Nothing between Us

Chapter 1

Close to Easters celebration, Fitzwilliam Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, made their yearly visit to their aunt, Lady Catherine De Bourgh, whose residence was as the reader knows perfectly well, in Kent. Upon their entrance to Rosings Park, Darcy came into the intelligence of the presence of an acquaintance in the close parsonage, and immediately rushed to the place to call on the pompous parson and his visitors; his cousin came tagging along. Great was the Colonel's surprise when he learnt that the acquaintance in question was in fact a young lady from Hertfordshire. The Colonel had never seen Darcy behave in such outrageous a manner for the sake of a lady. In fact, he had never known Darcy to seek any lady's favours. Such urgency to pay a visit to so unpleasant a character as Mr Collins for the mere reason of his fair relative's presence could have only one explanation: undoubtedly, Darcy was utterly besotted. Fitzwilliam could hardly wait to see the beauty that held such a fierce grip of his cousin's passion, for that was the only plausible explanation for Darcy's uncommon demeanour.

They found Mrs Collins's visitors had just arrived from an excursion. As Darcy unsuccessfully struggled to make the appropriate introduction, the Colonel took the opportunity to bestow a thorough look upon the aforesaid, whom he took to be the girl with the dark hair, the younger one too young to have called his cousin's attention, least of all his passion.

On the one hand, and on a quick inspection, he found Miss Bennet (for that was the name of the lady whose beauty had Darcy in raptures) to be a fairly handsome lady, though she was rather short for the Colonel's taste. Darcy was of such an imposing height, the colonel could do nothing but laugh at the idea of such a match. On the other hand, and on closer inspection now, he conceded her to be the owner of a remarkably good figure. Further perusals persuaded him of certain other features in her favour. Not only did she have a delicate, uncommonly brilliant complexion, but she also possessed regular features and exceptionally playful eyes. In having the right height she could have made a very attractive vision for a gentleman to rest his gaze upon. She was definitely not outstandingly handsome, but he conceded her smile to be sweet, her silvery laugh to be contagious and her eyes, which were very dark, he found possessors of a lively spirit he had never beheld in any other young lady of his acquaintance.

Only when he had finished his inspection, did he realise that, after uttering a much too short salutation and introduction, Darcy had secluded himself in a seat in the farthest corner of the room. After bestowing a confused look of disbelief upon his cousin, Fitzwilliam concluded that Darcy was unable to stand his ground in front of this woman. Noticing his discomfiture, the Colonel peeked again at Miss Bennet's countenance trying to discover the reason for his cousin's whimsical reaction. In seeing nothing but a rather displeased look upon her face, he surmised that Miss Bennet was not at all pleased to see Darcy.

In the face of such estimation, the Colonel's puzzlement was not superior to his curiosity. Hence, his determination to discover if such was the case. With that purpose in mind, he sat on an opposite chair and began a tête-à-tête with the lady. Whilst the following conversation might be well-known to some of us, the implications related to it are not so.

"Delighted to make your acquaintance at last!" Fitzwilliam beamed at her.

"At last, sir?"

"I have heard much of you, and the praise has not been exaggerated at all, I assure you."

"I can well believe that," said Elizabeth Bennet in disbelief. "Mr Darcy is my severest critic." Her eyes opened wide as she said these words and she smiled broadly at her interlocutor. Fitzwilliam noticed her mouth was delicately drawn in her face, and the lower lip was every now and then caught by her upper teeth in a very sensual tick.

I must say she is not exceedingly handsome, but sensual... That she is, in a great measure. "I hope we shall see you frequently at Rosings." The Colonel tried to sound inviting, "I am fond of lively conversation," he finished.

Miss Bennet cast a playful look at Darcy and smirked. "This you do not find at Rosings Park?" she added, almost laughing at her mischievous joke. As her gaze danced upon his face, he could not help noticing the glow in her dark brown eyes.

Is it possible that she is flirting with me? Good Lord! She is! Should I welcome her forwardness? Well, why not? What is wrong with some flirtation? After all she is not engaged!

They continued conversing in the same manner, quite oblivious to their company and obviously enjoying relative comradeship which did not pass ignored by a certain gentleman. Darcy had been eyeing the two of them in envious contemplation, his gaze being the source of a flick of restlessness in Elizabeth.

At length, Darcy approached the lady and, with great condescending airs, muffled a perfunctory question: "I hope your parents are in good health." And that was all their interaction. For a man so passionately in love with a lady, Darcy seemed very much in need of advice. This he would not get from Fitzwilliam, who found Miss Bennet's company absolutely alluring.

To Colonel Fitzwilliam's sheer pleasure, the opportunity to further his new acquaintance certainly did come, and not in scarcity, for the Collinses and their visitors would pay frequent calls on Lady Catherine. So much so that, before he could understand it, he was trapped in the web of Miss Bennet's fine eyes. Soon, her visits to Rosings Park became assiduous enough to turn Fitzwilliam's admiration into serious attachment. After spending two weeks in her constant company, he came to the conclusion that she was the perfect companion for his life. They were incredibly of the same mind on almost every subject, including music, dancing and books. Needless to say, it was clear that Miss Bennet preferred his company to that of his cousin.

She would talk to him, walk with him, play the piano-forte with him. They would have danced together all night had they attended a ball. Colonel Fitzwilliam would walk the way to the parsonage almost every morning, with or without Darcy. The latter, on those rare occasions in which he had been bold enough to pay the compliments, would remain taciturn and isolated in a corner, whilst the newly acquainted would keep each other's company in a most entertaining manner.

One evening, after they had enjoyed a beautiful meal in her fair company, the Colonel confessed his intentions to his cousin.

"I say, Darcy, Miss Bennet is absolutely delightful. She is simply enchanting. Very intelligent. A great conversationalist."

"I have noticed your enthusiasm, cousin. Pray, tell me. Have you asked her permission to court her already?"

"What if I have? Have you any designs on her?"

Darcy was silent.

"Have you? Oh dear. Darcy, if you have any serious designs, I shall simply step aside. But, if you do not, then let me tell you I do."

"You cannot be serious. You have just met her."

"And I already like her a great deal. I know you like her a great deal, too. But what are you going to do?"

"Her family has no connections to recommend her suit. She hardly has a dowry. You cannot possibly think of…"

"Darcy, you sound like an old matron. I have no wish to marry Miss Bennet. At least not yet." He winced. "I merely wish to get to know her better. So, if you have no objections, I shall court her directly."

Darcy's pride would not permit him to confess himself in love with the lady nor could he object to his cousin's seeking the lady's favours. He had been struggling against his feelings for so long that he had persuaded himself he could conquer them at his will. Now it was the time to prove his decision. Swallowing his jealousy, Darcy admitted he was dazzled by the lady's wit and beauty, but he readily confessed he would never dream of making her an offer. That was good enough for Richard. So the next day, he commenced to court Miss Bennet in a most evident manner.

One evening at Rosings Park, however, Miss Bennet and the Colonel were sitting at the piano-forte in their usual manner, while Darcy was in the company of his cousin Anne, his aunt and the rest of the visitors in the continuing room. When Miss Bennet finished her piece, Darcy rose to his feet and strode very decidedly towards them.

Miss Bennet began fidgeting on her stool, and made some clumsy mistakes upon the instrument. She was obviously not comfortable in Mr Darcy's presence. Still, she proudly looked up at him and said rather dramatically: "Do you mean to frighten me, Mr Darcy, by coming in all this state to hear me? I shall not be alarmed." She resumed playing and looked at the Colonel in common mockery. "My courage always rises with every attempt to intimidate me." But then she directed her gaze at Darcy and smiled. Her whole countenance acquired a flushed brilliancy.

Then, the unexpected happened.

Darcy, instead of assuming his accustomed coy attitude, flashed her a disarming smile and stared mischievously into her eyes. Then using a deep, soothing voice he teased her, "I know you find great enjoyment in professing opinions, which are not your own."

Now, if there was something Miss Bennet loved, it was teasing a man. She quickly answered back: "Your cousin would teach you not to believe a word I say, Colonel Fitzwilliam. That is ungenerous of him, is it not?"

"It certainly is, Darcy!"

Notwithstanding the object of her address, Elizabeth's attentions were not directed towards the Colonel; rather she was vehemently interested in Darcy's response. Without taking her dark eyes from Darcy's, she contended once more, "Impolitic too, for it provokes me to retaliate and say somewhat of his behaviour in Hertfordshire, which may shock his relations." Unmistakably, she was now flirting with Darcy. She had made that playful movement with her mouth, so very seductive, biting her lower lip with her upper teeth.

So very inviting.

Darcy posed his most seductive eyes and maintained, "I am not afraid of you."

At this, Colonel Fitzwilliam had become really worried. He was definitely losing ground. He tried hard not to remain out of their exchange, but with little success. Elizabeth and Darcy might well have been alone in the music room, bluntly ignoring his presence, persisting in their charade, their eyes locked and playing a most delicious game of words, which in fact was saying how much they had been involved in each other's exertions in the past. More than a game, it seemed a confession. Darcy would not take his eyes off hers. A wolf in sheep's clothing, he was definitely enjoying himself. At last he had been able to rid himself of his mortifying shyness and reveal his most seductive self.

Darcy took his time to retort every single statement Miss Bennet would utter, and Elizabeth was definitely amused.

She resumed playing the piano-forte. The man was amazing: so distantly aloof one moment and alluringly bewitching the other. She recalled Charlotte's admonition. You would be a simpleton if you let your fancy for Wickham lead you to slight a man of ten times his consequence. She had to admit Mr Darcy was ten times the consequence of any man―even the dazzling colonel.

At the end of their exchange, Darcy bid his words and took the opportunity to send a message to the Colonel. He sighed deeply and looking daggers at his cousin as he said, "I... I have not that talent which some possess of conversing easily with strangers."

Check. The Colonel decoded the message. It was a declaration of war.

Elizabeth, unaware of what was occurring between the gentlemen, and thinking herself still in battle with Mr Darcy, asseverated with complete conviction. "I do not play this instrument as well as I should wish to, but I have supposed that to be my own fault, because I would not take the trouble of practising!"

"You are perfectly right. You have employed your time much better. No one privileged of hearing you could think anything wanting." Then, assuming a low voice as he leaned across the pianoforte, he said almost in a whisper, "We neither of us perform to strangers."

Check mate.

Elizabeth did not retort. She had expected him to retaliate once more. But he, most generously, had showed composure and was now stating his admiration. She could see that in his eyes. Suddenly she could not hold his gaze any longer. Instead the most outrageous thing happened to her―the very thing that could do nothing but reveal her innermost emotions towards Darcy.

She blushed.

In the end, they were interrupted by Aunt Catherine's acute shrieks demanding her share in their conversation. Colonel Fitzwilliam could not be more relieved.

Now, what to do? Clearly, despite her previous displeasure towards him, Elizabeth entertained feelings for his cousin. At least she was not compleately* immune to his unexpected charms. Her reactions before his teasing had been evident enough. She had unmistakably flushed. At the certainty of this reality, it would not be wise to depend solely on Elizabeth's taste in men nor her unsuitability. Judging from his cousin's easy performance, it would not be so difficult for him to turn her nascent emotions into something more serious.

Fitzwilliam would not admit that.

A few days passed in which Fitzwilliam learned that Miss Bennet had come across Darcy on various occasions while taking her morning strolls. There would not be one single morning in which Darcy would not go to the parsonage, and many times he had not taken the trouble of waiting for his cousin. Instead, he had ridden his horse to the parson's residence and even invited Miss Bennet to walk in his company.

Regrettably, many times this had been done at such early hours, that he had taken the whole family unawares and still in bed. His infatuation took such dimensions that he could not restrain his feet from dragging himself helplessly to her temporary dwelling. Far be it from him to hide his feelings! Quite the opposite, for his intentions were bluntly written on his face.

"I need to have a word with you," said Fitzwilliam one morning, after he had witnessed his cousin wooing Miss Bennet in the park.

Darcy knew that Fitzwilliam must be angry. After all he had told him he was not interested in Miss Bennet, and now he was obviously wooing her in front of his nose.

"I know what you are going to say. I am sorry. I have changed my mind. I find Miss Bennet suitable for my wife, and I intend to offer her my hand this evening."

Fitzwilliam flinched uncomfortably, "I see."

"I am sorry," said Darcy without really meaning it. He was exceedingly excited with the prospect of becoming engaged to Miss Bennet.

"I guess it is all in her hands now." Fitzwilliam reminded him.

"Indeed it is. Tomorrow I shall tell Aunt Catherine, and we shall take our leave for London on Wednesday. Then, of course I must talk with her father. I intend to stay in Hertfordshire for a month for the courtship. Do you think you could handle leasing a house there? No, no. That would be too much. I had best stay in Meryton. Will you remind me to send a letter to Phillips? Where is Spencer? Have you seen him?" He said all this as if nothing had happened and everything had been already arranged. Fitzwilliam got into a fit of rage, but he said nothing. He merely shook his head, and then bowed and went outside.

The gall of his cousin! Who did he think he was! To issue orders as if he were his General! To take the woman of his dreams from him as if he were taking his horse!

Richard saw the need to take desperate measures. After all, all was fair in love and war.

Upon their travel to Rosings, he had serendipitously learned Darcy's struggles to separate his friend, Mr Bingley, from a certain lady from Hertfordshire. Later on, he had arrived at the conclusion that the lady whose integrity had been found faulty by Darcy was none other than Miss Jane Bennet, Elizabeth Bennet's elder sister.

Touché!

He ran more than walked to the clearing in the park where he was sure to find Miss Bennet still in her morning stroll.

And there she was.

"Miss Bennet!"

"Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"I have been making the yearly tour of the Park. Shall we take this way together?"

"With pleasure."

Colonel Fitzwilliam's ill conceived scheme was ready for launching. Thereupon he said nonchalantly, "Mr Bingley is waiting for Darcy in London. They are going to spend the summer together at Pemberley."

"Do you know Mr Bingley and his sisters?"

"A little. Bingley is a pleasant, gentleman-like man. He is a great friend of Darcy's."

"Yes. Mr Darcy is uncommonly kind to Mr Bingley, and takes a prodigious deal of care of him."

"Yes, I believe Darcy does take care of him." Now it was the moment to release the first poisonous dose. He was sure to hit right on target. "I understand that he congratulates himself on having saved Mr Bingley the inconvenience of a most imprudent marriage." He took a close look into her countenance, and saw the sudden change.

"Did Mr Darcy give his reasons for this interference?"

"I understand there were some very strong objections to the lady." There. Take it. He was not lying. He was merely being indiscreet.

Elizabeth's face shrunk in horrific discomposure. Struggling desperately not to break down, she in due time managed to gasp a question.

"And why was he to be the judge?"

Colonel Fitzwilliam answered in a most innocent way. "You are disposed to think his interference officious?" He could see that Elizabeth's ire had been ignited. Nothing could save Darcy from the oncoming wrath.

"I do not see what right Mr Darcy had to determine and direct in what way his friend was to be happy. But, as you say, we know none of the particulars."

"Perhaps there was not much affection."

"Perhaps not. But if that were the case, it lessens the honour of my cousin's triumph very sadly, don't you think?"

Thus, the poison had been induced most imperceptibly.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's plan worked incredibly well. That very evening, Darcy dashed towards the parsonage to offer the only woman he loved his hand, only to find the most bitter rejection ever conceived. The next day, an abashed Darcy and a triumphant Fitzwilliam departed for London.

The cards once laid, it remained only to bide his time until Darcy's rage would relent.

Elizabeth had not been in London for more than a week when the London Gazette announced Mr Darcy's engagement to his cousin Anne De Bourgh. The news puzzled her exceedingly. Not that she cared for the gentleman's future, but was not it too soon for him to become engaged with another after his proposal to her? Had he not vowed he loved her?

After the disastrous proposal in the parsonage, Mr Darcy had handed her a letter in which he offered a good explanation for his dishonourable and undesirable behaviour. To have been the recipient of such grand man's affection was no little thing, but to have misjudged him in such an outrageous manner was unpardonable. Had it not been for her prejudices, she most probably would be engaged to him by now. She laughed at the idea, thinking of Lady's Catherine's face at such news!

But, of course, she imagined that life with such a disagreeable fellow would have only made her miserable and was relieved she had never liked him at all. Save for…that day at Rosings he had been…never mind. It would not do now. As she had countless times said: She would remain a spinster while her sister would marry twice.

__________________________




'Twas Spring and Elizabeth had slipped her chaperones' company, namely her aunt and uncle, whilst they did some shopping, and she stopped at a beautiful store where several musical instruments were on display. Whilst caressing the key of a magnificent piano-forte, she sensed someone watching her from behind. She whirled on her toes to face the person, to find the dazzling smile of Colonel Fitzwilliam beaming at her.

"Miss Bennet! How do you do?" His eyes danced vehemently over her happy face. "I see you are well."

"Very well, thank you, Colonel."

"I cannot believe my luck! I have been walking the streets daily in search of you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Why, of course, I would not miss your company for the world. I knew you were in town. But the odds are with me, I dare say, for I found you so easily. Pray, tell me," he added while looking around, "how does your family? I hope they are in good health."

Elizabeth nodded without comprehending much. He had been seeking her?

"Ah. It seems too long since I had the pleasure of speaking to you, Miss Bennet."

"It was only a week ago," she said, still unable to come round from her surprise.

"It is above eight days at least. That is too long for my poor heart, Miss Bennet."

"Colonel, you are a terrible flirt," she laughed.

"You misjudge me, my dear lady. I am a man in love. Who can resist your charms?"

"Colonel! Mind your words. If my aunt hears you, we will be in trouble."

"I would rather be in trouble with you, than in the safest of places alone, Miss Bennet. You must know that those days in Kent were the happiest days of my life."

"I am glad to hear that, sir."

"Do you not know why I was so happy there?" His eyes twinkled as he spoke the words.

"I have no idea, Colonel."

"'Tis because I made the acquaintance of the most beautiful lady I have ever seen."

"I cannot think who that can be." She could not prevent a tentative smile drawing upon her lips.

"Can you not?"

The Colonel's blunt flirting did not bother Elizabeth, but it did flush her exceedingly. She had gotten to know him very well at Rosings and knew it was in his nature to speak so. Still, he had never been so forward as to declare himself in love with her. Was he merely jesting? His tone suggested he was.

Her aunt and uncle approached her, and the Colonel asked for an introduction. Such were the charms displayed by Fitzwilliam, that their first meeting ended in an invitation from the Gardiners to dine at their house in Cheapside, where the gallant soldier would have the opportunity to further his attentions to their niece.

The Colonel asked the Gardiners' permission to escort Elizabeth to the park while they went on with their purchases; and, seeing Elizabeth looked pleased with the gentleman's attentions, they happily accepted. Elizabeth found the Colonel's ease of chatter so natural and pleasing that she did not realise time passed by. The Colonel gently guided their way through the park and took her to a nice stroll whilst conversing amiably about little frivolities. When they arrived at the border of a small pond, Colonel Fitzwilliam asked her to take a seat on one of the benches purposely located there. As they sat quite close to each other, they watched the swans and ducks gathering close to them seeking food.

"They think we are going to feed them,"

"Oh, do they?" She set to search her reticule as if it would contain some miraculous piece of bread. She had a mournful look when she looked up again. "I am sorry to disappoint them. I have nothing to give them."

"Well, Miss Bennet, I can tell you, you would have surprised me exceedingly if you had produced bird food from your reticule."

"Oh, I do not carry bird food, Colonel. But many a time I do take some biscuits with me for my nieces and nephew. Children need these little treats sometimes, especially when other manners of persuasion have failed."

"I see. Then I do not gather you happen to carry any sweet treat by any chance?"

"Indeed sir, I have some chocolate," she said, producing the candy wrapped in colourful paper. "But I doubt it would be proper food for the birds."

"No, not for the birds. We cannot feed the swans of this pond had you had your reticule filled with crumbs."

"Can we not?"

"It is forbidden."

"Forbidden? And why is that, may I ask?"

"I have no idea, Miss Bennet. But since you are in the mood of feeding pleading creatures, let me be the one. I long to taste that chocolate you are so zealously keeping for your nieces and nephew. Having you so close to me has suddenly unleashed in me a dire urge for something sweet."

Elizabeth laughed merrily. What a flirt! She had never been so much entertained by a man's attentions. Fitzwilliam opened his mouth and closed his eyes as the lady let a piece of her chocolate fall into his mouth. Then, catching her completely unawares, he closed his lips capturing the tip of one of her finger as she tried to retrieve her hand. Elizabeth gasped. Fitzwilliam, ever so seductively took her hand in his, and with a mischievous look in his azure eyes, he gently sucked the tip of her finger that was tinged with chocolate. Elizabeth watched him seriously but did not attempt to retrieve her hand.

Just as naturally, he smiled and proceeded to devour the tablet, all the time making faces of satisfaction, her hand firmly clasped in his, close to his lips, whilst Elizabeth watched the whole process with round eyes.

With a demure gesture, she lowered her eyes, unable to keep the contact with his. Ever so slowly, she freed her hand from his hold.

"Delicious," he said. "Have any more left?"

"Not one bit."

He sighed. "Well then, I shall have to content myself with your finger."

"Colonel. May I remind you of your manners?"

"Oh no, Miss Bennet. Please do not be offended. It was only a jest."

"Sir, I am not offended in the least. Shocked I am. Such comportment you have never displayed before. At least not with me."

"Please, do not misunderstand me. I must confess myself quite overwhelmed with your charms, Miss Bennet. And since I cannot satisfy my hunger with the sweetness of your lips, I shall be content with any other part you allow me to kiss. Even your little finger."

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, I think that is too much. Behave yourself."

"How can you ask me to behave when you insist on invading every minute of my waking hours? There you are, in your white dress, looking far more fetching than a hundred pounds of the sweetest candy. How can a man remember his manners?"

He said that while staring intently at her lips, sending such fluttering through Elizabeth's body that she could not help flushing intensely. "Miss Bennet. If you allowed me the honour of courting you, I would be happy to show you the depth of my affections." He was but a few inches from her; a sudden shudder shook her body violently at the mere thought of the gentleman attempting to rest his lips on hers.

"Are you cold, Miss Bennet?" he teased her, happy to have caused such a reaction in her.

"A little."

"Shall we go back? Much as I dislike the idea of parting, I fear you might lose your family."

He stood up and, taking her gallantry by an elbow, helped her to rise to her feet. When she had smoothed her clothes, he took her hand to his chest and asked feelingly, "Well then. What say you? May I court you?"

Elizabeth did not know what to make of him. He certainly had showed a great deal of attention to her while in Kent. Charlotte and Maria had many a time warned her of the Colonel's growing attachment. All in all, he was a handsome man, his connections were impeccable and she supposed he was in possession of a relatively good income. To her own astonishment, she heard herself answering in the affirmative. "You may."

