoint you.” What do you think that means? I saw Lady J— in Bond Street today and her eyes look very, very sad. I do hope… Well, my cousin will know what to do, she is very clever. Would you like to have tea with us again next week? I should like that very much.

Yours, &etc,
Georgiana Darcy

The sun streamed through the French-paned windows of Lady Bracknell's Berkeley Square townhouse. Diana, Lady Harcourt, sat somewhat impatiently on a fashionably upholstered chaise, watching the rays of the sun make their careful progress through the sitting room. The card party she had attended the night before had tired her greatly and reminded her of her promise to Georgiana; as much as she usually enjoyed spending an afternoon with Lady Bracknell, she had other calls to make and she still had not achieved her purpose in coming today. At the moment, however, the lady of the house was engaged in telling a most compelling (or so she believed) story about some young man who wanted to marry her daughter, Gwendolen.

“And if you would believe it, Diana,” said Lady Bracknell indignantly, “this Mr Worthing -- whoever he is, for he is certainly not on my list of eligible bachelors -- still has pretensions to my daughter's hand, even though I distinctly told him that no man who was careless enough to lose both parents could ever aspire to join this illustrious family! Why, poor Bracknell would have an apoplectic fit! Is that not scandalous, Gwendolen?”

A girl smirked in the corner of the room. “Yes, Mamma, it certainly is,” she agreed demurely, her tone at odds with her expression.

“Yes, but my dear Lady Bracknell,” interrupted Diana politely but insistently, “what do you think of this matter I spoke about earlier?”

“Oh, yes, of course, I had quite forgotten, my dear. Naturally, I have heard about the young things wanting to marry. Well, well, I can tell you that I did not know the girl's parents, but the Duke of Malbern, Lord Talchester's father, has always been a fool. I must say it is encouraging to see that men really do not change, it would be a tragedy if they did -- women should never know what to expect. Edmund is quite an eligible young man, however, but if he will not even so much as look at any girl other than Lady Jennifer, he may as well marry her and stop encouraging the hopes of every mother in London.”

“But--”

“They will make a very handsome couple and have very handsome children, no doubt,” continued Lady Bracknell self-assuredly.

Diana beamed. “I knew it, you will help then!”

“Help!” Lady Bracknell snorted indignantly. “Do you not know, my dearest Diana, that I make it a policy never to help anyone for any reason? People are always wanting more and, let us be frank, it gets tiresome very quickly. Help, indeed! There, now that you know my feelings on the subject, let us speak of it no more.” She turned to her daughter. “Gwendolen?”

“Yes, Mamma?”

“Where are we invited to next week?”

Gwendolen picked up a thick packet of invitations from a side table and looked though them thoughtfully. “Lady Stradbrook is giving a tea on Tuesday and there is also Mr and Mrs Fitzpatrick's dinner, Wednesday is Lord and Lady Peresham's ball, there is a card party on Thursday night at Viscount and Lady Remington's house and--”

“We shall go to Lady Peresham's ball, Gwendolen” declared Lady Bracknell. She added, as an aside to Diana, “The Duchess of Malbern and Lady Peresham are great friends.”

Leaning in, Diana touched the older lady's hand warmly. “Thank you. `Tis nothing to me, but my cousin Georgiana is positively obsessed with the romance of it.”

“Pshaw, romance. Young people's heads are quite full of it these days.” Lady Bracknell dismissed romance with an unconcerned shake of her head. “On a completely different topic, my dear, did I ever tell you that the Duke of Malbern was madly in love with me during my first Season…?”

Chapter 22

Rostovs' townhouse, the night after the card party

Alina did not see Peter during the whole of the next day that followed the card party. She had awoken very late and with a headache and had been obliged to accompany her mother to several very dull morning calls and endure the sly looks of the older women. After that, while Peter escaped to dine at White's, her father announced that they were to attend a small dinner party at the home of one of his new English friends.

Normally, a schedule of such pleasant events would have caused Alina to feel much excitement and anticipation at meeting new people and wearing yet another one of her pretty dresses; however, everything was spoiled by her unfulfilled decision regarding the Colonel. She had tried to speak with him alone at the card party, but with little result, and now, she carried the knowledge that she was to hurt him like a leaden weight inside her stomach. All day she had suffered pangs of guilt, and nothing, not her dress made of lace and ivory silk, not the new acquaintances -- who seemed to really like and esteem her parents -- not Elizabeth's infectious laughter, had been able to lift her misery.