A broad smile spread on his gracious features, and Elizabeth thought she could have kissed him right there. So gallant! So overwhelmingly seductive! Heart beating wildly, she allowed him to bestow a lingering kiss on the back of her hand and, face crimson at the unbelievable gesture, looked around fearful that her aunt should happen on them at that precise moment. Then, ever so naturally, he offered her the crook of his arm where she dipped her hand. Boldly, he covered it with his own and kept playing with her fingers all the way back to the place where he had found her.

Chapter 2
In Which Miss Bingley Gets Thoroughly Embarrassed

Elizabeth's stay in London became exceedingly interesting after her happy encounter with the Colonel. Presently, her mind was agreeably engaged with his handsome figure. They would spend countless hours immersed in deep conversation in the Gardiners' little parlour, during which it became customary to hear the peal of Elizabeth's laughter, while Jane watched them in silent contemplation. Jane's prospects of finding her own happiness, however, had increased significantly due to a certain event that took place near the theatre box belonging to the Earl of Matlock.

They had arrived at the theatre together, Elizabeth's aunt and uncle tagging behind with Jane, whilst Elizabeth rested her small hand in the place it had quickly found so comfortable: the crook of Fitzwilliam's arm. The Colonel proudly paraded in front of the ton, his chin up, a smug grin upon his face.

As their small party came close to the family box, a much bored Caroline Bingley surveyed the sea of faces in search of a familiar countenance. Great was her surprise when she spotted the face of her foremost rival, Miss Eliza Bennet, and her sister, standing happily to the side of a gorgeous officer. She was instantly relieved that her brother was not in attendance with her that evening. It would have been a great misfortune for Charles to have found out her little secret that Miss Bennet was in town. But Caroline's curiosity was piqued. Who could be that handsome man in the company of the Bennet girls? Had Miss Bennet finally set her cap at a penniless officer? She could barely contain her impertinent inquisitiveness. What a delightful discovery! What a laugh! Charles would surely be devastated, but Caroline's own fears that her naïve brother should entertain the idea of an alliance with the eldest Miss Bennet would finally come to an end.

“Miss Eliza!” cried the lady cheerfully. “And Miss Bennet! How nice to find you here!” Her pinched eyes danced with excitement as she eyed the gentleman almost pressed to the side of the younger Miss Bennet from head to toe.

Fitzwilliam noticed the lady was panting for an introduction but could not account for Elizabeth's hesitancy to make one. In the end, he bowed gallantly to the lady. “Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam at your service, madam.”

“Oh, forgive me, Colonel. How rude of me! May I introduce you to Miss Caroline Bingley?”

“It is a pleasure.”

“Fitzwilliam?” she cried visibly surprised. “Are you related to the Earl of Matlock by any chance?” Nothing could please Miss Bingley more than bragging about her superior connections. Of course, she imagined this officer to be completely unrelated to the distinguished House of Matlock; but, nonetheless, she would not miss an opportunity to show off her acquaintance, however slight it might be, with a noble family.

“Are you acquainted with the Earl?” inquired the Colonel.

Caroline could not be more pleased with the question. Giving herself great airs, she announced with vast pride, “Oh yes. I have had the pleasure of dining at the same table as his Lordship on various occasions. My dear friend, Mr Darcy of Pemberley, is his nephew, and he has issued an invitation for my brother Charles and me whenever his honourable uncle has been in attendance at his townhouse.”

Eliza blushed at her impertinency. Her dear friend, Mr Darcy? Goodness, she was showing off!

“Darcy is your friend? Then I daresay you are my friend, too,” he replied with great alacrity.

Compleatly unaware of whom she was addressing, Miss Bingley beheld the Colonel with great bewilderment. Seeing her obvious puzzlement, the Colonel readily explained, “Darcy is my dear cousin and friend, and the earl my dear father,” he explained as he indicated the badge bearing the Matlock coat of arms he wore on his coat.
Now, that intelligence was utterly unexpected and certainly too much for Miss Bingley's comprehension. The poor lady's mind swayed between disbelief and embarrassment. When she finally came to terms with the revelation, she sincerely wished the earth would open up and swallow her in an instant. How could she possibly have imagined the relation? By Jove! Never in her wildest dreams would she have expected to find the Miss Bennets so well connected! After all, what could the son of an Earl be doing with the hand of that despiteful country nobody in the crook of his arm?

With no little effort, she managed to conceal her befuddlement and contrived to utter an appropriate answer. “Oh, I am delighted to make the acquaintance, sir,” she finally attempted to say, barely catching her breath.

“So you must be Charles Bingley's sister, am I mistaken?”

“Indeed, you are not.” A tinge of pride blossomed on her countenance at the discovery the Earl's son knew her brother's name.

“And may I inquire after your brother?”

“Oh, he is…he is…he must be at home now. He had already seen tonight's performance.”

“I should be pleased to make his acquaintance. May I be so bold as to extend an invitation to you and your brother for some refreshments one of these days? My father will be too pleased to see you again, I am sure.”

By now Caroline's crimson defied a lobster's. Still, even in the intelligence that the Earl would have no idea who she was, she could not think of an excuse to refuse the Colonel's invitation. “I would be honoured,” she breathed.

“Then, that is settled then. Will next Friday afternoon be convenient? I am certain my parents will be delighted.”

“Aye…I must consult with my…with Charles.”

“Oh, of course. I understand. You must not concern yourself,” he said while handing her a card that he produced from his pocket. “Should your brother be already engaged for next Friday, please send me a note to this address. Otherwise we shall be waiting for you, say at…three?”

Caroline nodded demurely. “'Til then, sir. Miss Bennet, Miss Eliza.” She then cut a short curtsey and was gone without a further word.

Fitzwilliam merely smiled knowingly at his intended. Elizabeth could hardly contain herself with joy. The Colonel had worked the magic, and now Jane would have the opportunity to see Mr Bingley again. Jane was flushed and absolutely disarmed with sweet expectancy. From then on, she became entirely another person, found great difficulty in following the thread of the Colonel's conversation and seemed to be lost in thoughts, building castles in the air.

Once into the cosiness of the theatre box, Fitzwilliam was thrilled to have Elizabeth to himself in such an intimate environment. There was plenty of room in the box; yet, in a rapture of possessiveness, he sat right beside her, whilst her family sat across from them. Fitzwilliam's heart was overjoyed. There she was, the woman who had conquered his heart, sitting by his side, within sight of the eyes of London. Speculations on her tender emotions soon turned to sweetest reality when his hands sought hers in the covertness of their closeness. In the dim light of the theatre, Fitzwilliam could rest his eyes on Elizabeth without fear of causing alarm to Mr and Mrs Gardiner. He was thus engaged when he noticed her fan slipped Elizabeth's grip and fell with a light thud upon the floor next to his right foot. He promptly reached for it at the same instant she exerted the same, their heads almost colliding. The moment seemed eternal. They faced each other, their lips so close he could feel her tantalising breath. She parted hers ever so slightly, and without a moment to lose, he brushed them with the lightest of kisses. The touch sent such sensual shivers down their bodies that both of them found it very difficult to resume their seats in composure.

Upon returning to his lodging, Richard Fitzwilliam could barely contain himself of joy and pride. The certainty of her tender feelings had sent him to Heaven and back. He lay awake for hours in his paternal home, replaying Elizabeth's image as she closed her eyes for the stolen kiss. Her features, which he had come to know so well in his mind, he seemed to behold in the intimacy of his bedroom, reassessing every word that had been uttered whilst in her company, tasting again and again the sheer sensation of the feathered kiss they had shared in the dark. Fitzwilliam found himself sleepless the whole night. There was no need to persuade his heart she would consent to be his wife and live happily ever after as Mrs Fitzwilliam. There was no time to lose. He would offer his hand the following morning.

*~*~*~*

At his fencing club, Fitzwilliam Darcy was giving his opponent a difficult time. With a brusque movement, he swung his sword and disarmed his opponent.

“Touché.” Mr Lawrence, the master of the club, bowed politely. “A clear victory, Mr Darcy.”

“I thank you.”

“Shall I see you next week?”

“Yes. I shall be staying in London for a while.”

“Very well, sir. Have a good day”

“Thank you. Goodbye”

Scarcely had his fencing exercise finished, when thoughts he had been seeking to erase from his mind through physical exertion returned with the same violence. Once again, he saw Elizabeth's face as she assured him that he would be the last man in the world whom she could ever be prevailed upon to marry. He pursed his lips and cursed inwardly. He had to rid himself of her phantom at all costs.

“I shall conquer this,” he muttered to himself. “I shall.”

Chapter 3

Mr Bingley's Call

Much as he wished to, Mr Darcy could not erase Miss Bennet's angry face from his mind. He had felt her resentment even the morning after his disastrous proposal, when upon finding her in the grove he had handed her his letter. Upon reflection Darcy reckoned he had written it in considerable distress and probably the contents of his missive might have reflected just that. He wished he could make amends for his tactless writing, but under the present circumstances he found it impossible. If only her opinion of him had changed a little! But if he could not change that, he could at least correct one of the offences laid to his charge.
With a decided step, Darcy left his fencing club and instructed the driver of his carriage to take him to Mr Bingley's house.

He found Bingley alone, his sisters and Mr Hurst still in bed. Bingley was, if surprised, pleased to see his friend. Darcy took a seat and begged Bingley to listen to him without interruption. This he did without protest, only that at the end of Darcy's speech, Bingley found it difficult to remain aloof.

“You mean you hid all this from me, on account of your …your…”

“Friendship. I am sorry. I realised now I should have never done that. Do you think you can forgive me?”

Bingley's face was exceedingly red with anger. Still, he knew Darcy had not meant to cause him any harm.
With Herculean effort, Bingley schooled his emotions into submission and directed his thoughts towards what really mattered, “Are you sure I have not lost Miss Bennet's regard?”

“I am. Miss Elizabeth told me so. She certainly knows her sister's nature and feelings better than me.”

“And do I have your approval now?”

“Do you need my approval?”

“No. But still. Do you approve?”

“I do if you do.”

“I do.”

“So what are you waiting for?”

Bingley bowed with great excitement. “Will you come with me?”

Darcy thought for a moment. He was certain Miss Elizabeth was staying at the Gardiners with her sister, and was very much aware of the awkwardness of a reunion with her, but still Darcy felt a strong sense of obligation to accompany Bingley. “I shall,” he answered with great determination.

That very morning, Darcy and a much excited Bingley rushed towards the Gardiners' house. Before calling at the door, Bingley inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. Darcy nodded encouragingly, and using his walking stick, he knocked at the Gardiners's door in Gracechurch Street.

The servant announced the names of the gentlemen and Miss Bennet and her sister rose to their feet; their faces instantly blushed in compleat befuddlement.

“Mr Bingley, Mr Darcy,” the girls cut a short curtsey.

“Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” the gentlemen bowed politely.

A moment later Mr Bingley proposed a stroll in the park, to which the girls accepted, Miss Bennet with great anticipation, Miss Elizabeth with excessive embarrassment.

Little by little, Bingley and Jane lingered behind until Miss Elizabeth and Mr Darcy found themselves walking the park on their own.

“I believe congratulations are the order of the day, am I mistaken?” she said in reference to his recent engagement.

Darcy imagined she was speaking of Bingley and Jane, thus he answered in an animated manner, “I imagine we shall have to wait until we see their faces again. They seem to have lost us,” he said smuggling.

“I was referring to you and Miss De Bourgh,” she snapped.

“I beg your pardon?” he replied not a little surprised.

“Mr Darcy, there is no need for you to hide it from me. It was in black and white in the Gazette,” she said as she sent a cursory look at his face. Why was she doing that? Was she purposely attacking him? Was she resentful of his fleeting constancy?

“I am sorry Miss Bennet. I know not what you are talking of.” Elizabeth puffed with annoyance. Insufferable man! Was he trying to fool her? Did she think her irremediably stupid? But on second thoughts she imagined that the topic she had selected might be rather awkward due to their circumstances. Perhaps Mr Darcy found the whole affair embarrassing. After all he must have got engaged with his cousin a few days after his ill conceived proposal in the parsonage!

“Mr Darcy. I am talking about your recent engagement to your cousin, Miss Anne. I have read about it only two weeks ago.” Mr Darcy bore a look of utter befuddlement. He seemed to be at a compleat lost of mind as if he had not idea what she was talking of.

“Madam, there must be some mistake. I am not engaged to my cousin Anne; the last time I addressed a young lady as regards matrimony we have both been witnessed of.”

Colour immediately invaded Elizabeth's cheeks. Why was he not being honest with her?

“Are you sure it was my name and my cousin's you saw in the Gazette?” he inquired.

“I am positive, sir.” Elizabeth surveyed his countenance with increased interest. A puzzled frown creased his forehead. He raked his hair nervously.

“Then I shall have to find out the source of such announcement. I am all astonishment. Never heard of such an irregular situation before.” Seeing Elizabeth was exceedingly confused, Darcy reasoned she must have thought he was feigning innocence. His face reflected great urgency when he addressed her next, “Surely you cannot believe me so inconstant as to declare myself in love with a lady and get engaged with another the following day!”

Elizabeth's embarrassment was beyond expression. Indeed, she had thought him inconstant enough. Truth be told, she did find his comportment rather irregular, if not out of character. But she was so used to thinking ill of him; she merely surmised inconstancy must have been another of his many faults. Serves you right. You raised the topic!

“For decades it has been my aunt's wish, Lady Catherine's that is, I grant you. But it is not my wish or my cousin's, for that matter. Perhaps the announcement is some kind of stupid hoax. Was it not published on April's fool day?”

Elizabeth gasped in sudden comprehension. “My word! What a horrid thing to happen! Why would anyone do such a thoughtless thing?”

“It takes all sorts to make a world, Miss Bennet. I shall go the Gazette office directly to have the rumours universally contradicted. What must you have thought of me!”

“Mr Darcy, you must know…”

“Madam, I completely comprehend your feelings. But I assure you. I am not engaged to my cousin. Never will. I do not love her, nor does she love me. You must know I despise alliances in which the intervening parts do not feel genuine affection for each other. Believe me I know the evils of matrimonies of convenience, and regardless of the common establishment of society in general, I am determined to marry the woman I love.” He sent her a longing look at which Elizabeth did not fail to tremble with unknown emotion. He still loved her? After all the offence she had inflicted on him with her blind, partial, prejudice? The tumult of her mind was now painfully great.

“Sir, this is most embarrassing.”

“Do you wish to return to your aunt's house, Miss Bennet? If you do not feel comfortable in my company we can simply turn back.”

“It is not your company what really embarrasses me.”

“I daresay my company must be a punishment to you.”

He voiced this in such a lamenting tone, that Elizabeth's heart sank within her chest. Poor Mr Darcy! She really thought she had gone too far with him. No man deserved so much mistreatment. After all, she had already changed her mind as regards his character. No, he was not wholly bad. He could be dull, and too serious, and haughty and aloof, but he was perfectly gentlemanlike among his friends and really cared for those he loved. She had learned as much in his letter. “Oh, no, Mr Darcy! Not at all! I do not consider a punishment to walk in your company, sir.”

“Miss Bennet. I know of your abhorrence of me.”

“Sir,” she protested with great feeling. “You must forgive me for my harsh words on occasion of …our conversation in Hunsford. I understand I was holding you in compleat disregard and made you a great injustice in doing so. I who had always praised myself of being a connoisseur of character and people's minds! Until I read your letter, sir, I did not know myself.”

Darcy looked at her with such love that Elizabeth could no longer hold his gaze. He noticed her embarrassment and immediately averted his eyes. She went on, “To think I misjudged your character so badly, sir! It is unpardonable. After all what you have done for Jane!”

“I am afraid that in relation to your sister and my friend Bingley I acted in a very rushed manner. But you provided me with a new intelligence of your sister's feelings and I simply put my friend wise about them. The rest now is in their hands. But of course, I had to make amends.”

“You are too good. But indeed you are mistaken. It is I who should be making amends.”

“Very well. Shall we both be compleatly forgiven,then?” She smiled and Darcy could have drowned in her smile. The excitement in finding her thus receptive to his attentions made Darcy's heart jolt and thump wildly, his mind racing with possibilities. Was she better disposed towards him, now? Had his letter affected her so much?

As if she were reading his mind, Elizabeth confessed, “Your letter, sir, was very explicit. I must say I found it very enlightening.”

“I hope you did not find it too offensive.”

“Offensive, sir?” Elizabeth exclaimed. “No, sir. Not offensive. There were parts in which I wished you were mistaken, but I am afraid all that you asserted there was nothing but the truth. I must confess it took me some time to come to terms with this new intelligence. But if anything I felt honoured for your trust in me.”

“Miss Bennet. That I do.”

“You must know I will not break your confidence, sir.”

“Indeed, Miss Bennet. I completely trust in you.”

A deadly silence took over afterwards, neither of them knew what to say. In the end Elizabeth remembered to ask him about Miss Georgiana, a topic she knew was both neutral and pleasing.

When they finally found no more to say, Darcy, on perceiving her great discomfort, offered her to sit on a bench near a small pond. He then cleared his throat and speaking with great seriousness, addressed the difficult subject of his proposal.

“Madam, you are a very intelligent person. I thus entreat you to consider hearing me for a while for there is a pressing matter between us that needs to be addressed and I would find it exceedingly painful to explain myself unless you allow me the liberty of speaking at length.” She nodded demurely. “Very well, then. You must have already perceived that I have reconsidered my words upon my proposal of marriage and found them terribly wanting.”

“Mr Darcy, I ...”

“No, please. I must say this. You must know Miss Bennet, my feelings remain unchanged. I understand yours must be the same too. After all, the violence of your rejection persuades me it will take more that a letter to touch your heart…”

“Mr Darcy…”

“Please, let me finish. As I told you I still feel a deep attachment towards your person. A strong attachment, I must confess. However, it is not in my mind to offer you my hand again. At least not presently. But I must beg you, Miss Bennet, if I am not thus taking too many liberties, to be so kind so as to allow me the privilege of getting better acquainted with you.”

“Mr Darcy, I cannot…"

“Do not misunderstand me, Miss Bennet. I do not mean to court you just now. Perhaps, if after you get to know me better, you find my character more tolerable, in that case I will dare ask you the privilege to court you. But for the time being, I shall be content if you allowed me to be your friend.”

“My friend?”

“Indeed. Is that too much to ask?”

“No, no, of course not. I must thank you. Still, I do not deserve your offer of friendship.”

“Madam, to me you are the most deserving of creatures.”

“Mr Darcy…”

“You must pardon the freedom with which I speak to you. My feelings demand it.”

“Mr Darcy, you must know my feelings are unchanged as regards your offer of marriage. However, I no longer feel the…I think very highly of you, sir. I am ashamed of what I told you that evening in the parsonage, and certainly I have been blind by prejudices. Please, accept my apologies.”

“There is no need, madam. You have said nothing but the truth. I have been terribly proud in my dealings with you. Such presumptions I had! The manner of my address! Miss Bennet, you must know that I have been meditating on your words. They have tortured me constantly day and night. But your reprove has not been in vain. So you see, there is nothing to apologise for. Quite the contrary, I must be grateful, for you have showed me, through humbling me, that I was in great need of changing my character.”

Elizabeth could hardly believe her ears. Could it be possible that she had affected the gentleman so much? Was Mr Darcy really determined to change for her sake? This was a compleatly different man from the Mr Darcy she knew.

“So. What say you? Do you think you and I can be friends?”

“Indeed, sir. I have no objections to your friendship.”

“Very well. I am satisfied for the time being.”

Elizabeth blushed profoundly. He was satisfied for the time being! Did that mean he would not be satisfied in a near future? Apparently, yes. What would he say if he knew Colonel Fitzwilliam was already courting her? It was imperative that she were sincere with him.

“Speaking of friends, I have seen Colonel Fitzwilliam here in London. Have you not seen him?”

“Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes. I met him one day while walking in Bond Street. He was so kind as to extend an invitation for Jane and I and the Gardiners to his family box at the theatre. We watched a delightful play last night.”

“The theatre? I see. Have you been seeing my cousin much?”

“Oh yes. Colonel Fitzwilliam has been visiting us quite often these days,” she sent him a sheepish smile and Darcy understood his cousin had declared war bur had failed to put him wise.

“In that case I think I have a fair idea who might have put that announcement in the Gazette.”

“You presume Colonel Fitzwilliam has done it?”

“I am quite certain.”

“My word! This is highly irregular. I will not have it! Fitzwilliam would have never…he could not have…” and then a nervous laugh escaped her lips. What a wicked, cheeky man! He almost had me! If Colonel Fitzwilliam is capable of such shameless comportment, I daresay his intentions might not be so serious after all!

“I see. I take it you have welcomed my cousin's visits?” Darcy asked tentatively.

That was a difficult question. If she said yes, he would perhaps understand the colonel and she had a settled understanding; if she said no, he might take her words as an encouragement to press his suit. The difficulty resided that she no longer knew what she wished.

“Your cousin can be very persuasive, sir,” she smiled sweetly.

“How persuasive can he be, Miss Bennet?” he asked with unconcealed alarm.

“Oh, that is not a question to be asked to a lady, sir.”

“Miss Bennet. You are too generous to trifle with me. If you have arrived at an understanding with my cousin, you must say so at once. You know I wish to court you and marry you. But I am no mouse for any lady's cat game.” He rose to his feet and put his hat on, his features in great discomfiture.

Elizabeth smiled mischievously. Incredibly as it might seem, she was beginning to like the man. He seemed so aloof and yet was so vulnerable! In perceiving the power she had over him she felt overwhelmed. Fidgeting in her seat, she lowered her face to hide her mirth. When she finally conquered her merriment she rose and walked towards him. He was looking at the pond with great determination. “Such passion I have never noticed in you, sir. But then again, I should have imagined.”

“You must excuse me. I know not what came over me.”

“Well then. You must rest assure, sir. No understanding exists between Fitzwilliam and me. He merely asked me to court me.”

“And what have you said to him?”

“I have accepted, sir. But there is no commitment on either part. We are simply getting better acquainted.”
Darcy approached her, his eyes piercing hers. “I do not understand. What are you saying?”

“I am saying that there is no need for you to worry. My heart is still unattached. After our little tête a tête today, however, your friendship will be as welcome as Colonel Fitzwilliam's has been till this day.”

The broadest of smiles blossomed on his face. That was all he needed to know. With renewed hopes he took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, and invited her to follow him.

“Very well, Miss Bennet. Let us find your sister and my friend. I am sure they must have arrived at an understanding by now.”

He was not mistaken. Neither Jane nor Bingley could hide the intense emotion on their countenance. They were engaged and wanted everyone to know directly.

“Congratulations, Miss Bennet, Bingley.” Darcy shook hands with both of them. Elizabeth hugged her sister with great affection. Such was her happiness that she did not realise she was pressing Mr Darcy's arm with great eagerness.

The gentleman would not attempt to persuade her to release her grip.

Chapter 4


Difficult Requests

Mrs Gardiner glanced at the mantel clock and solicitously surveyed Gracechurch Street from behind a curtain. She had seen her two nieces go to the park with a pair of gentlemen of their acquaintance, one of them a well-known suitor of her eldest niece, the other a reputed ill-tempered young man whose pride and haughtiness had given him such a bad name as to reach her ears when visiting Longbourn for Christmas, long after said gentleman had quitted the surroundings of Hertfordshire. Of course, Madeline Gardiner was not worried about the girls' physical integrity, but rather she was anxious to see if Mr Bingley had finally accomplished the so long delayed proposal and at the same time wished to disengage her younger niece from the obligation to keep the company of such a disagreeable fellow as Mr Darcy.

Much was her confusion, however, when upon the young people's return Mrs Gardiner did not fail to notice not one but two enamoured couples.

An absolutely besotted Bingley arrived back from the walk in the park and yet another unmistakably enamoured gentleman followed him. Indeed, Mr Darcy bore such a look of utter enchantment when glancing at Miss Elizabeth that Mrs Gardiner wondered if she had not mistaken him for another gentleman. But alas! No. Elizabeth had described him in great detail. It was him. The disagreeable, pompous, insufferable fellow Elizabeth despised more than anyone or anything on earth. Yet was Lizzy not blushing uncontrollably under his gaze? Had she not sent him a most encouraging look just now? This was strange indeed.

A few minutes ere their return, Mr Darcy had enjoyed himself exceedingly well in the company of his beloved lady. Contrary to Elizabeth's expectations, he proved to be a great conversationalist and entertained her exceedingly well with tales of his youth and descriptions of his home in Derbyshire. Genuinely diverted, Elizabeth laughed and conversed animatedly with the once-loathed gentleman.

After an extensive tête-à-tête, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth finally found Mr Bingley and Jane sitting on a small bench in a clearing, quietly conversing in an intimate posture. A single look at their beaming faces told them the gentleman had finally popped the question. Elizabeth was excessively happy to see her beloved sister finally engaged to her beau. Such was her excitement, that Elizabeth did not realise that in order to reach Jane she had pressed her body against Mr Darcy who, in turn, ended somewhat sandwiched between the two of them. The situation did not bother the gentleman in the least, but left him flushed and excited by the lady's closeness. Then again while walking back towards Cheapside, Elizabeth had dipped her hand with great confidence into the crook of Darcy's arm and once or twice leaned against his shoulder with a pensive smile on her lips. The sensation such intimacy afforded him; the pleasure of her touch in general left the gentleman wild with elation. Would she not agree to be his bride in the near future?

Happiness notwithstanding, Mr Darcy was having serious problems fighting his manly instincts. Miss Elizabeth's presence so close to him was eliciting a decidedly sensual reaction in every inch of his body. The exquisite sensation was not unwelcome yet extremely unsettling. Did she not know what she did to him? Probably not. To make matters worse, the heat of the day combined with the vigorous walk had caused all of them to perspire considerably. Far from offensive, Mr Darcy found Miss Elizabeth's body odour simply irresistible. He could almost feel her enticing aroma all over him. Decidedly aroused, his mortification was great indeed, for he could not resist the pleasure of her proximity and, at the same time, was anxious to conceal the evidence of his emotions so conspicuously evident in his breeches.

Once at the Gardiners', while waiting for Bingley, who was having a necessary conversation with the head of the house, Mr Darcy's desperation grew rapidly when Miss Elizabeth approached him and, having discarded her coat, now sported an infamously low-cut gown as she offered him a plate of biscuits. He blushed uncontrollably and after helping himself to a biscuit or two, spent the rest of the visit staring sternly at the floor or the ceiling.

Miss Elizabeth could not mistake this look of great discomfort with hauteur. No, no. Not now. She knew perfectly well whence his serious demeanour stemmed and could not be more pleased. Thus, ever so playfully, she continued to tease him with flirtatious looks which she cast at him when no one seemed to be looking in their direction. But in fact, Mrs Gardener readily noticed.

Before the gentlemen left, both Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley were invited to dine with the girls at the Gardiners' the following day, and Mr Bingley promised to call the next morning for another stroll in the park with his betrothed while a desolate Mr Darcy declared he would be engaged the whole morning. Still, having received all the encouragement he could have ever wished for, Mr Darcy was inclined to invite both Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth for tea with Miss Darcy on Wednesday. Of course, Mr Bingley would be there too. By the time the gentlemen had left, the girls had secured an agenda full of entertainment so as to keep them busy the whole se'nnight ere their return to Longbourn.


“Oh, Jane. I can hardly believe you have finally secured Mr Bingley!” Elizabeth sighed excitedly.
“Secured him?”

“Yes,” laughed Elizabeth. “Charlotte's terminology for engagement,” she answered teasingly. Her sister laughed, too, and they melted into a sisterly embrace.

“Lizzy. I am so happy. Can one die of happiness? Because if that is possible, then I am bound to die tonight.”
“Pray, do not die in my bed!”

“I am sorry you have to put up with Mr Darcy,” she sighed in retrospection.
Elizabeth's countenance fell. “Jane. Do not say that.”

“Why not?” an intrigued Jane asked.

Elizabeth realised it was time she told her sister the recent events that had taken place at Hunsford and lately in the park. She began thusly, “Oh, Jane. I have been so blind!”
“What do you mean?”

“I like Mr Darcy, Jane. He is not the disagreeable man I have thought he was.” She paused to gulp some air. “Jane, he is a good, perfectly amiable gentleman. I know you must believe I have lost my wits, but indeed, I have discovered a completely different man from the one I have known at Netherfield Park.”
“But I do not understand. What about what he has done to poor Mr Wickham?”

Elizabeth winced. It pained her pretty much to hear that Jane thought so ill of Mr Darcy. After all it was all her doing. “It was a lie. Mr Wickham lied. You see, you were right. He has come to be just as you have told me. Oh, dear Jane. I wish I had heard you! He loves me, Jane, and I tried him with such scorn! And yet he loves me still.”

“Lizzy. I do not understand. How do you know he loves you? Has he confessed himself thus?”
“He has, Jane. Mr Darcy proposed while we were in Kent.”

“Mr Darcy proposed!”

“He did. But I…I most stupidly rejected him.”

“Lizzy!”

“Was I too stupid, Jane? I was blinded by prejudices against him. Had I known it was all a lie, I would have probably seen him with different eyes.”

“And what about Colonel Fitzwilliam?”

“Oh, this is when things get even more complicated.”

“You seemed to like him very well yesterday.”

“I do. I like him. He is all a gentleman should be.”

“But you do not love him.”


“I do not know. Both Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam are very handsome and amiable. Both have declared themselves in love with me. Of course in the light of Mr Darcy's new-found good nature, one would judge Mr Darcy to be the perfect catch!”

“So?”

“Colonel Fitzwilliam makes me laugh.”

“I have seen you laugh this evening quite frequently.”

“Yes. I have, have I not?” she sighed. “But Fitzwilliam is different. He makes everything sound exciting.
There is no end to his merriment. And he is exceedingly romantic. And daring, Jane. He kissed me in the theatre box the other day!”

“Lizzy! That is most irregular! You should not play with that!”

“I did not consent to the kiss. He merely kissed me without warning!” she protested.

“Well, you should restrain him from taking such liberties! He could have compromised you, you know. What if he tells his cousin he has kissed you? Men often brag about their conquests in front of other men. ”

“Oh, he will not. He is a true gentleman.”

“Oh yes, nothing less than a gentleman! So much for gentlemanly manners! He is a rake!”

“Oh well. I concede that he is a little wild. But don't you like a rake better than a milksop?”

“Upon my word, I do not. Lizzy, you must understand you should not tempt a man beyond what is decorous and acceptable. And that includes kisses stolen by them in a theatre box!”

“Next you will tell me Mr Bingley has not kissed you!”

“No, he has not. I daresay I would not comply with such shows of affection!”

“Jane, you will be in his bed pretty soon. What is wrong with a kiss or two?”

“Lizzy!”

“I am certain even as pompous as Mr Darcy is, he would have kissed me had I encouraged him a little.”
“Then you should not encourage him.”

“Indeed I shall not. But Colonel Fitzwilliam needed no encouragement, I grant you!”

*~*~*~*

Now, Colonel Fitzwilliam awoke in the same excited state in which he had gone to bed the day before, both his night and day dreams devoted to Miss Bennet. Unfortunately, he had scarcely slipped into his clothes when his valet confronted him with a letter. It was from his regiment―a new commission signed by Wellington himself. Spain awaited him. In May, Wellington had been promoted to general after the battle of Talavera. But the French had retained the twin fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, the 'Keys' guarding the roads through the mountain passes into Portugal. Wellington wanted him there.

Fitzwilliam almost jumped out of his boots. A new commission! Just when he had begun toying with the idea of quitting the army and settling down in a snug place in the country somewhere, in a nice hunting area where he could hunt a little and make jolly stout lads with Miss Bennet the rest of the time.

What to do? Would Miss Bennet be willing to marry him now? He had never thought to remain in the army as a married man. He would have to talk about this with her straightaway. If he was to join his regiment so soon, he would have to press his suit a little harder, and be done with it, once and for all. How much longer could it take the lady to make up her mind after all?

He reflected on Darcy for a while. What would be wise to do in a case such as this? Should he apprise him of his courtship? He would have to tell him sooner rather than latter. He must admit Darcy was his favourite relative, almost his brother. He also knew Darcy had always turned to him and only him whenever he had needed advice or comfort. He could not bear to open a breach betwixt them. No, he would have to face him and break the news before it reached him from elsewhere. Chances were that he would be wedded to Miss Elizabeth ere long. Surely Darcy would understand. Of course he would not confess the techniques and strategies he had used to win the lady's heart. He would start with their meeting in London.

Now, where was Darcy? They had come to London together, but he had not told him whether or not he intended to stay. Usually Darcy spent the summer at Pemberley with Georgiana. He would ask his mother. Surely she knew of her favourite nephew's whereabouts.

He went downstairs and breakfasted alone before any member of his family popped their nose in. Then he cheerfully made his way to Cheapside and paid the so-desired-visit to the Gardiners. Elizabeth was getting ready for his promised stroll in the park.

Jane was not going with Lizzy that morning. She expected a visitor herself―and Mr Bingley was not much of an early bird. But Madeleine Gardiner would not leave her niece unchaperoned, especially in the face of such a wolf as Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to be. She had instructed her eldest daughter to follow her cousin at close quarters just in case Elizabeth's gentleman caller might turn too romantic. And so the three of them departed for a stroll in the park.

The fact that they were chaperoned by so young a person helped diminish Richard's passion notably. In lieu of more pleasurable pursuits, the lover kept his conversation turning around family affairs. On watching his would-to-be cousin playing with other children in the park, Ftizwilliam began to speculate of his own future children's nature. Yet, after perceiving the crimsoned complexion of his would-be betrothed, Richard reckoned the need for a change of subject and proceeded to present her with his most recent resolutions.
“I had meant to quit the Regulars,” he said with some longing in his voice.

“And may I be enlightened on your reasons for doing so?” she pouted.

“You do not wish me to quit?” he asked, smirking playfully.

“I am loath to part with your regimentals.” She giggled playing with his lapels. “You look ravishing in a red coat.” No sooner had she said that than Elizabeth regretted it.

Wanton girl! What must he think of you! I am no better than Lydia!

“My sweet, I would be loath to deprive you of any pleasure. I shall keep my red coat and wear it for you alone any time you wish to satisfy your appetite,” he said in reference to the “ravishing” part.

Elizabeth blushed, a smirk drawn on her features. “Tell me why it was that you wished to quit your post.”

“There is war in Spain and my regiment is to go there any moment now. I received my commission this morning. But now it is too late to quit. I shall have to go.”

“Oh!” 'Twas all that Elizabeth would utter.

“I do not wish to be the source of any sorrow for you, Miss Elizabeth. Although, there is little possibility that I should endanger my life, I would rather stay in England with you, and help you in the new experience of becoming my wife.”

Elizabeth halted. Looking up at him, she asked with feigned indignation, “Sir, are you not too hasty?”
“What say you?”

“Colonel! You are not proposing, are you?”

“Will you not marry me?” he asked passionately.
“I…I…”

“I knew you would say yes.”

“No! I mean…yes…but no!”

“I am sorry I do not understand!”

“Sir, I cannot answer your question just now. I am sorry.”

Not a little disappointed, Fitzwilliam urged her to give him an answer. “Miss Elizabeth, I am afraid you must make up your mind soon. I cannot postpone joining my regiment too long. And, truth be told, I wish to go on a brief honeymoon before going on foreign service. Pray, how long should I wait?”

Elizabeth stared at him with great bewilderment. Make up her mind? Going on a honeymoon? So soon? This was definitely too much.

“Sir, I am all astonishment. I cannot, I mean…I am not sure what to say.”

“Say, `Yes, Fitzwilliam. I love you. I shall be your wife.'”

Elizabeth sighed. That sounded indeed very simple yet she was not sure Fitzwilliam was her perfect match. Her mind raced with all sorts of images, wildly building castles in the air. She imagined herself in a variety of unknown places: Spain, Italy, India…travelling here and there on camels and elephants, sleeping in tents like Aladdin. “And what would we do after the honeymoon?” she asked innocently.

Fitzwilliam bit his lower lip. Had she just used the plural? Indeed she had. That meant one thing: he almost had her. He merely needed to press only a little more and she would say yes. “That is yet to be decided. Any ideas?”

“I hate to confess I am at lost at what we could do. You mean to go to Spain you said?”

“Yes. You could stay in London with my parents, or perhaps with the Gardiners, whatever is your like.”

“Could I not go with you?”

Was that a yes?

She quickly added, “I am not giving you an answer. I am merely conjecturing.” Fitzwilliam nodded.

“In theory the wife of a soldier follows him everywhere he goes. You could of course come, but I would not have you so close to a battlefield.”

“Would we be sleeping in tents?” she asked full of curiosity.

He laughed at her naivety. “No, I am sorry to disappoint you. We would be staying at a hotel. In case there was a fight I would be sleeping in a tent, that is for sure.”

“But there will not be a fight?”

“I do not know,” he said nonchalantly. He did not wish to concern her so much. “All I know is that Wellington wants me to be there. I do not know what my commission will be.”

“Will your life not be at risk?”

“I hope not.”

Her face went instantly pale. Suddenly it dawned on her that his life would indeed be in danger. He was a soldier. His profession entailed fighting, facing battlefields, canons and gunfire. Trembling like a leaf, Elizabeth became serious and gloomy.

“Elizabeth. You must not concern yourself so much. A man has to do what a man has to do.”

“Fitzwilliam!” she exclaimed feelingly. “I…I do not want you to go.”

Fitzwilliam's heart melted. Was she suffering for him? Her little face showed great agitation; her dark eyes glistened with unshed tears.

“You must not fear, dearest Elizabeth. My talents at war surpass my charms,” he said, beaming at her and trying to sound cheerful. Despite herself, Elizabeth smiled thinly. In an endeavour to sooth her anxiety, he said in jest, “But I like that you worry on my behalf.” A solitary tear brimmed over and fell on her cheek. “Pray, do not cry. I will not have you crying.” But in truth, Fitzwilliam rejoiced in her suffering. If she suffered so much, then evidently she must be in love with him.

“Can you not quit?” she said barely containing her sobs.

“That would be cowardice, milady. I am not going to dishonour my name.”

All of a sudden Elizabeth's heart was swelling with pride for the colonel. Should he have asked her again she would have accepted his hand directly. But if he had then we would not have a story to tell.

Chapter 5

Mr Darcy was a man of his word, even when honouring it might entail going against his innermost wishes. If he had made a promise, he would keep it―no matter what. Much as it pained him to leave Miss Bennet unattended, he―albeit in a black mood―honoured his meeting with his friend, Mr Bernard Quail. Every so often, however, he had to school his thoughts back from a persistent reverie where his mind had wandered, entirely concentrated on that spot in Gracechurch Street where Miss Elizabeth might be. Fencing was never unwelcome, though. Besides, it would provide his body a necessary escape and, at the same time, cool his breeches, which were in dire need of some sort of release after a whole morning in her enticing presence and in the face of the oncoming soiree at the Gardiners' that evening.

After the fencing exercise, Quail treated Darcy to a copious lunch at the Regent Club in St James's Street: stewed fish, French beans, a bottle of claret and a glass of sherry to wash it all down. To Quail's delight, Darcy's humour was restored after the first sherry.

“Gordon!” Quail called out to a young gentleman in a Sunday suit who had just entered the club accompanied by another neat, though rather dressy gentleman. One single look Darcy gave to the latter, and he instantly catalogued him as decidedly vain.

“I'll be damned if that is not Gordon,” Quail said almost to himself. Then he called out again. “Gordon, you old dog! Over here!”

The gentleman by the name of Gordon scarcely looked Quail's way. But upon recognition, he talked secretively into his companion's ear, a thin smile upon his face, and joined Quail and his friend. Darcy noticed that Gordon limped slightly as he walked towards their table, and he immediately recalled his acquaintance from college.

“My dear Quail. It is good to see you again. And Darcy! How odd you are still here in town. What about your adored Pemberley? I pictured you passing the summer season there.”

“Gordon. It is good to see you, too."

"Quite a stranger these days, Gordon. Been away or something?” asked Quail.

“No. At least not recently.”

“Well. What have you been up to then? We have not seen you for ages,” exclaimed Quail.

“I know. But somehow, what with one thing or the other, I have not had time for an evening out these last months.” Then changing abruptly the subject he asked, “May I introduce you to my good friend, Mr Brummel?” Gordon gestured towards the dressy gentleman.

“How do you do, sir.”

Gordon proceeded to the proper introduction. He took delight in the illustriousness of his friends. “This is Mr Darcy from Pemberley Derbyshire and Mr Quail from Southampton. Quail's family has had a seat in Parliament since Magna Carta was signed.”

The addressed gentleman bowed majestically in their direction. “How do you do?”

“Mr George Brummel here is a good friend of his Royal Highness,” Gordon observed with pleasure.

“Is he, indeed? By Jove! Please, join us. Have you two lunched?” invited Quail liberally. He always enjoyed being in good company, especially if said company were well connected. Gordon would have declined, but he enjoyed teasing Darcy overmuch, and it was spotting him in Quail's company that had induced him to come over and greet them in the first place. He readily agreed. “A glass of claret will do, thank you.”

“Of course, my friend. Take a seat!”

A new bottle of claret was ordered and emptied in a wink of an eye. Darcy's mood, so to speak, was excellent.

“So what keeps you here in London, Gordon?” Quail conducted the conversation with great alacrity.

“A lady of course. What else!” was Gordon's happy answer.

“Are you going to be married?”

“Oh no! I am averse to marriage altogether. The lady who keeps me in town is my inamorata.”

“Oh, I see. Is there any such lady for our friend here?” Quail gestured towards Darcy. “He has been in a foul mood all morning.”

“Darcy! Are you in need of good company? What do you prefer, dark or blond?”

“I thank you,” Darcy answered cheerfully. “I can procure a lady anytime on my own.”

“Of course, I already know that. Tell me, old dog, are you lingering in town induced by a lady's charms? Is she treating you badly?”

“Not at all. Actually I am courting a young lady.”

“Courting, eh? No sex?” Gordon said cheekily.

Quail looked at Gordon with round eyes. In an endeavour to pass the question unnoticed he exclaimed, “Well, I'll be blown!” Quail sent daggers at Gordon who merely smiled. “So you are hooked, Darcy! It is high time, boy. It is high time! And who, may I ask, is the fortunate lady who has captured your attention?”

“You will know in due time,” Darcy answered in the same cheerful tone. An over indulgency of claret was swimming in his blood now, and he spoke quite liberally.

“I dare say you expect a favourable answer.”

“I do.”

“You sound quite confident, my dear friend. Have you already made love to her?” asked Gordon boldly.

Darcy cleared his throat. Made love to her? Did he mean woo her or the actual rite? “Well, I spent a most pleasant morning in her company yesterday,” he said smugly. “I am confident all will go well. She certainly seemed to encourage my suit. But one never knows with this young lady. I once made a most stupid mistake with her, taking her for granted.”

“Are you her only suitor?”

“I wish I were. Ever since I met her, I have known her to have four gentlemen callers, and she has already rejected three of them, including me.”

“That leaves only one still standing his ground, and he would not be you .”

“I do not know if this gentleman has made her an offer.” Darcy reasoned. “As for me, I will not lose the opportunity to readdress the subject in the near future. For the time being, I am having a pleasant time. She seemed quite pleased in my company yesterday and has agreed to have tea at my home tomorrow.”

“She sounds like a mouser, Darcy; and, I am sorry to tell you, you are the mouse.” Gordon chuckled. Darcy looked at him dumbfounded. “She is flirting with you, Darcy,” he said plainly.

“Well, she has not agreed to anything yet, in fact…”

Quail almost choked with the wine. Exceedingly diverted, he cried, “Goodness. She is a tough one! Rejected you, has she? And you still persevere? Darcy, you are doomed!”

“Take her to some dark corner and make love to her. That will do,” suggested Gordon with a chuckle.

“Yes Darcy. That is good advice.” Quail found himself saying in agreement with Gordon.

In a confidential tone, Gordon inquired, “How long has it been since you had your leg over? If it is more than a se'nnight then we have to remedy that immediately.”

Darcy coloured. George Gordon, he was beginning to recall, had several bees in his bonnet and one of them was sex. He shook his head and endeavoured to negotiate the unhappy comment by calling out the waiter and asking for a round of coffee. Be that as it may, Gordon would not have him get away with it. He had smelled blood.

“So? Are you in for some female favours? I know of a place. Italian girls. Pleasure galore.”

Darcy became restless with abject discomfort.

“No?”

“Perhaps he is much too infatuated. No other woman in your life other than your lady, eh Darcy?” jested Quail.

Unable to best the landslide of jokes, Darcy appealed to gentlemanly manners. “Please gentlemen. I must ask you to drop the subject.”

“And what is wrong with it, may I ask?” Mr Brummel interjected opening his mouth for the first time. "You are not a fastidious puritan, are you?”

“I am not. Still, I am not fond of this thread of conversation, especially when it entails talking about…"

“A woman you fancy? And do you suppose a lady of birth and rank does not talk about gentlemen? Sir, I believe you do not know women. My friend here, for example, has recently received a most surprising present from a genteel lady of his acquaintance. You could have never imagined such thing from such a sweet delicate lady. Nonetheless, there you are. The most daring gift ever bestowed upon a man.” Gordon raised one of his eyebrows in a proud smirk.

“What was it?” inquired Quail intrigued. Gordon and Brummel interchanged mischievous smiles.

“Pubic hair.” Gordon said smugly.

“Pubic…pubic hair?”

“Pubic hair.”

Darcy shook his head dumbfounded.

“Mon Dieu!” cried Quail. “Upon my word, I would have never guessed!”

“Neither would anyone who knows her. Such a pretty little thing she is.”

“And such love language to go with it,” finished Gordon with a grin. He was obviously relishing the moment. “You should have read the letter.”

Darcy winced in discomfort. “Not everyone is the same.”

“Sir, I am not implying your lady would do anything as daring as Byron's girl. (Brummel knew Gordon as Lord Byron as he was best known in court circles) But indeed all ladies expect some sort of…action from the gentleman who woos her. If you want to press your suit, I suggest you show the depth of your affection in a manner that gives no doubt of your manly instincts. She will surely be most…deeply touched by such, I assure you.”