Upon their return from the dinner -- where Alina ate very little and paid attention even less -- she knew she would not be able to fall asleep without a book; there was too much on her mind and she needed the soothing feeling of dog-eared pages under her fingers and the musty smell of paper and leather. There was a sliver of light under the library door and Alina pushed it open uncertainly. He was there, Peter, sitting at the mahogany desk and frowning over a large stack of papers. Looking up, he smiled wearily with his familiar smile and passed a hand through his hair.

“Oh, is it so late already? I must have lost track of the time,” he said.

Alina sat down lightly on the arm of the sofa. “No, no. Mamma was tired and we left early. I forget sometimes that she is not so young as she used to be.”

“How was the dinner?”

“Not particularly interesting.”

“Did you have a nice time with the Colonel at the card party last night?” he asked. “I have hardly seen you since yesterday.”

“I did not get to really speak with him; we were not left alone for two minutes. It was a small party, so I had to take extra care that we are not seen together too often.” She fidgeted with the tassels on her dress. “What are you working on?”

He sighed contentedly and leaned back in his chair. “Estate business. Ivanovich sends me updates every month and this time, there were many decisions that had to be made for the next winter and spring. I am almost finished, though.”

Alina stared at him. “Estate business?” Somehow, she never really thought of Peter as managing his estate, though she knew he must, just like her father did.

He passed a hand through his disheveled hair again. “Of course, what else did you think I do since my father's death?”

“I really do not know… I suppose I thought you were like Colonel Fitzwilliam, and the other men I saw here.” She got up and walked towards him. “Tell me about what you are doing,” she asked.

Peter looked at her curiously. “You would find it very boring, I am certain. It is nothing like Fitzwilliam's conversation.”

“Peter,” Alina said gently, “you know I would never find you boring. Please, I really do want to know.” She pulled a chair close to the desk where he was sitting and brought another candle.

“Well, fine, if you like,” Peter said, laughing a little at the expectant way in which she sat down and looked at him, just like a schoolgirl. “Only I warned you, it will probably not interest you.” He pulled up the charts he was looking at to show her. “Look. We are going to experiment next year with a new theory - we are giving the peasants a percentage from the profits made from the land that they rent. We tried it with several last year and they worked harder so that even after I gave them their share of the profits, my own were increased still. And look here, these are the schematics for some new machinery for the harvest.” He laughed, completely in his own world now. “You should have seen the look on Temkin's face when I showed him how to use it. He thought the Master had gone completely mad. He likes it well enough now, though…”

He showed her another sketch and described the machine in detail - where it came from, how it operated, how much it increased production. Alina listened and listened and could not stop staring in wonder. It was the same Peter she had always known, but he was also transformed. His usual restraint and gentleness receded to give way to energy and passion and Alina was filled with respect and admiration for his efforts to increase the profits from his estate while bettering the lives of people dependent upon him. He knew their names and spoke of them without the disdain and condescension so often found in polite conversation. It was such a direct contrast to the evening which she spent in a well-appointed drawing room, listening to polite gossip and watching women battle for social dominance, that she almost could not reconcile the two.

Peter stopped speaking. “I knew I would bore you,” he said with a frown.

“No, no, you did not at all. It was very exciting.” Oh, how banal that sounded, how inadequate!

“You do not have to feign interest,” he murmured, turning away and gathering the papers, “none of this concerns you.”

“It-- no…” Alina did not know what to say. He cared so much about it all, it hurt her to think that she could not find the words to express what she felt. Suddenly, they were both very conscious of her silk evening gown, white gloves and the diamonds glittering at her throat.

“You should go to sleep, it is late,” Peter said harshly. “You should not have let me go on like this, I had forgotten myself. Things like this have no place in your world.”

Hot color flooded Alina's cheeks. She bit her lip and rose from the chair. “You think I am too young and too frivolous to care about anything other than balls and parties and flirting, but you are wrong -- you do not know me at all!”

She ran out of the room, leaving him staring after her in shock, at once furious with himself and relieved.