Darcy stared at him in mournful contemplation. Was Brummel implying he had not behaved manly enough? Could it be that Miss Bennet was expecting more action from him?

“Tell us about her,” Lord Byron went on. “Does she live in London?”

Darcy shook his head.

“A country girl? Better and better. Sir, a country girl is used to the joys of haylofts. That is quite normal amongst the folks there. You should give the lady a try. You will see what I mean.”

* * * * * * *

Darcy left the Regent Club looking extremely mawkish and thoroughly confused. The truth was he had never been with a woman in an intimate manner. Not that he had not had the opportunity, mind you. He simply believed it was best for him to remain chaste until he found the woman he truly loved and who could love him in return without reserve. In the face of George Brummel's speech, he had felt an idiotic idealist. Had he not been wasting precious time? Was Miss Elizabeth better acquainted with amorous congress than himself? Knowing Fitzwilliam was around, he would not be surprised if he had attempted to push his suit rather aggressively. Perchance he had even kissed her! With his amour propre greatly damaged, Darcy paced the path in ______ Park that led to his street. Should he…push harder, so to speak?

The idea began to lurk in his mind, torturing him all the way back to his townhouse. Mayhap he should follow Brummel's advice. What would Miss Elizabeth's reaction be if he stole a kiss from her? Would she be thoroughly offended and refuse to speak to him any more? Or would she be willing to share such a blissful exertion with him? The more he pondered the possibility, the more he found it appealing.

Would he be bold enough to try his luck that night? But then his mind recoiled. Is she perhaps making fun of me―somehow taking revenge for my previous behaviour towards her family? He shook his head in an endeavour to dismiss the idea. Truth be told, Darcy thought too well of Miss Elizabeth to admit her being resentful. In a dubious and agitated state of mind, he ascended the first steps leading to his door, and stopped there before entering the great parlour. Standing on the landing, he looked at his pocket watch.

Do I have time for a nap?

He had. He would rest an hour or so before beginning his toilet. Indeed, if George Brummel was a vain man, then Mr Darcy had become as vain as a girl in his endeavour to look his best for Miss Bennet. What in previous days would take him a mere hour, had now turned into a good three: taking his bath, doing his hair (which he usually wore rather untidiy), choosing his coat and shinning his boots twice. (Of course, he would never go to the extravagance of shining them with champagne as was Mr Brummel's custom.)

Does she think I am handsome? he wondered more than once in front of the mirror. Is she only making game of me? he thought dreamily this time as he flopped on his bed. Indeed, this specimen of the masculine gender had become as vain as any coquette in the world. And all for the sake of a pretty little face.




*Lord George Gordon Byron, did receive pubic hair as a gift from one of his lovers.

Chapter 6

Othello's Share

The reader must remember where we left our doves the last time (I mean our enamoured Colonel Fitzwilliam and the exceedingly touched Elizabeth). Fitzwilliam was harbouring great expectations as regards Elizabeth's tender feelings. But he dared not repeat his proposal at such short notice but chose to allow her some time to come to terms with her true feelings (which in his own estimation were exceedingly inclined to favour his suit).So the Colonel took his little fiancée to be and his little cousin-to-be to his favourite pastrycook's shop in Charing Cross where they ate ices, and Elizabeth laughed and talked with him in close companionship.

With perfect happiness the great dragoon promenaded with the fair lady's satin hand firmly clasped in the crook of his arm, whilst their naïve chaperone skipped gaily ahead. Bowing with extreme elation to passing by acquaintances here and there, Colonel Fitzwilliam become more and more satisfied with the outcome of his little morning outing and his good fortune with every minute they passed together. Every one that saw them walking in this manner instantly took them for a pair of lovers, such was the intimacy with which Fitzwilliam addressed his companion at all moments and such was the increasingly glowing happiness on the lady's countenance.

In spying a flower stand not far from where they were walking Fitzwilliam stopped and bought Elizabeth a small bouquet.

“Oh, Fitzwilliam!” Elizabeth said, very much moved. So courteous, so handsome, so perfectly amiable her companion was that she almost forwent prudence and planted a kiss on his cheek. Anyway, she blushed most becomingly whilst her soft white fingers caressed the flowers. Fitzwilliam almost choked with emotion in so discovering such signs of love in her.


* * * * * * * *

Miss Georgiana Darcy seldom ventured outside the realms of her townhouse. Yet this particular morning, she had felt like taking a short stroll in town. Great was her surprise when out of the corner of her eye, she spied her cousin in the act, just as he was handing the small bouquet to the flushed Elizabeth. Her eyes instantly darted to the pair's countenances. For a moment she thought she might have mistaken another gentleman for her cousin. But, Alas, no! It was Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam all right.

In the spur of the moment, she thought to go to him and greet him. However, being a shy creature as she was, she immediately recoiled, for the image her cousin presented to her increasingly discerning eye was of a much-infatuated man hovering over a receptive damoiselle.

When she repaired to her townhouse, however, Georgiana could not wait to pass her brother the intelligence of her unexpected discovery in Charing Cross. With that purpose in mind, she knocked at the door of his study where Darcy was painfully engaged with his correspondence and at the same time scheming a daring plan to see Miss Bennet alone that evening. Darcy knew his friendship with Bingley would be most beneficial in his contest against Richard for Elizabeth's affections, and he promptly considered how to make the most of it. In hearing Georgiana's tale, however, all his scheming crumbled.

“A bouquet, huh?” he repeated after Georgiana had finished talking.

“Yes. He was being very attentive and courteous. Do you think Richard might be courting her?”
Darcy did not answer. Frown creasing his brow, he began to put the papers scattered on his desk away, meticulously folding some documents into a leather pocket and gingerly opening and closing drawings in his escritoire, absently smothering back his hair between moves, a tic that Georgiana found particularly annoying since it was clear evidence that her brother had lost patience.

“Are you well? She drawled the last word with concern.

Darcy growled something undistinguishable.

Georgiana knew her brother only too well to discern that his present demeanour invited her to silently retire. With hesitant voice she asked, “Do you intend to supp at home?”

“I do not,” was the laconic answer.

“Very well, then. Will you not have some tea at least?”

He nodded in agreement and resumed fumbling with his papers. Georgiana did not know what to make of him. One minute he was the happiest of men, the next he was brooding over some unfathomable problem. Did this have anything to do with Richard? Darcy had been all smiles until she had mentioned her spotting Richard in Charing Cross.

The minute his sister left his study, Darcy flopped himself into his armchair, and sighed, one splayed hand to his brow. “Damn Fitzwilliam! What was I thinking when I introduced him to her?”
He paused to meditate on his cousin's actions. He could not blame him for falling for Elizabeth. Yet he could not reconcile with the idea that his cousin would keep what was rightfully his. After all, he had met her first, had he not?

Images of Fitzwilliam exchanging pleasantries and grins with his own favourite Miss Bennet assaulted Darcy's mind immediately unleashing the most dreadful feelings. Pangs of jealousy drove his thoughts obsessively towards that spot in Charing Cross where they might still be.

She smiled at him? Georgiana said as much. Blast! Why should I care? Is she anything to me? She is not! And yet she is. She is all that I have ever desired. He banged a clenched fist on the desk causing a wayward vase to fall down and smash against the floor. Curse these vases. Why should there be vases everywhere in this house?

Gordon's words came back mercilessly stabbing his pride, tainting every cherished feeling he had harboured for Miss Bennet. She is playing with you. The little voice chanted in his mind. It is all a sick game. Women are like this. They toy with a man's innermost feelings. Unable to think clearly, Darcy realised the whole affair was little by little building tension between he and his cousin. Was Fitzwilliam aware of all this?

This would not do. I must put an end to it. I warned her I am not to be toyed with.

Yet tonight, regardless of what his decision about Miss Bennet would be, he was expected at the Gardiners' for supper. Bingley would come for him at a quarter past four, and they would go for a drink at White's, Bingley's club, before heading for Gracechurch Street.

He checked his pocket watch. It was high time his toilet began. Gad, how he hated all this! London and the dandy life were too demanding for his taste. If it was not for Elizabeth's courtship, he would have been at Pemberley by then and away from the fastidious trendy neck-cloths. Only a year before, it used to take him between two and three hours to get properly dressed for a theatre evening, due to the pains his hair style demanded him to take in order to keep the wavy hair neatly under control. But since he had recently had his hair cut, as it was fashionable now, the time had been strikingly reduced. He now wore his unruly curls slightly tousled giving him a casual look to his otherwise pompous figure. This was most becoming, he had noticed as he cast a casual glimpse at himself in the mirror. Yes, definitely better than the camp tail he use to wear before.

The day after he arrived in London from Kent, he visited a new Tailor's Shop, Schweitzer and Davidson in Cork Street, and had some fashionable pantaloons made as was the current style. Darcy had noticed both Gordon and Brummell wearing those at the Regent Club, no French boots, which were quite anti patriotic in the face of the war with France. The breeches would be discarded, then, giving way to more austere wear.
So he chose those, and a pair of black Hessian boots to go with them. A Dark coat, of course, unadorned, but of the most exquisite cut worn over a shirt of the snowiest white and a well starched neck-cloth. All the preparation took him a mere two hours. He was quite satisfied.

* * * * * * * *

Elizabeth began her toilet after a most refreshing nap. The morning spent in Colonel Fitzwilliam's company, and after what had transpired between them had left her absolutely weary and starry-eyed. She knew she would have to make up her mind soon. Was she definitely in love with the Colonel? Would she be satisfied with a soldier's wife's life? She reckoned the idea was not unappealing. Fitzwilliam was decidedly attractive. She had chills in her spine whenever she recollected his stolen kiss and his charming smiles played a seductive game from which spell she found no escape. She had been drawn into an exciting play and was almost completely captivated by it.

Almost.

As the time for Mr Darcy to come approached, Elizabeth became increasingly restless. But this time, she was aware that her restlessness did not stem from discomfort. No. She was merely anxious to see him. Mr Darcy was not the dashing Colonel, yet, now revealed as her admirer, Elizabeth looked at him with different eyes.

Forgotten was the time in which she regarded Mr Darcy as dull and disagreeable. Now she found him most interesting, even attractive. So imposingly tall, had it not been for his pompous air and his reluctance to smile Mr Darcy would have been by far the handsomest man of her acquaintance. Yet when he smiled he could make her forget a thousand colonels. Add to this the fact that she had recently discovered the incredible power she exerted over the man; Elizabeth concluded that Mr Darcy was a formula impossible to disregard.

With her mind still racing due to the unexpected haste in the marriage proposal from Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth sat on the edge of her bed, pondering what to do. Indeed, in a case such as this there was precious little a lady could do, but to discard one of her suitors.

Unable to come to terms with such a decision, Elizabeth made up her mind to procrastinate yet a bit more her resolution, and so commenced to select the perfect gown for her meeting with Mr Darcy, which proved a daunting exertion.

Now which dress would appeal him most? With a smile on her face she recalled his penetrating eyes struggling to deviate from their obligated route, namely her décolletage.

Surely she would be asked to play this evening. Certainly Mr Darcy would offer to change pages for her.
Determined to tempt the gentleman, she selected various dresses and tried them all several times before making up her mind. The white dress with the pink lace was indeed her favourite. She remembered having worn it while in Netherfield Park and in retrospect, she recalled Mr Darcy paying her great attention while wearing it. The low-cut neckline left a generous portion of her bosom in exhibition, an asset she was always sure to exploit when the occasion merited it. She reckoned this one did.

Her hair was also given special attention. While taking so many pains, she realised she had not done all this in preparation for Colonel Fitzwilliam's visit. Was that supposed to mean anything? Was she taking so many pains this evening because she admired Mr Darcy more than she admired his cousin? Or was it merely an endeavour to rise to the occasion? After all, Fitzwilliam was much easier to please than his cousin. Either way, she was looking her best yet trembling like a leaf in expectation.

When the grand-father clock struck five, Elizabeth heard a carriage stopped at the Gardiners' door and it took her a Herculean effort not to rush to the door to open it. Instead, she stayed placidly composed at her sister's side, and allowed the old servant do his job. She heard Mr Darcy's golden voice in the hall and her heart went aflutter. What did all that mean? As his footsteps echoed in the corridor, she almost rose to her feet in sheer excitement.

And finally, there he was. Despite there was someone else (Mr Bingley) masking her view with his frame, Elizabeth's eye only captured Mr Darcy's figure in his dark suit, looking superiorly handsome. Gad, how could she have been so blind! She cut a short curtsey and smiled her most beautiful smile. But Alas! He did not reciprocate as she had expected. Instead, he bowed his head and with a clipped tone, he said in his sharp voice:

“Miss Elizabeth.”

Chapter 7

The Constant Lover

If Elizabeth expected anything from Mr Darcy, she was in for disappointment.

The proud gentleman, though much in love with her, had already had his full share of humiliation and was unable to tolerate the oddity of a shared courtship with his cousin. With a gloomy face that would have scared even Mrs Bennet, he sat, ever so well-groomed, on the edge of a chair, as if he were about to leave at any minute, as pensive as he was remote.

In vain did Elizabeth look at him for signs of love. Unlike Fitzwilliam, Darcy betrayed absolutely nothing when he put his mind to it. Apparently impervious to her charms, he remained coolly detached during the entire evening.

Dinner came and then coffee, of course, and Mr Darcy had scarcely uttered the common pleasantries that polite society would require from him in a case such as this, at all times avoiding eye contact with Elizabeth. And yet the more he detached himself, alas, the more Elizabeth would double her efforts to please him. She persistently directed her every word to Darcy who in turn would only answer her with impeccable drafted
sentences that did not fail to vex her exceedingly.

When the time came for Elizabeth to play the piano-forte, it was not Mr Darcy who turned the pages for her. To Elizabeth's dismay, her uncle offered to do the service. Oh, what a shameful waste of precious time had all her searching for the perfect low-cut dress been if Mr Darcy would not rest his piercing eyes on the excess of her décolletage! Elizabeth would not have it. After the second song, she begged to be excused; and, once the attention to the musical instrument was passed on to the expert hands of Mrs Gardiner - who was only too pleased to be able to play for such noble company - Elizabeth headed for Mr Darcy's hiding place.

Ever so slyly, Elizabeth approached her reluctant suitor. In seeing her come in his direction, Mr Darcy turned to the window and peered out sightlessly.

“Expecting anyone?” she said cheekily.

He directed his gaze to her eyes and then returned to his pastime without an answer.

“Sir, have I done anything to you to deserve so severe a reproach?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You have scarcely looked in my direction let alone answered my repeated endeavours to engage you in civil conversation. I dare say I must have offended you in some way.”

“I can scarcely call indifference a reproach.”

“Indifference? So you are purposely being indifferent when, not a day before, you persisted in your constancy? I am sorry if I do not comprehend you, sir. Why did you bother to come at all?”
“It is not my custom to fail once my word is given. As for my constancy, I dare say it is not such which can be doubted, madam.”

“So I have offended you."

“You may or you may not.”

“What sort of an answer is that? Have I offended you or not?”

“Madam, this is a question that only you can answer.”

“How could I ever know? Whatever I have done I did not do on purpose.”

“I must disagree. I say whatever you do is done quite purposely.”

“Are you accusing me of having deliberately offended you?”

He answered something unintelligible.

“I am sorry, sir. I failed to hear you.”

“Very well. I must be completely honest with you, Miss Bennet. Reports of an alarming nature reached me this afternoon. You were seen in the company of my cousin in Charing Cross in a very compromising situation.”

Elizabeth blinked.

“I must admit I am not entitled in any way to claim your sole company, least of all become your chaperone; but, since we have agreed to become better acquainted with each other, I have presumed, wrongly I now see, that you have agreed to a conventional courtship. By this I had supposed that you would accept my company and that of my cousin under the appropriate guidance of your family and not show yourself openly… unchaperoned with…either of us.”

“Have you been following me, Mr Darcy?”

“Heavens, no! My sister Georgiana saw you in Charing Cross.”

Elizabeth blushed uncontrollably. His sister of all people!

“She saw when… Suffice it to say that she instantly thought you were one of my cousin's conquests. 'Tis highly irregular! You can imagine my concern. I have contrived, after battling against my better judgement, to introduce you to my sister tomorrow, and now she has the idea that you and Fitzwilliam are… In the event of our understanding becoming a more serious attachment…how can I ever introduce you to her now that you have…that she has…?” He clenched his jaw, unable to finish the sentence.

Mrs Gardiner's song concluded just as Mr Darcy was voicing his last words. Hence, his question was quite distinguishable for everyone to hear. The whole room turned to look at them, which occasioned Mr Darcy's crimson to defy a redcoat.

“I see.” Elizabeth said lamely.

“Miss Bennet, this courtship has been taken out of my hands,” he said with a huff. “To tell the truth, I believe you are quite taken with my cousin, in which case, I would rather step aside. I am afraid I will not be able to continue to further our acquaintance in the present circumstances. I…”

“Mr Darcy, will you not take me to the courtyard for a while? I need some fresh air. This way, sir,” she said with an air of importance. If she was to give him an opportunity to win her affections, she must silence him at all costs.

Sending a cursory look to the rest of the company, Darcy allowed Elizabeth to guide him to the small courtyard. Elizabeth inhaled deeply.

“Sir,” she began with great composure and dignity. “I was not in any way in a compromising situation with Colonel Fitzwilliam. I do not deserve such censure. Those are heavy charges against me!” and she looked at him from behind thick eyelashes.

Oh, those bewitching eyes! Darcy remained defenceless in the face of them. “I am sorry, madam. I did not mean to imply that you have fallen into scandalous behaviour,” he found himself saying. It was untrue, for he had indeed believed her most maliciously trying to take revenge on him. “Rather I should say that your family has failed to provide you with the appropriate company and you, in your naivety, have allowed my cousin to expose you in a compromising way. You are, of course, blameless in this matter.”

“Sir, that is not the case, I assure you. Your sister is completely deluding you.”

“My sister is incapable of deceit!”

“I am not saying that she purposely practiced deceit! Your sister's eyes must have deceived her. Colonel Fitzwilliam was a perfect gentleman all the time, I assure you. Of course, he is very different from you, sir. Fitzwilliam is a little wild; I concede that. But then again, I understand you have always found it difficult to show your emotions.”

“Do I? How odd. I thought I was astonished,” he said ironically. “Perhaps I am not betraying my emotions as I should,” he retorted contemptuously.

“Well, this day is an obvious exception.”

“Indeed? I am not concealing my emotions?”

“Sir, as usual your pride comes first. And now you are jealous.”

Darcy's pallor betrayed his great discomfort. His grave eyes battled with hers, which were full of amusement at the gentleman's expense and watching him with some kind of recognition he could not reciprocate. “What a perfectly ridiculous suggestion.I am not.”

“Proud or jealous?” she inquired with great mirth.

He opened his mouth to retaliate but she cut him short.

“Sir, before you say something you will regret later, allow me to explain the circumstances under which your sister might have seen Fitzwilliam and me, and you will see there is no need for you to be so upset,” she said sweetly, almost motherly as she touched his arm with her un-gloved hand.

Oh, how much his heart desired that! In truth, he was ready to believe her anything. “Very well,” he said and rested his eyes on her with great expectation.

“Did your sister not see my cousin, Margaret, who was taking the stroll with us?”
Darcy coloured.

“I see she did not.” Elizabeth ventured to say.

“She did not mention Margaret, no,” he admitted.

“No, of course not. It is a pity she did not greet her cousin. In this manner she would have been introduced to Margaret and me, and none of this would have happened.”

“Georgiana is uncommonly shy.”

“And prejudiced.”

“Perhaps a little. But then again. Who is not?”

“Well, then. Now you were saying you do not wish to further our acquaintance. Am I mistaken?” she said while she dipped her hand even further into the crook of his arm.

There she was - playing her infamous game with him again - tossing his heart into the air to see where it landed. He sighed, feeling completely disarmed in the face of a formidable offence. “You take pleasure in revenge, and you make good use of the most devastating weapons to inflict pain on your enemies.”

“I am not revengeful!” she exclaimed innocently. Then dropping her voice just a little she added, “And you are certainly not my enemy! But you did hurt my feelings a few minutes ago.”

“I did, did I not?” he whispered enthralled with her pout. He was about to forgo all claims of the conventional courtship he promoted so fiercely. It would only take one movement of his head and…

“You implied I am…infatuated. Those are harsh words to be said to the lady whose affections you intend to gain.”

Mr Darcy chuckled. His heart was still pounding. “I am a stupid dupe, am I not?”
“You said so yourself.”

God, she had him completely at her mercy! He had never in his life been possessed by such a strong attraction or been so helpless in its spell. The moon lifted itself from behind the clouds, throwing white rays on them as he approached her.

Elizabeth watched him look at her, his eyes obligingly resting on her bosom. She smiled and wished he would kiss her just as Richard had done in the theatre box. Something was happening to her that, to her excitement and alarm, she was unable to control. The storm was over. Elizabeth had successfully weathered it and Darcy's features had regained their composure. The rage had left him as quickly as it had seized him, to be replaced by foolish remorse and a shameful desire to kiss and make love to her.

The former, he was sure to best. The latter…was bound to best him.

Chapter 8

A Kiss and a Sigh

Darcy glanced down at his shoes in perfect embarrassment. When he raised his head again, his jet eyes turned towards her as Elizabeth backed under the big chestnut tree in the Gardener's courtyard. Sheltered as she was by the deep shadows the moon cast amongst the branches of the tree, he could distinguish her silhouette but nothing of her countenance. However, he did hear Elizabeth's crystal laugh. What had he done to have summoned that final, provocative laugh, he wondered? Ah yes! He had conceded her he was not as intelligent as he had thought.

“Do you laugh at Fitzwilliam too?” he asked dryly before he could consider how stupid a question it was, tilting his chin up as he spoke, coming a bit closer, his glare accusingly on her face.

Elizabeth looked back at Darcy and gave him a combination shrug and smile. “Oh, no. There is no need. Your cousin, sir, possesses the rare ability to laugh at himself.”

That was enough to upset him again. “And what other abilities does he possess?” he asked stiffly.

Again the laugh came out. “You take great interest in you cousin's affairs,” she snapped.
Accustomed as he was to the excesses of her teasing, one would have not expected Darcy to retaliate. Unfortunately, when it came to Fitzwilliam, Darcy was sure to lose his wits, jealous as he had grown of him.

“So?” he demanded.

“So?”

“You were about to refer to me the many assets of my cousin's.”

She tilted her head up and pulled her lips into a moue that, to Darcy's mind would have subtracted from the beauty of any other lady. But in the case of Elizabeth it rendered her deliciously enticing, for it revealed the fine line of her beloved features and allowed him to admire the redness of her pouted lips as well. He thanked Heavens he was not any nearer lest he should surrender to her allurements and kiss her, pout and all. He thought best to demure, thus, he maintained his safe distance.

Elizabeth took a little time to think of a proper answer, for she relished every opportunity to humble him. At length she said: “There is a limit to a girl's coquetry, sir. Besides, there are certain details about your cousin I would rather not discuss with you, if you do not mind.”

Darcy stared at her with apparent perfect composure, but inwardly, her words were daggers effectively stabbing his already injured pride. What were those details she was not desirous to tell? Was it perhaps that Fitzwilliam had already taken some liberties over her? Was his cousin's wooing superior? Darcy's jealousy was stronger than any other feeling he had ever had, thus his perception of what was appropriate to discuss with her or not had diminished considerably; his mind reeling with thoughts of revenge over his cousin, irremediably pulling him to what he feared most. Ridicule.

“I suppose” he continued visibly affected, “because Fitzwilliam has spent so much time with you, turning pages for you at the pianoforte in front of my nose, rattling away like the parrot he is, he has so quickly risen in your estimation.”

Her smile blossomed again, and she laughed once more as much at his words as at the awkwardness of his phrasing.

“By Jove!” he shot out with a tremor of anger. “You cannot deny you are laughing at my expense.”
Seeing him so decidedly upset, Elizabeth took pity on him. With a look of sweet tenderness she endeavoured to ease his temper, just as she had done a few minutes ago.

“Hush, sir. This behaviour is beneath us. We are having a lover's tiff and we have not yet come to an understanding,” her use of the words `a lover's tiff' effectively catching Darcy's attention.

“I can only imagine what our married life will be like!” she cried merrily. “You will spend half your life scolding me for every smile every time your cousin visits with us!”

Darcy frowned and one could have sworn he was pouting, until he realized she was merely teasing him. He tightened his lips, the trace of a smile playing across them, his dimples conspiratorially appearing on his face.

“Can you imagine Christmas? You will forbid the poor colonel to present me with a gift! And I shall be thoroughly resentful for I just love a Christmas gift! And of course, you will probably forbid mistletoe at all!”
Now this reference to mistletoe did elicit a boyish grin from Mr Darcy. How long until Christmas? Mm. He would make sure there was sufficient holly to hang from every door at Pemberley this year.

“I shall make a note to hang mistletoe everywhere at Pemberley, provided you promise to spend Christmas with us this year.”

She blushed most becomingly. “We shall see.”

“I am satisfied. But do not expect me to invite Fitzwilliam,” he said suddenly becoming serious.

“You must know, sir,” she added with an expression of openness and honesty, “before you continue sulking, you were the first man I ever…I ever saw.”

Darcy remained motionless. His mind could hardly believe his ears. Had she just said what he thought she had just said? “Was I?” he muttered with his heart in his throat.

Elizabeth continued playing her little game, delighted he had once again fallen for it. “Oh yes,” she sighed. “But you did not look at me in those days, remember? You thought it beneath you even to dance with me!”

Darcy looked down to his shoes again. “So that is why I am suffering the pain, am I not?”

“Oh, no sir,” she promptly said shaking her head in denial. “I would not dare. It is not my intention to make you…suffer the pain as you put it. It is only I must be sure. You did not like me, even despised me once. Hence, I learned to dislike you. Even took great pains to settle myself to the task of hating you. I suppose I did that as a sort of self defence. It was better to convince myself you were not worthy of my affection. Then all of a sudden, when I was determined to be your enemy, you came to me swearing that you loved me and that you wished to marry me. It was all very confusing, sir!”

“I understand.”

“I was thoroughly persuaded you despised me.”

“I am so sorry for that,” he paused to accommodate his thoughts for a moment; then he boldly ventured to ask. “So …you once liked me?”

“You know I did, well enough…but why speak? Why think? Why look back?”

“You do not like me any more?”

“Why should you think so? Have I not agreed to a courtship? Would I have a gentleman to court me if I did not like him? But you do puzzle me exceedingly.”

Darcy had never been more disconcerted in his life. He was used to be in control of everything and this play she had pulled him into was utterly foreign to him.

“What can I expect, Miss Elizabeth?” he asked with his heart upon his sleeve. “How can you ever forgive me? I understand I was such a stupid ass. You do well in punishing me.”

Elizabeth noticed he was about to be sad. She decided he had had enough for the day, so she smiled warmly and held up one little finger, motioning Darcy to come over where she was standing. “Mr Darcy…”
she endeavoured to cajole him. “Will you not sit here with me?” she gestured towards a bench conveniently placed sheltered under the tree. “Please…Let us not speak of the past, shall we?”

The silver moon poured down on her gown; off in the distance, an owl hooted repeatedly. It was a hot evening, and Darcy's necktie was beginning to bother him.

He obliged her and smiled ruefully, but nonetheless did not feel comfortable. He was beginning to realize the rules of her game, and did not truly enjoy it. “There. Is it not a beautiful evening?” she asked waving away their previous conversation, and with it, the phantom of the colonel.

“Indeed it is,” he conceded thoughtfully. Off ahead of them a chorus of frogs sang joyfully; the rich scent of lavender and of their bodies in the heat of summer filled the air. A long, unwanted pause followed.
“It is hot,” he said with a sigh. She nodded and was silent.

“Now it is your turn to say something, Miss Bennet.”

“I suppose we can discuss books now, since we are not dancing.”

“I have not read anything new,” he confessed dismissingly. Much as he loved the exertion, reading books was not what he had recently had in his mind.

“No books,” she said thoughtfully. She paused for a moment and just as quickly charged again. “Well, then. You must allow me to pick an unusual topic of conversation.” There was a tinge of amusement in her voice and Darcy's curiosity was picked.

“Pray, proceed with it, if you please.”

“Very well, then. Be not alarmed though. I need your advice on a very intimate topic.”

“By all means, I shall be happy to be of help,” he said as he looked at her with rapture.

Elizabeth glanced at him saucily and asked “Pray tell me. What shall I wear for you, sir?”

Darcy sent her a quizzical look. What could she possible mean by such a question? Wear? When? At their wedding night?

“I beg your pardon?” he asked not a little disconcerted.

“It is my wish to please you, sir, to make amends. After all, I must please you since you are courting me. What would you have me wear for tea on Wednesday?”

Oh that…Albeit the question had taken him by surprise, the fact that she asked him his opinion on her gowns was quite flattering. Did she really mean she would dress according to his request? A smile of considerable richness blossomed on his lips.

“Any of your dresses will do, madam.”

“Oh, I hope you told me what your preference is. I am afraid I am not in possession of a varied wardrobe, Mr Darcy. I daresay you have seen me in all my gowns by now. Pray tell me, which of them is of your liking? I shall wear it for you on Wednesday. Or is it that you do not like my dresses?”

Ever so slyly she was extricating information from him as regards his tastes and likes. Darcy blushed despised himself. Oh, he liked her dresses very well. But he liked what they contain much better. Indeed, he dreamed of peeling off each layer of her gowns until every inch of her white skin was exposed to his hungry eyes. But of course, he said nothing of this to her. After all, it would not be very gentlemanly of him to confess her that he liked her naked best.

“I like this dress you are wearing this evening very well. I remember you wearing it at Netherfield Park's drawing room. It was the first night of your stay there, if I recall well.”
It was Elizabeth's turn to blush now. Indeed, she had chosen that dress expressly, knowing too well he would remember her wearing it on that occasion.

Ever so fetchingly, Elizabeth leaned against the hardness of the tree, her little feet dangling back and forth. “And my hair? What shall I do to my hair?”

This was a dangerous game she was playing. Boldly, his hand reached out a stray lock. He loved her hair. He loved all of her.

“I like it loosen. The way you wear it at night, when you go to bed.” Hardly had he finished his sentence when every improper feeling and veneration he felt for her, invaded him, and momentarily he lost control of his thoughts and his words, his blood rushing to his loins; the sweet pulse of an arousal bourgeoning within his pantaloons.

Elizabeth's eyes widened and words escaped her. Neither of them said anything for a moment. Excitement notwithstanding, sitting across her dark eyes was all he could wish for, words never being of great importance for him to feel comfortable with her. He knew she would carry on the whole conversation on her own if needed be. But in the short while silence persevered, Darcy dared to dream with her company as his wife, envisioning Elizabeth as the Mistress of Pemberley, beautifully adorned for him to bask in her many assets, waiting for him in all the glory of her youth, her seduction in his bedchamber. Gad! How much he desired her!

She pushed at a lock of hair with the back of her hand, probably unconscious of how every movement of hers affected him. His mind swiftly projected his imagination to that night in which, once properly married, he would make her his. She would be naked, of course, but her fine countenance, surrounded by the cloud of dark curls that would fall to her shoulders would be reflecting the pale halo of the moon, just as that night.
He pulled himself back from his reverie, and looked down at her, ever so slowly leaning over her almost imperceptibly. He did not know why or how he had come so close to her; in truth he was perfectly aware of the futility of giving in to passion, but despite all the plausible reasons that had hitherto restrained him from surrendering to the seduction of her lips were perfectly logical, the next moment he was kissing her with such heady confidence and abandon as he had never imagined he was capable of.

But he was doing more. As if endowed with will of their own, his hands roamed the delicate skin of her shoulders, sending such shivers through her spine, such pleasurable emotions, such warmth as she had scarcely conceived she could possible feel.

It was impossible to tell if Mr Darcy's delight in being so agreeably engaged with the lady resulted from the low-cut Miss Bennet had decided to wear that night ~which, had he chosen to take such liberties, were now, as he kissed her, affording him considerable access to her ample bosom; or the wonderful sensation of his lips, nay, his tongue, tasting her mouth with abandon; or from the fact that his blood had rushed down to his loins thus awaking every tissue in his body. Regardless of the reason, he took immense delight in the three of them, and for a brief moment in which he was able to think coherently, he thought to make note of the date and the hour in which he had conquered the right to be so intimate with Miss Bennet.
Whilst they were kissing, however, the door leading to the courtyard opened ever a little. Indeed Mrs Gardener had finished playing, but, of course, Darcy and Elizabeth were completely unaware of that. Miss Jane, had been sent to see to the missing couple, Mr Bingley following her closely behind, but when this latter held the door open in a gentlemanly gesture towards his fiancée, he immediately perceived the pursuits in which his friend and his sister in prospect had engaged themselves. He kept a hold of the handle of the door and turning quickly, he motioned Jane in the opposite direction.

But it was too late. Bingley's flushed face spoke for him. He had witnessed the scene and Jane understood something out of the ordinary was happening in the courtyard. Though he was not the kind of man who would spread this sort of things, his first thoughts were that Darcy had proposed, and being accepted, they were merely sealing their understanding with a kiss. Judging by the position of their bodies it was an exceedingly warm kiss.

Mr Bingley wished he had been just as bold.

But Jane did not seem to approve of kisses, for when he had hinted to kiss her she had turned uncommonly flushed and decidedly upset.

“Will you not go out?” Jane inquired a little concerned. Albeit Bingley knew it was his duty to put a stop to Darcy's uncommon behaviour, he found the sole idea to confront his friend almost unbearable. Was not Darcy his closest friend, his mentor?

“I … I ...”

“What?

“Do you not feel like dancing a reel? We could ask Mrs Gardiner…”

Jane scowled him with glacier eyes, “I think we should join them, Charles.”

“Of course. Yes. As always you are right.”

Meantime, oblivious to the uproar they had caused in Bingley's mind, Darcy and Elizabeth ended the kiss. Flushed and shivering with emotion, Elizabeth found herself unwilling to open her eyes.
When she finally opened them, Darcy was still holding her, his arms wrapping her waist in a zealous embrace. “I am sorry. I know not what came over me. I apologize.” Yet not a little did he loosen his tight hold of her.

“Will you always kiss me like so?” she sighed still relishing the exertion.

“I beg your pardon?”

Chapter 9

A Little More Conversation and Less Action, Please.

“Will you always kiss me like so?” she sighed, still relishing the exertion.

“I beg your pardon?” Was she asking him for more?

“Mr Darcy, that was a lovely kiss. Will you not do it again?”

“You will not be kissing my cousin tomorrow?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot accept, madam, that you will allow my cousin similar liberties as you have allowed me. It is inconceivable. Pray, promise me you will not…”

“Mr Darcy, I believe you are going too far in your presumptions. It is not gentlemanly of you to ask me about such an intimate subject. You are not my betrothed, not my brother, nor my father, to be entailed to such information. Pray, do not raise the subject any more.”

“I am sorry.”

“You should be.”

“It is only that―”

“Pray, Mr Darcy, drop the subject. It is most ungenerous of you to continue with this tone. I am most disappointed in you, sir. I have believed you to be more mature.”

“You do not understand, Miss Bennet. I am a very possessive man. I fear that kissing you has imprinted on me the sensation that you no longer belong to anyone else but me. If I ever know you have kissed my cousin, I shall go mad.” And to imprint on her the manner of his devotion, he took her in his hands again and kissed her with exceeding urgency.

Indeed Mr Darcy could not believe his own hands. Was he holding Miss Bennet as if they were properly engaged? Had he just exacted a most delightful favour from the lady, twice?

On breaking the kiss, they both felt an incredibly urgent necessity to start afresh. Elizabeth, almost voiced her desire to be kissed again. Her eyes twinkled with mischief. There were butterflies in her stomach and a lurching sensation in the confinements of her womanly portal. Goodness, it felt so good! Mr Darcy's mouth tasted delicious! She could hardly contain herself from leaping onto his lap and bestowing upon him a generous kiss on his lips. Instead, she let out a sonorous sigh.

In the face of such encouragement, there was little he could do but oblige her. Was he not dying to experience the moment again as well? Without giving the matter a second thought, Mr Darcy finally responded to the call of his emotions with a fresh kiss that left the pleasantly surprised Elizabeth breathless. Oh! Such flutters! She shivered and trembled without the slightest gust of wind. But she was not cold. Not at all! Quite the contrary! She would have sworn she was sitting on fire.

Elizabeth, hardly hiding a rather `tarty' look, most improper coming from a lady, eyes half closed, lips half open, eagerly awaited Mr Darcy's new round of affection with great expectation. She drew herself a little closer to his body, her thigh prodding his, thus encouraging the gentleman to proceed.

However, Mr Darcy's innate lover was fiercely battling with his own better judgement, which suddenly seemed to have rendered him somewhat reluctant to continue with this new approach in their relationship. Indeed, Mr Darcy's conscience was crying out that it was high time they abandoned the shelter of the tree and returned to the house. All sorts of very convincing arguments shot into his mind in order to prevent him from relinquishing his honour to the altar of this petty Venus.

She perceived his shyness in that he quitted their embrace; both his hands were now resting at his sides. This would not deter Miss Elizabeth from her original pursuit, namely: to savour the enticing sensation of his very desirable, incredibly arousing lips. She could not wait to see whether it had been Mr Darcy's kissing that had elicited such sensations in her or whether it had been a mere coincidence.

Elizabeth made up her mind to press her suit a little more, so to speak. Ever so boldly, she took his hands and placed them on her waist again. Then she encircled his neck with her hands, stretched her neck, and pouted her lips to give him easy access, clearly showing him her own expectations.

While he was pondering the possibility of obliging the infatuated lady, Mr Darcy flicked a quick glance towards the house. He was sure that he had noticed some movement at the doorway and pointed out to himself that it would be highly unsuitable to be discovered in a compromising position, in which case not only would the lady's respectability be at stake, but also his own reliability as a true dandy. No he would not `kiss' her again ― at least not that night and not in such little recommended surroundings. Much as he would love to fall prey to his own desires, Mr Darcy was well aware of the folly of such comportment. Hence, he recoiled.

Clearing his throat, he gauged what her reaction would be at his reluctance to resume their previous endeavour. Hence, he attempted to hint her that the kissing exertion was over by releasing his light hold of her waist and, with great delicacy, detached himself from her arms. A little slow in the uptake to sense his removal, Elizabeth opened her eyes with great reluctance, and found herself confronted with Mr Darcy's grave eyes. Both his hands were by his sides again, his lips tightly pressed together. He was obviously not going to kiss her again.

“Oh,” she uttered, deadpan.

“I believe we have had enough of this.”

She raised an eyebrow and sent him a lopsided smile. “If you say so,” she sighed.

“Miss Bennet, you must believe me. It is necessary that we stopped kissing.”

“Why? You do not find it desirable?”

“Desirable? Believe me,” he said shaking his head. “you would not like to know of my present desires.”

“Would I not?”

“No, you would not.”

“I know I am safe with you,” she said reassuringly.

“I thank you for your trust,” he said coughing lightly. “But truth be told, at this moment I am not to be trusted. Not with these feelings you have awoken in me.”

“Oh, you have felt something as well?”
“As well?”

She nodded demurely.

“Did you…have you felt…something?”

“Indeed. While you were kissing me, I had the oddest sensation. I have never felt that way before. Such a commotion! What can it mean?”

Darcy stared at her in great bewilderment. Was she playing with him again? “I am sorry. I fail to understand. What do you mean?”

Taking her hand to her bosom she exclaimed “There was this trembling inside of me, here. I could hardly breathe,” she confessed, unembarrassed. “Every time you…your…mm …I felt this…burning, yes, that is it, a pleasant burning sensation, mind you. And my heart…it went wild. I thought I was having a stroke!”

Recollecting the sad state of his groin a few moments earlier, Mr Darcy almost cried out, “Oh, Miss Bennet. Stop!”

“Why?” she argued innocently.

“Because this is torture! I am not made of stone, madam.”

“Did you feel it as well, then?”

Mr Darcy looked intently into her eyes. This was no game. Deep inside he knew she was being honest with him, merely seeking some information to settle her mind as regards her feelings. “What I truly feel would not be suitable for you to hear, Miss Bennet.”

“Oh, but I must know! Please, you must tell me your feelings. It is of great importance that I know.”
Darcy gulped, his body was trembling and he could hardly speak without betraying it. Did she really mean it? This was hardly proper. A gentleman would not speak of this with another gentleman, least of all with a lady.

“No, I cannot.”

Elizabeth huffed in annoyance. “Oh, you are impossible! This is most unnerving. I have told you, have I not? Do you not think it is only fair that I know your feelings as well?”

“I have told you how much I love you.”

“Oh! You're insufferable!”

“Very well,” he began. Oh, this would be exceedingly difficult. He was feeling utterly ridiculous and terribly vulnerable. Nevertheless, if she wished to know his feelings, he would tell her. Perhaps it was necessary for their relationship to take a more intimate turn. “You cannot begin to imagine what I feel when I kiss you,” he said without looking at her. “There is but only one thought in my mind, and that is the moment you and I…” he took her hands in his and kissed them with passion. “Thoughts of the most improper nature assault me, madam and I am no longer in command of my… body. You must understand I cannot allow this to happen.”

Catching his meaning, Elizabeth gasped and blushed uncontrollably. “Bless my soul!”

“It is only natural, madam. I…was merely being a little carried away…that is all.”

“It is only natural that lovers might get a little carried away, is it not?” she conceded with a tinge of merriment in her voice.

“I believe it is,” Darcy said, unconvinced.

“But I know for certain that you value my honour and virtue,” she voiced tentatively.

His alert loins pulsing beneath his pantaloons reminded Darcy that he could hardly be trusted with anyone's virtue, let alone that of Miss Bennet. His conscience gave him a piercing twinge. He must warn her that he was in no way as reliable as she thought him to be ― not now that he had tasted her. Hence, he said impiously, “I would not be so sure.”

Elizabeth watched him struggling for words.

How could he put it without being too forward? “Indeed, I value your confidence in my gentlemanly behaviour, madam. But, you must know I am a man. Especially when I am with you thusly, I am most definitely the worst of my species. I cannot help it. Your charms arouse every tissue in my body, and I can hardly restrain myself. Had we not been in the open with our family and friends ready to pounce on us at any minute, I do not know what might have happened. Believe me, dearest madam, if you value your virtue, I would not rely on me any longer, if I were you. ”

This short colloquy left Elizabeth speechless.

“I am sorry. This is a truthful account of my feelings, madam. Deceit of all kind is my abhorrence. Please, do not think too ill of me.”

“Lord. I would never have imagined it was so fierce!”

“You must think me a savage.”

“Oh, no, no. Not at all. I confess your words have left me a little bewildered. But I am thankful you have been so…so…honest with me. I am beginning to understand my own feelings now. This has been very enlightening.”

“Has it?”

“Yes. Very. You see, sir… Please do not get me wrong. I want to be honest with you. The truth is that…I feel very much the same!”

Mr Darcy's heart was beating wildly. His blood promptly abandoned his Northern regions to rush to the South, a path it was beginning to recognize quite well. The next moment he was at it again, their mouths one over the other, kissing with great eagerness.

As Mr Darcy's lips lingered on hers, however, Elizabeth was sure she had felt his hands, or at least one of them, on her bosom. Slightly bemused by the touch, she would not dare to open her eyes. It would be too embarrassing. In any case, they were no longer there. It had been merely a fleeting moment, a feathered touch. Nothing to worry about… Oops, there they were again. This time a little more pressing touch. Well, she could not argue he had not warned her he was not to be trusted.

Goodness! Where were his hands now? By Jove, he was daring! Would she be able to cope with such 'kissing', she wondered? Of course she would. And in any case, she would not waste such an abundance of hormones. Mr Darcy's `kissing' was positively exciting. Just as he had brushed his hands over her décolletage, she had felt the same certain something under her skirt, a most delightful quivering in her inner thighs that she had never felt before and now she was sure the sensation had been elicited from Mr Darcy's passionate touch and was not a mere coincidence.

“Mr Darcy?” her lips pronounced his name with a sultry tone.

“Miss Bennet…”

A third voice was heard at their back. “Mr Darcy?”

Chapter 10

Daughter of Eve

“Mr Darcy?” Mr Gardiner's not-so-gentle voice echoed in his ears. Mr Darcy almost jumped off his shoes with a start. He had been caught red-handed, which occasioned the gentleman's blazing passion to subdue instantly. Recollecting himself immediately, he managed to face the situation with amazing coolness and, despite that the odds were decidedly against him, did not lose composure and remained relatively calm. Yet, he had to think of something ― in haste.

As if by magic, he came up with an incredible, if not preposterous alibi. “There,” he said soothingly, as he winked an eye to an incredulous Miss Bennet. Not for one moment did he turn around to face his ulterior interlocutor. “It was only a little eyelash in your eye. How does it feel now, Miss Bennet?”

“I am fine, sir. I thank you,” Elizabeth answered, barely catching her breath. She was exceedingly flushed, half as a result of the nature of her previous exertion and half as a result of her astonishment of seeing herself in such an unseemly situation with Mr Darcy.

“Mr Darcy?” Mr Gardiner repeated with increasing impatience, his hands locked at his back, a creased brow directed towards the couple sheltered under the tree.

“Yes.” Rising to his feet, Mr Darcy addressed the otherwise affable gentleman with amazing calmness. “Ah, yes. Mr Gardiner.”

“Is everything in order, sir?”

“Yes, yes. Everything is in order.” He then turned around to help Miss Bennet rise to her feet. “Mm…I thank you… Miss Bennet had a wayward eyelash in her eye that was err…making her…cry. I simply removed it with my finger.” He showed his little finger as Elizabeth nodded emphatically from behind.