Alina shut the door to her room so as not to awaken the maid and stripped off her gown and jewels. Valiantly, she tried not to cry, but it was no use; all she could do was muffle her sobs with a pillow and pull the bedclothes around herself to still her shaking. She had accused Peter of not knowing her, had felt fury at first for the insult, but the bitterest part was that he had known her after all -- she was frivolous and foolish and very spoiled; all she had known in life were parties, picnics and other ladylike pursuits. She thought with horror of her almost-elopement last year and the very casual way she had written about it to Elizabeth and felt for the first time what her parents must have suffered thinking of her wild behavior and worrying all the time. The trip to Baden was supposed to have made her think about her life, but had she used the opportunity to enrich herself? No, all she had done was look for more ways to have fun; sneaking French novels into the house and meeting with Colonel Fitzwilliam on the sly. Twenty years of life had certainly not brought wisdom or humility, Alina thought bitterly.

And Peter, he also enjoyed the same things in town that she did, though he only came once a month. Somehow, it had never occurred to Alina to wonder what he did when he was not there -- now she knew. He filled his life with purpose while she frittered it away on meaningless activities. Surely that was why he always treated her like a sweet child -- how could he think of her as otherwise if her behavior had complied with her own worst expectations? Alina did not truly know why it had become so important to her that the gentle companion of her childhood realized that she was no longer a child, but it was, and it was bitter to think that she had given Peter no basis to change his opinion. While he had grown into a man, Alina realized that she had not made great strides on the road to maturity.

She had imagined herself a grown woman, but how wrong she had been! She was not ready to be in love, not ready to get married -- even this very evening, she purposefully avoided speaking with Colonel Fitzwilliam about the only thing that mattered because she was afraid of what he would think of her and what the others would think. These were the actions of a little girl -- to hide in the corner and cry -- not of a woman who was ready to take responsibility for her own life. It could not go on like this, she decided. She must tell him that she could not marry him, no matter how much it would hurt both of them -- to live in a marriage where there was neither love nor respect would hurt them both much more in the long run.

These thoughts occupied her for some time until, giving in to the demands of her body, she finally surrendered to the silence and darkness of sleep.

The next morning, Peter awoke in a foul mood. What in the world, he thought, had prompted him to be so rude to Alina last night? He had reduced her to tears, something that had never happened before. He felt terrible. After all, she could not be faulted for her upbringing nor for her easy and carefree life in town -- she led the life of every respectable lady of his acquaintance, she could not be expected to care about irrigation machinery, no woman could. Besides, he himself enjoyed the same amusements occasionally; it was pleasant to come up to town and dress in evening clothes for a play or a ball where women's gowns were cut dangerously low and sparkling eyes beckoned from under long eyelashes; to go to his clubs and set aside the worries of a farmer's life. Peter's father, a cousin of Prince Alexei, left the estate in a dire condition upon his death, a circumstance that Peter had been reluctant to disclose to anyone, even to his mother and closest family. Only years of discipline -- Peter had his army experience to thank for accustoming him to that -- and his hard working and loyal peasants had gotten the land to turn a profit; now, the estate almost ran itself and Peter could allow himself to experiment and to dream.

Perhaps that was why he had gotten so angry, he reflected. He cared about his land and his people. He had opened up the secret part of himself to another person, something he had never done before, and she just looked at him blankly, the delicate silk of her dress rustling under her gloves. It hurt particularly that she did not understand.

Peter was not a man who deceived himself and in this instance, he knew exactly what his feelings for Alina were. Most importantly, he knew what they were not. He cared about her, very much so, but he did not believe himself to be in love. To him, she was but a child still -- charming, vivacious, sweet, engaging, but knowing so little of the world as to need constant supervision. Relationship with his own father having been what it was, he cherished his connection with Prince Alexei and his family and loved them all in different ways; however, when Peter would decide to take a wife, she would be -- he hoped -- more responsible than Alina.

Perhaps because he viewed her as a child, he felt so guilty for hurting her so. That must be the explanation, he thought to himself as he dressed for breakfast. He would apologize and take her to the Park, and everything would be as it was before. And if she did not understand about his commitment to his duties, well, it was not surprising given her age -- only twenty! -- and he would not allow it to color their relationship.

At breakfast, though, he did not find Alina, and upon inquiring, he was told that she and Elizabeth had gone for a walk in the Park. Disgruntled that his apology would have to wait, he unrolled the packet from his steward and began to peruse the new plans, albeit without last night's enthusiasm.

© 2007 Copyright held by the author.

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