“It hurt.” Elizabeth interjected.

Darcy looked at her. “It did?” he asked her a little bewildered not much accustomed to telling lies. Realising Miss Bennet was only trying to reinforce his argument, he remarked: “Indeed, it hurt. Yes, the eyelash, you see…”

“I am fine now, uncle,” Elizabeth assured her uncle while touching her eye lightly. She began to perceive that, above all, Mr Darcy was a preposterous liar.

“An eyelash,” Mr Gardiner chanted, and nodded, lips pursed in disbelief. Then, he surveyed the courtyard with a critical eye taking a lazy turn around the bench where the lovers claimed to have been engaged in eyelash-perusal. “I daresay you are the possessor of amazing eyesight, Mr Darcy,” the gentleman concluded shrewdly. “Taking into account the absolute dimness of the surroundings, you must be. I should say quite an inappropriate place to look for stray eyelashes. Would you not find the bright light of the saloon more convenient for your purpose?”

“Yes, of course. Much more convenient. Definitely.”

“Well?” he grunted, cocking one eyebrow.

“Miss Bennet, here, was crying. I thought it would be much better to calm her pain before we went in…”
“Yes. We thought it better to…” Elizabeth interjected.

“I have very good eyesight, sir,” finished Mr Darcy.

“I see.”

“Yes…” Mr Darcy said with a conclusive tone. “Ahem…we can go back to the saloon, Miss Bennet, now that you are feeling much better.”

“Mr Darcy,” Mr Gardiner interrupted with a self-satisfied smile.

“Yes?”

Are you feeling all right yourself?”

“I am. Thank you.”

“You seem to be bleeding, sir. There, on the corner of your lower lip.” Elizabeth's uncle gestured to his own lip. My Darcy mimicked him as if he were looking at a mirror. Straining his eyes, the gentleman approached Mr Darcy to distinguish better. “Or is it rouge?” Never in a hundred years would Elizabeth have imagined she would see Mr Darcy's face acquire such pallor in so short an instant. Unable to restrain herself, she giggled rather stupidly.

“Bleeding. I am. Darn it. I must have bitten myself.” Mr Darcy took a handkerchief and covered his lower lip with it.

“Let me see,” said Elizabeth scarcely restraining her laughter. She checked the gentleman's lip and shook her head. “It is a bad cut.”

“Shall I help you, Mr Darcy?” offered Mr Gardiner.

“Oh, no,” waved off Mr Darcy. “It is quite all right. It happens all the time. Shall we go in?” An unconvinced, but exceedingly amused Mr Gardiner took a few steps forward as Mr Darcy offered his arm to Miss Elizabeth, who was taking great pains in containing her mirth. She could not help pointing out in a barely audible tone, “Deceit of all kind is my abhorrence.”

Darcy smiled. “I daresay there are times deceit is unavoidable, madam,” he remarked very composedly. “Though, I have the feeling that your uncle was far from being deceived by our explanation but, for reasons of his own, has chosen to turn a blind eye to us.”

“I would never have imagined you the possessor of such theatrical skills, Mr Darcy,” she teased him. “You would excel on stage, sir. Have you ever tried the theatre?”

“Only from my private box. By the way, I shall be glad to take you to the theatre one of these evenings.”
“To your private box?”

He smiled charmingly again. This courtship was exceedingly interesting. He could only imagine what their engagement would be like. “Nothing would be more delightful than taking you, madam, to my `private box' in private. But things being as they are, I am afraid it would be very difficult to come up with a good excuse to be so close to you. I daresay your uncle will make an issue of finding suitable chaperones for us from now on.”

“I daresay you are absolutely right, sir.”

The rest of the evening, Elizabeth teased Mr Darcy mercilessly. Nevertheless, he enjoyed every bit of it. At the backgammon table, he let her win; and at cards, she did the same for him. Soon Elizabeth discovered that Mr Darcy's kisses were not his sole assets. His society gradually became her most exquisite enjoyment. When later that evening it was discovered that he was musical as well, her estimation for him grew immensely. The instrument was unlocked, and Elizabeth played as Mr Darcy sang.

Bingley was perplexed. He had never truly known Darcy before that day. He listened to his friend, completely baffled. His musical talents, which were obviously considerable, had never been evident to him. His rich voice had an extraordinary sensibility Bingley had not known him to possess. Truth be told, all the party was enchanted, and Miss Elizabeth in particular was captivated beyond measure. Miss Bingley's words, that he was a man without fault, began to churn in her mind; and, for the first time, she agreed with the lady.
By the end of the soiree, Mr Darcy had captured Miss Elizabeth's undivided attention, and her partiality, which he had discovered to be `growing' in the courtyard, was now quite perceptible, not only to him, but also to the rest of the party, in that she kept forgetting the forms of worldly propriety too easily. It was only necessary for him to say a word to capture her complete attention and engage her in unrestrained conversation with no shyness or reserve whatsoever ― whatever the topic.

At length, before it was time for the suitors to leave, ever so unwisely, Mr and Mrs Gardiner left the couples a few minutes on their own while they put the children away. Mr Bingley, who was eager to emulate Mr Darcy's exertions, quickly took advantage of this and guided his reluctant betrothed to an advantageously gloomy corridor leading to the doorway, with the meek excuse of giving her a trinket.

Mr Darcy, needing no such excuse, wasted not a second. He pounced on Miss Bennet and bestowed a most passionate kiss upon her neck.

“I have been meaning to do this for more than an hour,” he breathed into her ear. “This lock of hair on your neck has been teasing me the whole evening.” Her response was a brushing kiss on his lips. He smiled ruefully and dove into her mouth with pleasure, grunting as if in pain.

“Are you determined to continue our courtship in this manner? How long are you planning to torture me?”

“I happen to like your kisses a great deal, my dear sir. Therefore, it is no torture for me. I would not relinquish such pleasure for anything in the world, now that I have discovered it.”

“Neither would I, Miss Bennet, I assure you. I guess that pushes my suit a little forward?”

“Definitely, sir.”

“Only a little?”

She bestowed a kiss on his chin and then another on his lips with an absolute want of caution. “I should say your suit has taken quite a leap. Mr Darcy,” she breathed, relishing the moment.

“I am satisfied.”

“Are you?”

“Do not tease me so, Miss Elizabeth,” he growled, wishing he could he pressed himself against her body. Indeed, in his present dealings with the lady, he hardly knew himself. The open display of their hearts' contents was such that he could hardly approve, yet the pull was so fierce that neither could he offer opposition. “It is fire you are playing with. You might burn yourself.”

“I am not afraid of you, sir.”

“But I am beginning to be of you. You are devilishly wicked, madam!”

“I am a daughter of Eve, sir. Like everyone else.”

“Indeed you are. Eve and the serpent impersonate in one. Will I survive?”

“I daresay you are fit for the job, sir. You have already tasted the fruit. Have you enjoyed it?”
“Absolutely.”

“Then surely you will come back for more.”

“No doubt.”

“Now, I am satisfied.”

Chapter 11
Who is the Fairest of Them all?

“I only hope the cherubim will allow me access to Eden,” Mr Darcy said, gesturing towards the stairs, as he detached himself from Miss Elizabeth. He could not blame their closeness to another wayward eyelash yet again. Taking his much-abused handkerchief, he quickly erased all marks from his face. “It would be much easier, you know, if you avoided rouge from now on.”

“I believe next time we are as close as tonight, I shall bite you so that your story of the bleeding lip is more convincing. What say you?”

Heavens! Nibbling her lips was something that had stirred Mr Darcy's fancy ever since he met her. Indeed, he would very much like to try that. Especially her lower lip, as he pressed his aching loins against her navel and…

The sound of a slap was heard from the corridor. A much-distressed Jane, flushed-faced and brow-creased, immediately stalked into the parlour. Mr Bingley, rubbing a ruddy cheek, a painful grimace upon his face, followed behind. Quick like a fish, Mr Darcy moved a safe distance from Miss Elizabeth. Mr Gardiner chose that exact moment to descend the stairs and speedily discovered that something was amiss.

“Unfortunately, I am certain there will not be many opportunities for kissing in the future, madam,” Mr Darcy whispered into Elizabeth's ear, not a little diverted. “Though, I should be glad to actually bleed in such a pursuit.”

***************

That evening, when the gentleman had vacated, Mrs Gardiner visited the girls in their bedchamber to have a heart-to-heart talk. First, she conferred with Jane alone, leaving her favourite niece, Elizabeth, the task of preparing herself for a little tell-off while she witnessed the tête-à-tête with Jane from a corner.
At length, Mrs Gardiner directed her attention to Elizabeth.

“My dear,” she began with great delicacy, “for one evening I should think you have done quite well. But, dearest, do you not think you should make up your mind by now? I cannot imagine facing Colonel Fitzwilliam in the morning. Not after this evening.”

“I see what you mean. I have been too much at ease with Mr Darcy, have I not?”
“Yes, dearest. Especially in what entails stray eyelashes.”

Elizabeth blushed. She knew Mr Darcy's argument had failed to deceive. “Yes, you are in the right,” she said penitently. “I have erred against every notion of decorum in that quarter.”

“Oh, do not be so hard on yourself, dearest. Your uncle and I understand that many times temptation can overcome every possible claim of reason. Neither of us can be surprised at your attachment to such a gentleman. We could only wish it were less openly shown.”

“Of course, aunt.”

“Now it only rests for me to know a little bit about your Mr Darcy. Do you like him that much, dear?”

“I do. I like him. Very much. Yet he was so dull in the past. There was nothing in him to recommend his friendship, let alone his suit. But all of a sudden he turned into this charming man. Do you not think him charming, aunt?”

“Yes, quite. I may venture to say, however, that Colonel Fitzwilliam is as charming as well?”

“He is.”

“So?”

“I do not know.”

“Have any of the gentlemen made you an offer?”

“They have.”

“They?”

“Yes. Both of them. But I have found it very difficult to make up my mind. I like them. Both of them.”
“Lizzy. This is an unseemly situation. You cannot have them both.”

“Of course I cannot. But can I have either? How can I tell one of them that I have chosen the other? How can I ever make up my mind, knowing one of them will be pained? Even if I do and marry one of them, the other will be my relative anyway. I will be thrown into his company at family gatherings and the like. Probably, Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam will not be on the best of terms anymore. I would not wish to be the cause of family disruption.”

“I see. Is this what has caused your hesitation to accept either gentleman?”

“Partly. But the truth is that I would have chosen Colonel Fitzwilliam had not Mr Darcy made his appearance last week.”

“ Perhaps this means you are more inclined to chose Mr Darcy?”

“Perhaps. Mr Darcy is all a woman could wish for in a suitor. He is a sensible man, and sense has always seemed very desirable in a prospective husband to me. He is well read and able to talk and impart a good deal of knowledge. I have found him capable of providing me with much information on a great variety of subjects, and he answers my inquiries with excellent readiness and good breeding.” Without knowing why, Mrs Gardiner smiled. She could not help it. Perhaps she was thinking on the state of Mr Darcy's lips after Elizabeth and he had come back into the saloon that evening. Sensible indeed!

“Add to which that he has more money than he can spend.”

“Indeed.”

“So that seems to solve your problem. It must be Mr Darcy.”

“Oh, no! It is not so simple. The Colonel is also very desirable, even for a man of one and thirty. He has seen a great deal of the world, has been abroad, and he also has a thinking mind. But, above all, he is exceedingly charming and good-natured. He possesses genius, taste and spirit. His understanding has all the brilliancy of an intelligent man, and yet his feelings have the ardour of a poet, and his voice and gestures the expression of a passionate lover.”

“He is also very handsome in his regimentals.” Mrs Gardiner pointed out.

“Yes, he is.”

“It seems, Lizzy, you are caught in a tangled web. But be that as it may, you must make up your mind before long. I beg you, dearest, for my and your uncle's sanity.”

“Yes, aunt. I will. Soon. I thank you.”

Chapter 12
How to Saddle a Mare and Come Out Unblemished from the Exertion.

In the carriage on their way back to their respective homes, Mr Bingley addressed the subject of Mr Darcy's little outing. Admittedly, Bingley was quite amazed as regards what he had witnessed in the courtyard. Until that night, he had been of the intelligence that such behaviour was completely undesirable during an engagement, let alone a courtship. Yet, if his friend, the honourable Mr Darcy, dared to reach such a level of intimacy with a lady, then it absolutely must be gentlemanly behaviour. Naturally, Mr Bingley had wished to emulate his friend in a cosy corner of the corridor, only to receive a slap on the face from his fiancée. Predictably, Mr Bingley was anxious to extract from his shrewd friend the strategy to follow in order to exact female favours and remain unblemished from the exertion. Accordingly, Bingley endeavoured to initiate a man-to-man colloquy, taking every consideration of Mr Darcy's reserved disposition and reluctance to speak about himself and his private affairs. Granted, if Mr Darcy was to speak openly, he must be somewhat in his cups.

Hence, Bingley spoke thusly, “I say Darcy, I believe there is reason for a little celebration. How about stopping for a glass of wine?”

“That will be very agreeable, Bingley. Let us go to White's.”

At White's the two friends drank in comradeship. By the time the third bottle of claret was opened, Mr Bingley proposed, “Let us make a toast!”

“What are we celebrating? Your ruddy cheek?” Mr Darcy chuckled.

“Your engagement, of course!” he exclaimed rising to his feet.

“My― Are you mad, Bingley?” Mr Darcy said in a hushed voice, gesturing for his friend to resume his seat. “Of what are you talking?”

Bingley's answer betrayed that he was rather put out. “Oh, come on, man. Do not feign innocence. I know it all.”

Despite the fact that Darcy looked positively angry, Bingley continued impassively. “Darcy, I saw you! If you are not engaged to Miss Elizabeth, then you had better begin giving me an explanation!” This time Darcy looked at his friend with murderous eyes.

“You saw…us? What do you mean? What exactly did you see?”

Bingley mimicked a kiss, pouting his lips in a comical gesture. He was positively drowned in wine.

“Bingley, you are seeing things.” Darcy protested. “Your fiancée must have been slapping you too often. She must have loosened something in there.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no. I know what I have seen. In fact, I am suffering the effects of my trying to emulate you.”
“Then, it serves you right. I was merely taking an eyelash from Miss Bennet's eye.”

“Indeed. And what was your tongue doing thrust into her mouth?”

Claret notwithstanding, Mr Darcy understood that the nature of Mr Bingley's questions was not only compromising but also impertinent. “Bingley, my tongue was not… I shall not answer that.”

“Don't be daft, Darcy. I am not that stupid. If you wish to leave your engagement as a secret, then so be it. But do not try to fool me. I know what I saw. And if you were removing an eyelash from Miss Bennet's eye, then I shall pray a hundred eyelashes get into Jane's so that I can endeavour the same.”

“Bingley. Whatever you saw, you did not. Understand?”

“You mean you are not engaged?”

“I have nothing to say on the matter.”

“You are not? Then how on earth did you…”

“I am afraid you are being meddlesome, Bingley. What Miss Elizabeth and I were doing in the courtyard is none of your business.”

“Allow me to differ!”

“What?!” Mr Darcy cried rising to his feet.

“Oh, now you get offended. Come on, Darcy. I caught you this time. I demand you answer my questions.” All in all, Mr Darcy had always been a good friend to Mr Bingley as well as his confidante. But this time Bingley's stupidity, mingled with his eagerness to extricate information from him had gone too far. Jet dark eyes sending daggers at his friend, Darcy made as if he were readying himself to leave. Demand indeed! Bingley comprehended he had forced things a little too much. Hence, he changed discourse. “Man! I need your council!” and in a pitiful gesture, he dropped his head on the table, face down.

That was it. Mr Darcy's fatherly instinct towards the orphan Bingley was invoked.

“Very well. What is it you want to ask?” he said as he resumed his seat in front of Bingley.
Bingley lifted his head with a triumphant smile on his lips. “Are you engaged to Miss Elizabeth or not?”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“I question of principle. That is all.”

“It is not in my hands to answer that. Another question.”

“Were you kissing Miss Elizabeth?”

“I was.”

“On the lips?”

“Yes,” he conceded with some pride.

“Did you like it?”

“I will not answer that.”

“How did you accomplish that without a proper engagement?”

“Did I say I am not engaged?”

“You are, then.”

“I did not accept it or deny it.”

“Darn it, Darcy. You said you would answer my questions!”

“I said I would answer your questions for enlightening purposes not to satisfy your greedy curiosity.”

“Did you kiss her more than once?”

“What?”

“More than once. You know…”

“I am not…” Bingley puffed and huffed in protest, thus making Darcy feel he should tell his friend a little more ― for enlightening purposes, mind you. “Yes.”

“How did you do it?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“How did you accomplish it? I tried to kiss Jane and she almost knocked me down.”

“She slapped you because you kissed her?”

“More or less. I was imitating you.”

“Me? “

“Well, truth be told, your hands were not exactly in your pockets while you were kissing Miss Elizabeth.”

“Bingley! How long did you stay there spying on us?”

“Enough to know that kissing entails more than lips.”

“By Jove, Bingley! Do not ever repeat that again!”

“What? Why not?”

“I mean…do not say that aloud!”

“Oh, you must not fear. After all, we are almost family now.”

Darcy grunted. “I am not so sure.”

“You do not mean to marry her?” cried Bingley in astonishment.

“I do. But she must agree to it first. And freely. Not out of compromise.”

“You mean she is unwilling to marry you?”

“She is a little difficult to persuade.”

“Yet she seemed quite cuddled in your arms this evening.” Bingley noticed Darcy had become serious and ill at ease. “Are you not making this up, Darcy? Is she really unwilling to marry you? I can hardly believe a lady would refuse your suit. Are you certain you wish to marry her? You know you must after you have kissed her like that…”

“I am, Bingley. It is not me. I would have married her long ago! But she is the most puzzling creature I have ever known. And bless my soul, I love her for that.”

“You like her because she puzzles you?”

“She is a challenge, Bingley. Life will never be monotonous with her. There will be a puzzle to decode on every path I take with her. A most delightful riddle she is. I can barely wait to start deciphering it.”
“Man! You are doomed. I thought I was in trouble, but compared to you…”

Darcy sneered. To his surprise, he was relishing the conversation. He felt like a champion in the face of a devoted disciple. Just as Bingley was about to shoot his next question, they were unexpectedly addressed by a gentleman. It was Mr Brummell.

“Darcy! It is good to see you!”

“Brummell. Good to see you, too. This is my good friend Bingley. Bingley , this is Mr Brummell.”

“Oh, please. Call me George. May I join you? I have lost a good sum at dice and am in need of some pleasant conversation to take that sour taste from my throat.”

“Have some claret,” said Bingley stupidly.

“I thank you, but I do not think that wine will take the sour taste from my mouth. As a matter of fact, I am rather choosy when it comes to beverages. I will ask for some champagne, if you do not mind.”
The champagne was accordingly requested, and the threesome soon emptied the bottle. Mr Brummell, feeling more at ease with the alcohol in his veins and a moist cherry on his lips, began what he considered small talk.

“How is that business in the country you were going to get into, eh Darcy?”

cleared his throat. “Fine. I thank you for asking.”

“What business?” asked Bingley ever so imprudently. He had not heard a word about it.

“Oh, business,” Darcy said dismissively.

“Yes! Darcy has recently bought a mare, but she seemed reluctant to be saddled! Did my advice work out, sir? It always does!” laughed Brummell.

“Yes. It did. Thank you again.”

“I am glad to hear about it. Next time you must try a hayloft. Country girls just love a hayloft!”

“You mean mares,” Bingley interjected.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have just said country girls. You were talking about mares.”

“No, I was not.”

Bingley looked puzzled.

“Well, yes. Mm…I think it is high time we go home, Bingley. You and I must get some rest to see the mares…err, the ladies tomorrow…remember?” And with that, Mr Darcy took Bingley by the elbow and hailed for their hats and coats, while at the same time he apologised to Mr Brummell for their hasty departure.

In the carriage, Bingley looked pensive and lost. His sagging body was sprawled on the seat, his brain swimming in liquor, yet he could not stop thinking of the words Mr Brummell had said about Darcy and the country mare.

“You never told me how you accomplished it,” he finally blurted out.
“Pardon?”

“The kiss.”

“Ah yes.”

“Well, then?”

“I would rather not talk about it, if you do not mind.”

Bingley was silent for a while. At length the penny dropped, and he asked rather demandingly, “A mare?”
Mr Darcy rolled his eyes. “I am sorry.”

“You saddled her?”

“Oh, no, no, no. It is not what you think. I did not saddle Miss Elizabeth, I mean I did not seduce the mare… Oh! Hang Brummell!” He flopped himself against the back of the seat and was silent. Bingley coughed lightly. After a silence, Darcy said, “I only talked to her.”

“You talked to her.”

“Yes. Talk.”

“What about?”

“Just talk.”

“You are not being helpful, you know.”

“It was not a seduction, Bingley. I kissed her, yes, then we talked, then we kissed again and I expressed my feelings as I…as I…” Bingley accompanied Darcy's hesitation with a forward movement of his head as if helping the words to come out. At length, Darcy said it. “…caressed her.”

“Caressed?”

Mr Darcy shrugged. He feared Mr Bingley was too wet behind the ears to comprehend his explanation. Yet Mr Bingley's imagination soon took command of his brain and body.

“Oh!” Bingley went red in the face.

“Enough.”
For the first time in his life, Mr Bingley agreed to be silent. Yet sleep did not come easily for him that night; and, when he finally surrendered to a deep slumber, images of Darcy touching Miss Elizabeth assaulted him, leaving him breathless and painfully alarmed for the rest of the night. Wet dreams of the most arousing nature followed him all week; and, when it came time to visit the small house in Gracechurch Street, he was scarcely able even to come close to his fiancée without great disturbances beneath his breeches. He could not look Lizzy in the face for quite a long time.

Chapter 13
Amantium Finis

Early next morning Colonel Fitzwilliam paid his accustomed call to Miss Elizabeth. As he turned the corner of Gracechurch Street, he was not surprised to see his cousin's carriage in the street. He did not have to elaborate much. Evidently, his cousin was calling on his intended.

This would not be the first time Darcy had engaged himself to compete with Fitzwilliam. Yet this time Fitzwilliam thought Darcy had gone too far. It was not until Colonel Fitzwilliam had voiced his wish to court Elizabeth, that Darcy had made up his mind to marry her. Until then, Darcy had admired her, longed for her, yearned for her, yet the very idea of an alliance with her had been completely discarded. Predictably, Darcy's competitive nature turned out to be stronger than his voiced desire for good connections in a prospective bride. He would not have her while she remained his to take. But the minute his cousin had set eyes on her, Miss Elizabeth had become the one and only. Can that be called love in all honesty? Fitzwilliam chuckled inwardly.

Fitzwilliam was far from yielding to his rich cousin's whimsicalities. Granted, he did not like the idea of sharing the lady with Darcy in the least, or the notion of having to compete with him for her good opinion. He reckoned that, until then, the objects of their arguments had always been horses, coats, hats, and occasionally, a dancing partner. Never a lady's heart. Admittedly, Darcy outshone him in both looks and wealth. This idea did unsettle him. He pondered how much his cousin's ten thousand-a-year had afforded Darcy the good opinion of any marriageable lady of the ton. It was then that Fitzwilliam began to understand Miss Elizabeth's reluctance to marry the colonel.

By and large, Fitzwilliam's good nature and amiability made up for any little flaws that a lady could find in him as a suitor. All in all, he was a good prospect. He had some wealth in his small inheritance from his mother, he had made an excellent career with the regulars, etc, etc. But above all, he was exceedingly caring, a perfect gentleman, a man of honour, and one who could make a woman's happiness simply with a smile from his handsome lips.

On arriving at Mr Gardiner's house, he was received by a much puzzled Jane, who guided him towards the breakfast room, where an exceedingly tense Miss Elizabeth and a very much flushed Mrs Gardiner were breakfasting with the children. An unflappable Mr Darcy, ever so cool, was having only a cup of coffee at the other end of the table.

“Miss Elizabeth, Mrs Gardiner. Good morning.” Fitzwilliam merely nodded towards his cousin.

“Good Morning, Colonel. Please take a seat. Would you like to have breakfast this morning? You have so far refused my table.” That was generosity from Mrs Gardiner. It was an excellent way to hint to Mr Darcy that it was the colonel's custom to call in the morning and that Darcy's presence there at that unseemly hour was uncalled for.

“I thank you, yes. That would be very agreeable.” With that, the colonel sat beside Miss Elizabeth, who instantly helped him to a generous portion of baked potatoes. Mr Darcy, by consequence, was left alone on his side of the table, a gap being left between him and Mrs Gardiner, and he observed all this in perfect silence while sipping his cup of coffee with a composed look upon his face. Soon Jane joined them and sat beside Mr Darcy, taking great pains to engage him in conversation, but to no avail. She was quite justified in her endeavour, for Mr Darcy was in fact admittedly tense, though he betrayed not a thing. Jane, for her part, was anxious to keep the bad humour of her sister's suitor at bay and, knowing the effect which good food has upon the soul of a man, began to fill a plate of food for Mr Darcy and even replaced his cup of coffee with a glass of red wine.

After breakfast, Jane, out of sisterly compassion, was resolved to keep Mr Darcy's company during Miss Elizabeth and Colonel Fitzwilliam's morning stroll. It was by this mesmerism which sisterly bond possesses that the otherwise sluggish Jane became bold and confident. She prattled, chatted and talked of all sorts of subjects with an ease not known of her. Admittedly, Mr Darcy was quite unused to conversing with the elder Miss Bennet, and at first did not pay her attention, but nonetheless, endeavoured to follow her colloquy and, accordingly, gave intermittent nods and occasionally a short response. Any intelligent man would have soon become engaged with Jane's sweet manners and surprisingly witty conversation. But Mr Darcy was too busy keeping an eye on the other couple. So much so, that he did not see Lord Byron coming in state to talk to him.

“I am glad to see you again, sir! You left in a hurry the other night, and I neglected to give you my card.”
Mr Darcy was thoroughly surprised to see the gentleman in the park and, with a great deal of hesitation, made the appropriate introductions of his companion, though he failed to call his acquaintance “Lord Byron”, and gave his college's name instead. Byron immediately took Jane for the lady to whom Darcy had made reference at White's a few days before.

“I say, Darcy. My cousin, Miss Marion Daff is holding a ball in my honour on occasion of the great success of `Childe Harold's Pilgrimage', and she has prevailed upon me to invite my personal friends. I shall be glad to see you and your fair lady there.”

Jane's eyes widened. “Childe Harold's Pilgrimage?” she asked in amazement.

“Indeed, dear madam,” he answered majestically.

“You are Lord Byron?” she gasped.

Byron just relished the moment. “At your service.”

“Sir,” she said, unable to contain herself, “I loved your work.”

“Very kind of you,” was the poet's reply. “You do me great honour. I wonder if you have any spirits to dance, Miss Bennet?”

“Always, sir.”

“Well, then. It only rests for me to say I shall be glad to see you in a few days. Please let me know if you will be attending as soon as may be.”

“I shall inform you, Byron. It was very kind of you.” When Darcy got rid of his acquaintance, Colonel Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were nowhere to be seen. Darcy could have kicked himself. In vain did they walk the many paths in their search. At length, they gave up the quest, and Darcy took Jane back to the Gardiner's.

Meantime, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam walked in companionship, but neither of them spoke much.

“You are upset, sir?”

“Oh, no. By no means. Only a little pensive.”

“I am sorry about Mr Darcy. He called without notice. I was not expecting him.”

“I did not know he was calling on you.”

“I owe you an apology, Richard. Your cousin had indeed been calling on us along with Mr Bingley.”

“But today he has come on his own,” he remarked.

“Indeed he has. Most unexpectedly.”

“It is hardly possible to talk with my cousin at my heels. You perfectly know Darcy covets you, Miss Bennet. He must be simmering in jealousy on seeing us walking alone. I would be if I saw him walking with you in this manner.”

“Has he told you about his feelings for me?”

“He has.”

“I see.”

They walked in silence a bit more, and Fitzwilliam took a cursory look behind to make sure Darcy was not behind them.

“May I have a word with you, Miss Elizabeth?”

“About Mr Darcy?”

He nodded.

She sighed.

“Very well. What have you to say?”

“I take it that Darcy has renewed his addresses?”

“He has.”

“Is that the real reason why you have refused my suit?”

She sighed again and was silent.

“Should I take that silence for a yes?”

She raised her eyes up at him and shook her head.

“No?”

“This is very embarrassing, sir. You must think very ill of me.”

“I do not.”

Despite herself, she smiled, lowered her head, and less confidently confessed her feelings to the good colonel. “I am grieved, sir,” she said gravely. “I fear I am in a terrible tangle of emotions.”

“Am I disturbing you, Elizabeth? Would you like me to…”

“No. Not at all.”

“I suppose this means that if I asked you again you would refuse me once more?”

“Oh, please, do not. Do not ask me now.”

“I shall not.”

They walked a little further and Richard claimed her hand. “Elizabeth, a courtship is supposed to be a merry time, one we will always remember with smiles on our faces once time has washed away our youth. I fear that I can no longer smile, and neither can you. I will bargain no more, Elizabeth. I withdraw. I find no fault with you, mind you. But it is obvious that I have clung to what you cannot give me. So I shall bid you farewell for the time being.”

“Am I to understand that you no longer love me?” she asked, suddenly scared of his detachment. She was loath to marry him but wished to keep him.

“Do not get me wrong. I do love you. But your heart does not seem worthy of my attachment. At least not now. I know what your heart is capable of, so I am not giving up on us. But I reckon that it is no good to press my suit any longer. I shall go to Spain on my own. Take your time to think about us while I am away. If you should miss me, then you must write to me and let me know.” He kissed her hand with great devotion. “Yet, I must make something very clear to you before I go.” Fitzwilliam's gravity became such that Elizabeth felt a horrible lump in her throat, and tears welled in her eyes. “You must know I love and worship you with all my faculties of regard and admiration. In all my life, I have never been as happy as during the past few weeks. All earthy delights are nothing compared to one single look of your beloved eyes. All previous courtships mean nothing to me, Elizabeth. I love you now, and I shall love you always. If I drop, you will be my very last thought, if I survive, you shall be my first endeavour.”

Indeed, those words had a devastating effect on Elizabeth. Very much affected by the colonel's words in parting, she leapt into his arms and disappeared under the folds of his cloak in an absurd manner. They remained in this position for quite a long time, she trembling all over, he relishing the sensation of her petite body pressed to his own. When they came apart, she was quite broken and cast down.

“Come,” he said with great composure. “I shall take you home.”

Later that very evening, Colonel Fitzwilliam made his appearance at White's. He was not in the habit to go there so late, but he had been invited by a fellow Colonel to have a talk about their imminent removal to the continent since both their regiments had been ordered abroad.

As he was playing cards with his comrades, he overheard a conversation between two extremely well dressed gentlemen whose acquaintance he had not yet made.

“I saw your friend Darcy here yesterday evening, George, my boy,” the pale, dark-haired gentleman said. “By Jove he is a stiff fellow!”

“He is indeed! That is why I enjoy teasing him so!”

“It seems he had his way with the little country girl he told us about the other night after all!”

“I cannot blame him. I have seen him with his Miss Bennet taking a stroll in the park. Such a lovely face, beautiful eyes, fair skin, pretty figure.”

“And front?”

“Most becoming!”

“And I have thought him a fool!”

“You say he made love to her?”

“I do not know that much!”

“By Jove! I would give half my fortune, if I had any, only to take a little peek at Darcy having it off with his country miss!”

“I suppose he must marry her now!”

“Undoubtedly!” And they both roared in laughter.

That was enough to unsettle the poor colonel for the whole evening. The sole idea of Miss Elizabeth in the arms of another man was preposterous in itself. But the anguish that occasioned her good name being thrashed about by two good-for-nothing-so-called gentleman was insupportable. For it must have been Miss Elizabeth to whom they were making reference. Yet he could not understand how his cousin had dared to confess his dealings with Miss Bennet to such idiotic fellows.

Of course, Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately dismissed the notion that Miss Bennet had fallen so low. Repressing an immediate impulse to call the stupid men out, he excused himself with his friend and left White's in the blackest of moods.

Chapter 14

Word of Darcy's reputed country beauty spread speedily among gentlemen in the club and soon reached the ears of the ladies of the ton. At Byron's ball, there was hardly any other topic of conversation. It was only providence ― because Darcy was so adverse to balls in general ― that he had refused the invitation after all; and, accordingly, further inconveniences were spared. But the face that was described and the name that was connected to Darcy's conquest was not Elizabeth's but Jane Bennet's, since she was the lady who had been seen in Darcy's company in the park.

"This is not to be borne!" cried Caroline Bingley at his brother's face, when she returned from the ball that evening. "And this is the woman to whom you wish to be engaged? A woman whose name has been thrashed about from mouth to mouth in London? Whose name and reputation have been ruined in the most scandalous manner!"

"But this is falsehood! None of this is true!" Bingley complained.

"Its falsehood or truism is of no consequence. Her name has been trod upon and that is the material point."
"That does not bother me in the least. Nor will it deter me from marrying her. "

"But it does bother me! And you must remember how much your choice of wife might affect my future. A connection with someone whose name has been blemished might lessen my own prospect of marrying men of any consideration in the world."

"I do not see how. Jane is absolutely innocent; and I am perfectly convinced that so is Darcy. Miss Bennet is very much attached to me, Caroline. You do not understand…"

"On the contrary ― I understand perfectly well. Miss Bennet is in love with you, but she flirts with Mr Darcy."
"Oh no! Not flirts! Jane is incapable of wrongdoing!"

"Oh well. It is probable that she will neither love so well, nor flirt so well. In any case, she has been exposed in time. Your engagement has not yet been announced, which is a source of relief. Had it been the case, it would have ruined us forever."

"I think you are being carried away by gossip a little too much. This is a mistake, I am certain! For a kingdom! Darcy would never…"

"Darcy! Oh lord! Can you not just see? It must have been by his own inducement that all this was spread. For I am certain he wishes to warn you against the evils of contracting so lowly a connection!"

"Caroline! To be guided by second-hand conjectures is pitiful and beneath you. I know Miss Bennet's heart. And it lies with me. It has been so ever since we have set eyes on each other, and there is nothing you―"
"And her sister! Of course I see it all clearly now! She has lured Mr Darcy's cousin! She drew him in while her sister hooked Mr Darcy! Surely she realized there was more to earn in those quarters. Now they have both the money and the connections! Oh, how scheming they turned out to be!"

"This is preposterous! I have spoken with Darcy myself, and I am certain Miss Elizabeth is seriously attached to him! I have seen it with my own eyes!"

"You have, Charles?"

"Yes, I have. He was holding her and …"

"What?"

Bingley suddenly realised he had spoken too much. He closed his mouth and refused to speak any further.

"Have you seen them in a compromising situation? Charles!"

"I…I…"

"That can only confirm my suspicions. They are merely gold diggers. The apple does not fall too far from the tree!"

"If I cannot endeavour to persuade you that you are in the wrong, then let us both speak to Darcy. I tell you he was well aware that I was…I am engaged to Miss Bennet. I shall have a word with him and everything will be solved."

But Bingley's dreams of a speedy solution could not be more scarce. As Colonel Fitzwilliam made what he thought would be his last call to Mr Gardiner's house before he started packing for his journey abroad, he found the house in an uproar.

Lizzy was holding a letter in her hands as she spoke. "I am sorry, Richard. Something horrible has happened. You will have to forgive me, but…" At that, she broke and could not speak for a while.

"What is it, Elizabeth?" Her pale face and impetuous manners made him start; and, before he could recover speech, Elizabeth hastily exclaimed:
"I beg your pardon, but I cannot tell you. I must go to Longbourn on business that cannot be delayed. I have not an instant to lose."

"Good God. What is the matter? Is anyone in your house ill? Are you ill?"

"No. I am quite well. It is not that."

"But you look truly ill."

At this, her knees failed her, and she lost composure. Colonel Fitzwilliam immediately ran to her side and held her in his arms. Ever so tenderly, he helped her sit on a chair, then hurried to the table, poured some sherry in a glass and offered it to her, but she refused to drink. In seeing her suffering so much, his emotions suddenly palpable again, he found himself eager to console her. Caressing her hair and tenderly kissing the top of her head as she dipped her face in his lapels, Fitzwilliam wondered about the source of her distress. She was trembling fiercely and Colonel Fitzwilliam's heart melted and suffered with her. But he said not a word but, in wretched suspense, patiently waited until her sorrow subsided and she could explain herself. At length she recovered part of her power and spoke. "I cannot retain this from you," she said between sobs. "In fact it cannot be concealed from the general knowledge for long." Thus, she proceeded to pass him the intelligence of her younger sister's elopement with Mr Wickham.

Colonel Fitzwilliam, in a most agitated manner, hardly able to contain his anger and shock, began to inquire as regards the details of the sad affair. When he came into the intelligence that Darcy was aware of the Bennet's acquaintance and consequent friendliness with the scoundrel, his face went white with anger. Yet, he concealed all this from Elizabeth and, leaving her with the excuse to allow her time to ready her things for her trip, hastily retired towards his cousin's townhouse, not without first assuring her that he would not leave her alone in her distress.

He found Darcy completely unaware of the latest news. As he was rising to welcome his cousin, the butler announced the unexpected arrival of Mr Bingley. The two gentlemen looked at each other but said not a word of what in reality had called them to Darcy House in the first place. Darcy knew not what to make of them. They were obviously in great need to have a word with him. And since he believed his cousin more worthy of his attention (after all what could Bingley's concerns be that could not be solved over a glass of port. His cousin's, however, might require a pair of duelling pistols), he managed to persuade Bingley to seek him later in the day. That was again mere providence, for the delay had considerably calmed Fitzwilliam's animosity and now he could talk about the subject that concerned them with relative composure.

Darcy's reaction to hearing of the turmoil at the Gardiner's house was overwhelming incredulity. But his dejection in feeling that he might have spared his beloved all her present suffering had he not been so proud and reserved was indescribable. His face was fixed in astonishment.

"Is it certain? Absolutely certain?"

"Indeed it is. I have seen the letter myself. They left Brighton on Sunday night, and were traced almost here, but not beyond. You must understand what it means…"

"They are certainly not gone to Scotland."

"What else can be expected from Wickham?"

"And what has been done? What have been attempted to recover her?"

"Not much. Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth are to travel to Longbourn immediately to take care of their mother. Their uncle has already begun to search in town. I suppose Mr Bennet is already on his journey here."

Darcy shook his head.

"Why did you not open their eyes, Darcy? Tell me. Why did you keep silence?"

Darcy made no answer. He seemed scarcely to hear him, and was walking up and down the room in what seemed to be earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy.

"Darcy! I am talking to you! Why did you not expose Wickham's real character to all these people! Do you not see? Had you spoken, none of this would have happened!"

"I am afraid it is all too late for regrets now, Fitzwilliam. What was done or not done is of little consequence."

"Darcy, you are a brother to me, but I must confess I hardly know you. You are not living under the principles you were taught to live. You should be ashamed of yourself! It is true you have been raised in an overbearing fashion, yet you have been too selfish and proud all your life. If your mother or father saw what you have turned into they would wish you were never born at all, for they were the most benevolent and amiable of people. Is there no end to your selfishness? When will you learn that there are people beyond your own circle who deserve your care and attention? Now the very ones you should have protected must suffer."

"I have heard enough, cousin. Now, if you would pardon me, I have business to attend." With that, Darcy gave his cousin a quick bow and quitted the room.

Thusly, Colonel Fitzwilliam was left alone in the parlour. He stayed in the house the necessary time only to wait for his coat and hat, and then he hastily returned to Gracechurch Street.

Chapter 15 and 16

Sanguine

Some change of countenance was necessary for Colonel Fitzwilliam as he walked into Mr Gardener's drawing room. He must disperse his ill humour for the sake of Elizabeth and Jane Bennet. True, the misfortune of Miss Lydia's elopement could not be erased yet something could still be done. With such reasoning Fitzwilliam resolved himself to offer his services to Mr Bennet as soon as the gentleman alighted from his carriage. But when talking to Mrs Gardiner, the colonel was informed that as soon as Mr Bennet had arrived, he and Mr Gardiner had gone in search of the couple.

Feeling himself restless, Fitzwilliam could think of nothing else but to offer to accompany the Bennet girls to their destination in Hertfordshire. For that purpose, he sent for the carriage that belonged to his family. Accordingly, they set out that very afternoon and arrived in Longbourn just before dusk.

Once there, the colonel observed with considerable apprehension the poor reception the girls had on arriving at their house. The mother was nowhere to be seen; Mary, the elder of the remaining daughters, seemed concerned, yet not as thoroughly distressed as the colonel had expected; while the youngest sister voiced her certainty that Lydia had done nothing so very wrong. Fitzwilliam stayed in their company long enough to witness Elizabeth reading a certain note Lydia had left for her friend in Brighton and heard distinctly when Elizabeth pronounced her sister Lydia to be a stupid fool.

Once he felt his duty had been done, Colonel Fitzwilliam thought it wiser to return to London directly, but the ladies would not hear of it. They reasoned it was already too dark for him to begin such a trip; and, in the end, he was compelled to accept their offer of a guest room at Longbourn and depart for the city with the first light of dawn.

Despite the fact that Elizabeth was much distressed, Fitzwilliam found himself enjoying the moment. Staying under the same roof with Elizabeth was something he had discarded ever since they had had their farewell conversation in the park. This was a pleasure which perhaps a whole day's visit at the Gardiners' would not have afforded, for the whole affair, sad indeed in its deepest form, had thrown him back into Elizabeth's company. The very sight of her, her weak smile, her touch, her voice so grateful, satisfied his need of her, and he determined to derive as much pleasure from his stay as he could, given the circumstances.

Now, it so happened that, in spite of Elizabeth's resolution of focusing on the problem in front of her, her mind most stubbornly drifted to that place where Mr Darcy must be. Indeed, she should not be at this time in a state of a spirit to care really about anyone's opinion of the affair, but in the case of Mr Darcy, things were different. She had had no way to apprise her now-favourite intended of the terrible news. Still, there was something in Colonel Fitzwilliam's demeanour manner of speaking that told her that Mr Darcy had been given some intelligence of the situation. How would he take it? Would he still be willing to make an alliance with a family whose youngest daughter had fallen so lowly? It would be a terrible thing if the gentleman were to recoil now that Elizabeth was persuaded to accept him. Ever since they had had that gratifying evening together at the Gardiners' home, Elizabeth had secretly, though very frequently, thought that, if she were to marry any of her present suitors, Mr Darcy was the very person to suit her character and condition. And those feelings increased after Colonel Fitzwilliam had withdrawn his courtship, for she would be now able to turn away and welcome Darcy's shows of affection with a clean conscience.

With such sensations, the return of Colonel Fitzwilliam's civilities could not be more ill-timed. Elizabeth's project of forgetting him found no ground when he was now so close to her. But she had the comfort of appearing very composed and grateful, while at the same time feeling very cross and distressed, not as much for her sister's sake but for Mr Darcy's opinion of the matter.

"I wish I had sent a note to Miss Darcy to explain at least my hasty withdrawal from town," she said to Colonel Fitzwilliam as she showed the gentleman to his room.

"You mean Georgiana?"

"Yes. I was to have tea with Mr and Miss Darcy today."

"You can rest assured, madam, that my cousin has been informed of your return to Longbourn."

"Oh, has he? I am most obliged, Richard." Elizabeth spoke with a very proper degree of relief. "I have been torturing myself with the idea that he…that they would find out about the whole affair when coming for me today. I could not bear to disappoint Miss Darcy without the resemblance of a proper explanation. Do you think the truth could be concealed from her for some time?"

"I am sure you can count of Darcy's secrecy."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, unable to conceal her wretchedness at hearing that Mr Darcy was aware of her misfortunes. "So you told him everything?"

"Part of it. I had to."

"How did he…" but she hesitated to ask the colonel how his cousin had taken the news of Lydia's disgrace.

"How he bore it?" asked he, not a little uncomfortably.

Elizabeth nodded demurely and glanced away to avoid eye contact.

"I cannot render a fair account of his feelings, Miss Elizabeth. Darcy is very reserved. I can only say that he regretted the whole affair exceedingly. He was wretched on your account." Elizabeth began to look terribly uneasy and could find nothing to reply. The colonel noticed the effect of his words, and hated Darcy for his haughtiness and pride which, in his own estimation, had been the means of all the present sufferings of Elizabeth and her family. "I am sorry. Darcy had to be apprised of the situation. Please, do not distress yourself. All will be well, you will see. I shall be in town by tomorrow, and I am certain I will be able to afford your father some intelligence of the scoundrel's whereabouts."

"Richard, there is something I do not understand. I am certain that Mr Wickham and Mr Darcy did not like each other. But you have just said Mr Darcy must be apprised of Wickham's dealings with my sister. Why? Has this anything to do with the living of which Wickham was deprived?"

"How much do you know about that?" he asked, a bit mystified at her knowing about it at all.

"Only Mr Wickham's account, I am afraid. Until recently, I have never doubted his word. However, Mr Darcy is not the person Mr Wickham has depicted. I reckon there was a period in the early part of our acquaintance, when I disliked Mr Darcy, when I was very much disposed to think terribly ill of him due to what I now gather might have been Wickham's false accusations."

"Indeed, I believe Wickham capable of spreading all sorts of falsehoods about my cousin."
"What exactly was the misunderstanding between them?"

"It was a scandal not unlike the one he has caused in your family. I am sure my cousin Darcy will gladly give you the details of his dealings with him when you ask him personally. Suffice is to say that I know this not to be the first time he has attempted to disgrace a family."

"Oh, Lord! So it is just as I feared. He has no intention to marry her! It is everyway horrible!"

"I am sorry. Truly sorry. But Wickham's intentions were clear to me ever since you showed me the letter. He was clearly not heading for Scotland. Now, if he can be found wherever he is hiding, there is still hope that he could be persuaded to marry your sister."

"But how is such a man to be worked on? I know that nothing can be done!"

Now Elizabeth's distress was paramount. She was sorry, very sorry. Her heart was grieved to an excess, for she understood that her power over Mr Darcy must be sinking. Everything must sink in the face of such proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. Lydia, the humiliation, the misery that she was bringing on her family swallowed Elizabeth's every hope to see Mr Darcy again. For, despite the fact that Colonel Fitzwilliam had been once a favourite, her thoughts had irremediably turned to Mr Darcy and how much she could have loved him, now that all love was in vain.

The train of her thoughts had made Elizabeth lost to everything else and, after a pause of several minutes, was only recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of Colonel Fitzwilliam, who in a manner which spoke more than compassion said, "Hush, please, madam. I cannot bear your tears." She nodded gravely but could not do as he begged her. Fitzwilliam, feeling terribly agitated to see Elizabeth's distress, cupped her chin and held her face to him. "Would to Heaven that anything could be either said or done in on my part that might offer consolation to such distress! I will not torment you with vain wishes. But you can depend upon me that something will be done. But please, ask no more questions. You will know it all in good time. Allow me now to wipe this tear and …" He reached out to erase a wayward tear that was solitary and involuntarily rolling on her cheek and almost gave in to the temptation to kiss her trembling lips.

Yet, the recollection of her partiality for Mr Darcy put a halt to his sudden impulse; and, with Herculean effort, he schooled himself to repress every tender feeling and withdrew his hand. True, she had at one period been partial to him, but Fitzwilliam had felt her inconsistency, though he wished he had misjudged her heart. He could not impute to her a more relenting heart than she possessed, or a heart more disposed to accept his. Yet his desires and wishes he found very difficult to disguise, if he could disguise them at all.

Regardless of the path her tender feelings had taken, she was his own Elizabeth, and Fitzwilliam felt his duty to see to her well-being. He could not kill or give Wickham what he esteemed was the villain's due. But he could help the family find the scoundrel's hiding place, since he was certain Wickham had not headed for Scotland as it had been once inferred but, with no plans of forming an alliance with Miss Lydia, must be bidding his time somewhere in the suburbs of town. Such were his thoughts as he bid her goodnight and retired to his chamber.

When he was gone the next day, Elizabeth was certain at least of receiving constant information of what was going on in London, for Fitzwilliam promised at parting to prevail on Mrs Gardiner to maintain correspondence to impart them news.

All Meryton was by now decidedly against Mr Wickham, and everybody declared him the wickedest of young men and spoke of his extravagancies, debts and seductions. Elizabeth now became hopeless, more especially on her own account, as to her own future as Mr Darcy's intended and even feared for her sister Jane's union to Mr Bingley, since all prospects of good marriages might have been ruined for all the Bennet girls along with Lydia's reputation. How improbable it was that she should ever see Mr Darcy again on such intimate or even cordial terms as they had seen each other in their several meetings in London! As she threw a retrospective look on the whole of their acquaintance, so full of contradictions and varieties, she sighed at the perverseness of those feelings which would now have promoted its continuance.

Colonel Fitzwilliam left Longbourn on Friday; on Tuesday, they received a letter from Mrs Gardiner. It told them that, on his arrival, Colonel Fitzwilliam had joined her husband in his search about London's outskirts, and he was now trailing Wickham at Clapham and Epson. By the end of the week, they received another letter which imparted them no better news than that the search continued without success.

Every day at Longbourn was now a day of anxiety; but the most anxious part of each was when the post was expected. In further letters, they learned the shocking news that, in addition to all his wickedness, Mr Wickham was also a formidable gamester, his gaming debts amounting to more than a thousand pounds in Brighton alone.

As time went by, it was clear to all that Wickham and Lydia had not married or gone to Scotland; since, if that were the case, they should have received some news of them by now. One day, a letter brought the worst news possible, and Elizabeth found no more consolation. Mr Gardiner wrote that they might expect to see their father at home on the following day, rendered himself and Mr Bennet both spiritless by the ill-success of all their endeavours to find the couple, and did not suggest that any more efforts to find Lydia would be attempted.

Accordingly, Mr Bennet arrived at Longbourn the next day, his usual philosophical composure appearing intact, though Elizabeth and Jane knew him to be exceedingly sorrowful and pained.

Yet, while everyone in the Bennet and Gardiner households had lost all hope and abandoned all endeavours, a man outside the family had not rested for a second and, in the end, found his efforts rewarded with the discovery of Wickham's hiding place. Two days later, Mr Gardiner wrote a letter to Mr Bennet announcing the good news and informing him that, although the couple's union had not received God's blessing, Mr Wickham had agreed to be so united to Lydia. Mr Bennet was to prepare her settlement, as well as her dowry, as soon as may be.Within the next se'nnight Lydia was finally united in holy matrimony to Mr Wickham and within the next, the couple had vanished to Newcastle where Mr Wickham had procured, by means of Mr Gardiner's connections and money, a new commission among the regulars. Unfortunately the perturbing manner in which their union was finally made did not fail to be known to everyone acquainted with the Bennet family in Meryton and beyond. Soon, the family received many a commiserative neighbour and relative who, betimes in earnest, betimes with the mere wish to revel in their sorrow and shame, would condole with their unfortunate situation. Whether the first was meant by Mr Collins rather than the second when penning his letter of commiseration, I leave the reader to judge, though I strongly believe than nothing short of cruelty could be expected from the slighted man.

As Elizabeth looked over Jane's shoulder following the reading of the parson's missive, her heart did not fail to shrink with the acutest of pains. It was clear to her that there was an evident purpose to hurt rather than heal when Collins wrote: "the death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison to this..." or "...this false step of one daughter will be injurious to the fortunes of all the others..." and last but not least, "...as Lady Catherine herself says, who will connect themselves with such a family?"

Who indeed...

If Caroline Bingley had resisted her brother's intention to ally himself with Jane Bennet prior to the intelligence of Lydia's affair, one can only imagine what she could have done had she been apprised of it. But she need not have heard malicious tongues because Jane Bennet herself wrote a letter to her would-be fiancé in which she confessed the sins of her family.

In all honesty, Miss Bennet's intentions had not been to release Mr Bingley from the evil of so imprudent an alliance. Albeit Mr Bingley's marriage proposal had been made to the spotless eldest daughter of a genteel family, prior to the unfortunate episode that had rendered all the daughters almost ineligible for gentlemen of considerable station, Jane was sure of the constancy of Mr Bingley's feelings. Jane had, therefore, chosen to withdraw and leave to Mr Bingley whether he would be willing to persevere with their engagement in the knowledge of the present Bennet girls' reputation, persuaded that Mr Bingley would chuse to marry her against all odds.

Unfortunately, Miss Bennet had not counted on her own reputation being ruined ere Lydia's scandalous marriage. To make matters worse, in her endeavour to maintain as neutral a language as possible when she described the evils of her sister, her expression was such as to confuse Bingley, who, prejudiced by the conversation he had previously had with Caroline regarding the gossip at Jane's expense at Byron's ball, misunderstood Jane's confession of Lydia's shameful behaviour with her own. His incredulity was paramount, however, since both Jane and Darcy had always been so perfectly righteous and neither seemed capable of such horrendous and deceitful comportment.

Yet, Jane's confession was there, in black and white, and there was nothing he could do to deny it. If that were the case, if his best friend and mentor had indeed as it was claimed, seduced his fiancée, then both his engagement to Jane and his friendship with Darcy were over. Still unable to come to terms with this new intelligence, Bingley resolved to have a t�te-�-t�te with Darcy, ere any decision was reached.

Mr Darcy was already preparing his journey back to Pemberley, for it was time for him to see his steward and his bailiff. Nonetheless, Darcy reckoned he had postponed an interview with a very much concerned Bingley the same day he had been imparted the intelligence of Miss Lydia's so-called elopement. Accordingly, Darcy received Bingley, this time aware that his friend might have concerns of considerable weight to talk with him about. Predictably, Bingley was exceedingly nervous. He found Darcy had lost all semblance of happiness that had marked his countenance while the Misses Bennet were in town. Even more, there was an uncharacteristic gloominess about him that deterred Bingley from speaking openly. He fumbled with words and in the end, Darcy lost patience.

"Out with it Bingley," Darcy urged his friend.

Bingley found it better to hand him Jane's letter and allow Darcy to read it on his own for there was no way he could put his misery and confusion in plain English. Faith, he wished he had found a pit and had been buried within. Yet an explanation was called for, so he stood there, eyes fixed on the paper as Darcy read the careful lines with a creased brow. When this latter had finished the task, he sat looking bereft and grave.

Bingley could not bear the expectancy. Darcy sighed and closed his eyes as he took his palm to his eyes to cover his visage.

"It is true, then?"

"Yes," Darcy answered. "Even worse than true. I am afraid I was very much to blame for all that has happened."

Losing his patience, Bingley exclaimed, "Speak, but not in riddles, Darcy. I must know all about this!"

Darcy could not look his friend in the eye. It was exceedingly difficult for him to speak of his own follies. "I had information that might have prevented it, but I chose to keep silent. I am sorry now, but it is all too late."

"What do you mean information?"

Darcy hesitated. Could he disclose all the information regarding Georgiana and Wickham? Would it be fair to his sister? Was it any of Bingley's business anyway? Certainly it was not. He had already spoken too much about it. "I am sorry, Bingley. I cannot let you know any particulars. I have behaved shamefully, that is undoubtedly true. I am very sorry for the inconveniencies that my conduct might have caused to you or Miss Bennet."

Such a speech was hardly tolerable. Bingley could not believe his own ears, nor did he believe that the man who was speaking was the same man whose wisdom and confidence he had sought so many times. Huffing and puffing with anger, exceedingly red, nay almost violet in the face, Bingley vented his anger "Inconveniences? Damn you, Darcy! You have betrayed me! Ruined all prospects of happiness in my life!"

There was that in Bingley's face which caused Darcy even to flinch a little. Inwardly, he thought Bingley was making a tempest in a teacup. After all, Darcy thought his conduct might have ruined his own prospect of domestic felicity with the woman he loved...but Bingley's? Unless his friend thought that a connection with the Bennet family in light of the youngest girl's comportment was reprehensible. "It was unconsciously done," he said almost in a whisper.

"Unconsciously done! This is unbelievable! You know you have acted wrong, nay, not wrong, abominably wrong, and still think you can extricate yourself so easily? Have you nothing rational to urge in your defence?"

"What do you wish that I say?"

"More than a lady's reputation has been ruined, Darcy!"

"It certainly has been more than one lady's reputation ruined here, Bingley. I know. My faults are great. Faults of inconsideration, and thoughtlessness and pride. Abominable pride."

"Pride! Pride is the smallest of your faults!"

Darcy failed to comprehend the depth of his friend's discomfiture, hence did not imagine what Bingley's reaction would be when he tried to get rid of him. "I have had enough of you, Bingley. I must beg you to..." but he could not finished. For Bingley, letting out a horrid growl, sprung out and seized Darcy by the neck-cloth, attempting furiously to beat him.

With what great shock Darcy saw his friend marching upon him! Indeed, with flame in his eyes, Bingley attacked him. Darcy's astonishment paralysed him for a few seconds, never for a moment believing that what was actually going on, was, in truth, going on. "You see no reason? You see no reason?" cried Bingley almost strangling Darcy. "You have degraded my fiancée to the lowest, you dog! You have ruined her for me and for any other!"

"Bingley, I have not..."

But there was no word that could calm Bingley. Looking at his now enemy fiercely in the face, he struck him twice over the face with his open hand, challenging him to a duel. Of course, Darcy would not have it. Without knowing entirely what he was he doing, he struck Bingley back with his fist, flinging him bleeding to the ground.

"There. This is all the fighting you shall extricate from me. You can fight a duel with Spencer if that is your wish. As for me, you can write about my cowardice in the Gazette, I do not care."

And he left him without another word.


Chapter 17


And herewith the Misses Bennet's careers as candidates to marry rich and genteel husbands ended. Where were they who had been once so much in love with them? Mr Darcy, as we have seen, was sans friends after the reprehensible affair, and was of a mind to pass the summer with his sister at Pemberley in great sorrow and regret. Mr Bingley, irremediably dragged by his poisoned mind, never replied to his beloved letter and, in lieu of the hymeneal tour he had planned, fled to the continent with his small retinue, likewise in pain and sorrow.

Half a year passed, and none of the girls saw Mr Darcy or Mr Bingley, or ever heard of them again, except from time to time when a letter from Colonel Fitzwilliam made mention of them. The great dragoon returned to Longbourn after the infamous couple had withdrawn to Newcastle to pay his compliments and give his farewell, since he could not postpone his commission abroad any longer.

"My dear Elizabeth, do not be frightened. There is no danger so great that can do away with me, I tell you," said he to Miss Bennet on occasion of his adieu, giving himself some airs, but not with the intention of impressing the lady's sensibilities. He was in fact trying to ease her mind, for Elizabeth was exceedingly gloomy. Of course, her low spirit was not so much due to the colonel's impending march to the battlefield, but to the absence of any intelligence from Mr Darcy; but this the colonel partially knew. Yet it was more appealing to fancy that her heart was bleeding for him instead of his cousin.

By the time the war on the Peninsula was over, Colonel Fitzwilliam had gone and come again. He suffered hugely while away on his commission. Not for the briefest moment did he forget the unrequited love he had left behind and, accordingly, had penned her several letters with surprising regularity for a man who abhorred the exertion. In Madrid, he went on parade with his fellow officers with amazing zeal and worked the hardest in their drills. Yet he never attended a single ball or enjoyed the favours of a single lady. His whole heart he had given to Elizabeth and preferred to drown his sorrows in liquor in the comradeship of the quarters better than surrender to the fleeting pleasures of the flesh. Truth be told, the colonel found the Spanish ladies rather vulgar and could not wait to return to his dear old England and away from those eccentricities with which this society presented him.

Needless to say, the colonel was a favourite with the regiment, always treating the young officers better than expected and amusing them with his tales. Having frequently been in the presence of the enemy, in other words faced death on several occasion, his stories left his soldiers in such awe of him as to ensure their compleat trust and admiration.

But it was not his officers who admired the good qualities of the colonel. The Duke, too, sought his society and, when the siege was over, offered him a post in Madrid together with a generous sum of money apart from the regular wages for his campaigns.

Such an offer would have been palatable for Fitzwilliam had he been able to take an English bride with him. Hence, his thoughts returned to his old love in Hertfordshire. He dwelled on the possibility during his journey back to the island and again from Ramsgate to London.

Fitzwilliam knew Elizabeth was still unmarried through his correspondence with her. Her friendship she had never withdrawn. What is more, he knew he had once been a favourite with her. What his joy might have been then when, on arriving at his parental townhouse, he was informed by his mother that Miss Bennet had been inquiring after him only a week before. At once, he was assaulted by a wild impulse and, leaving all his unpacking behind, asked his manservant to take up his job and shouted orders to his men to ready the chaise and four for a journey to Hertfordshire. In less than six hours, the good Colonel was at Longbourn, sporting a family ring and on his knees in front of Miss Bennet.

And so it was, that one fine brilliant moonlight night in late May, saw Colonel Fitzwilliam kissing with great tenderness the trembling hand of Miss Elizabeth Bennet and then disappearing behind the door of Mr Bennett's library to ask the gentleman for his blessing.

It is hard, when being so much in love with another, a girl finds herself tempted to conform with a man less loved, just for the sake of getting married and being saved from the shame of remaining a spinster. But it was not merely that what Elizabeth saw in Colonel Fitzwilliam's constancy. After all, it was the least she could do. Had he not saved her family from shame? True, she could not give him her heart, yet she could give him everything else: her respect and admiration, her trust and faithfulness. All in all, the colonel would be a husband easy to please, for he was ready to accept whatever Elizabeth might condescend to give him. Yes, it was a bargain of a marriage. She knew of many other marriages founded on much less than that.

Still, Elizabeth knew herself deeply in love with Fitzwilliam's cousin. But Mr Darcy had deserted her. Oh how much her poor soul had hoped for him to return to Longbourn and rescue her from the great scandal that hung over her family! Oh! thought she. How wicked and selfish I am! Selfish in accepting Colonel Fitzwilliam's hand while still pining for Mr Darcy! For no matter how fond she was of Richard, she did not love him ? not even with the intelligence that he had rescued her sister Lydia from a tragic future. And there lay her wickedness.

Colonel Fitzwilliam requested an immediate celebration. Thus the wedding was celebrated without much noise, except for Mrs Bennet's steady weeping during the I do's and the couple rushed to London the same day sans wedding breakfast as would have been proper for people of their condition. But they would have a hymeneal night at a beautiful hotel in Madrid, so Fitzwilliam promised his bride, and they would spend a whole month touring the continent before settling in their new residence in Madrid.

The event of their marriage was copied into the London papers, from which Mr Darcy read during breakfast at Pemberley about a week after the wedding was celebrated. The gentleman had spent a year of torment, thinking how close to harm Miss Elizabeth's reputation had been and feeling thoroughly guilty as regards Bingley's detachment from his beloved angel. The acuteness of his sorrow on reading the news of Fitzwilliam's marriage was beyond bounds. So shaken was his mind by it that he was left unable to think properly for quite a while. It was during this period of his life that Lady Catherine and her daughter visited with him in Derbyshire. What was her ladyship's surprise when, on the occasion of repeating her eternal wish that Darcy and Anne would be united (which had been so long pending between the two families), instead of the accustomed sulky negative, her nephew finally agreed to the deed!

Only when he was left alone with his bride for the hymeneal night, did the penny drop for Mr Darcy of both the inequity and inequality of the match. His bride was far from the lovely round-shaped maiden with whom he had fallen in love. With what revulsion did he kiss the pale thin lips! How could he ever learn to love these when he had tasted those red full ones! With what longing did he touch the quivering limbs that were not hers, not Elizabeth's! He closed his eyes and tried to picture what it would have been like if he had his beloved in his bed instead of Anne. But the idea brought about the painful image of Elizabeth in bed with her own husband. So he thought of her no more and endeavoured to concentrate on the present.

He had a daunting task to complete.



Chapter 18

Of Widowhood and MourningAnd so Mr Darcy's task was done and very thoroughly. Done by Jove, for Anne was found with child ere she could claim she had lost her chastity, if you would allow me the hyperbole. With what joy Lady Catherine's face shone upon the news of the pending arrival of an heir. What a magnificent future awaited the infant to be born in such prosperous surroundings!

"Oh, what delightful news, nephew! A little boy, as beautiful as a cherub, I am certain. An heir for Rosings and Pemberley at last!"

But Mr Darcy could not share his aunt's expectations of a happy childbirth. He knew his wife was not of a healthy constitution and his fears were well founded, for the doctor who attended Anne was of the same mind. The long months of doubt and dread Darcy passed with her were nothing to the horror in which he found himself on hearing the terrified cries of his wife at childbirth.

Every reader prone to sentimentality (and the only ones who could enjoy the following events) will find the turn quite heart-breaking, for Anne died at childbirth.

But, alas! The child survived. Among the torturous cries of the poor mother upon delivery, the horrified father distinguished the distinctive sound of life. Anne never saw it; her heart stopped as the child was being pulled from her body. It was a terrible scene, one Darcy would never forget, not unlike a bloody battlefield, though in no way foreign to the matron. With what sorrow did the wretched grandmother receive the baby into her arms! There was no motherly bosom to be offered, no sweet smile but the one that the poor infant elicited from the wet nurse out of compassion.

The cards from good-wishers upon the wedding had scarcely stopped when a feminine hatchment was ere long attached to the doors at Pemberley. It was the same hatchment that had served as a funeral adornment for the previous Mrs Darcy; such was the measure of the haste in which the unexpected demise caught the servants. So Mr Darcy was a widower sooner than he could remember to call himself a husband.

The news of Mrs Darcy's death provoked no more grief among the people of Derbyshire than might be expected since she had not had the opportunity to get herself known among the commoners in the north. Conversely, her demise was the cause of great commotion among the people in the south, and the lonely soul that belonged to Mrs Darcy was carried thither to be laid in its last abode.

"I suppose Mr Darcy will need a mother for that poor child," cried Miss Bingley when she was imparted the tragic news, and added after a pause. "Do you think he will marry again?"

"I hope he will have the decency to wait at least a year," Mrs Hurst remarked in astonishment at Caroline's suggestion. Her sister was indeed desperate to trap the gentleman at all cost, and someone must help her see reason.

"Do you think he will, then?"

"Actually, Caroline, I do not think that any sort of hymeneal prospects can be in his mind at the moment. The poor man has just lost both a wife and a cousin, and was left with a child again to boot!"

"Again?"

"Do not forget he raised his sister like his own daughter. Lord, that man deserves Heaven like any other!"

"I wish I could go to him to offer some comfort for his poor soul," sighed Caroline without remorse. Louisa sent her sister a quizzical look.

"You daren't! It would not be right to go to him!"

"You need not tell me that, sister. But nonetheless, I imagine he must be suffering the indescribable!"



~ * ~Contrary to Miss Bingley's expectations, Mr Darcy was not what one could call a desolate widower. He was grieved, by Jove he was. After all, he had witnessed the most horrific death he could ever conceive. But his sorrow did not go beyond the mortification of the pain Anne had suffered in passing away. He neither loved her nor missed her at all. Not twelve months had passed since his wife lay in her tomb that he was again in London attending the theatre and soirees, to the sheer delight of the likes of Miss Bingley.

But he was not to remain there long. The hatchment that had come down from the front door and had been placed in some dark corner in the house soon reappeared as a funeral compliment for another member of the family, thus condemning Darcy to yet another six months of mourning. Indeed, Lady Catherine's life and mind never recovered from the blow that had befallen her. Stupefied under the pressure of her sorrow, the grand lady soon followed her daughter. However, many of the members of the staff would swear that it was not the terrible loss of a beloved daughter that had killed her, but the fact that the baby that took her life would never be the heir of the estates, for the Darcy inheritance was entailed away from the female line.

To add to Mr Darcy's long list of misfortunes, he had scarcely returned to Pemberley when he received a desperate letter from his aunt, Lady Matlock, bearing the disturbing news that his cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam had disappeared during action in Portugal after his regiment had been compelled to retreat to those lands. He reread the letter with horror and consternation, to see if he had understood correctly. His cousin had indeed disappeared, yet his demise had not been declared since his corpse had not been found. A canon might have blown him away entirely or perhaps his body had suffered a compleat transformation that rendered his soldiers unable to recognise him among the pile of dead. Her aunt's plea consisted in asking him to travel to the peninsula and begin a search of him since his wife (Lady Matlock dared not call Elizabeth his widow) was the mother of his heir and was apparently currently with child, thus in great need of the family's attention. His elder cousin, the heir to the house of Matlock suffered from sea intolerance that had prevented him from travelling abroad since infancy, thus leaving Darcy the only relative who could go in aid of Richard's family.

How to bear such dreadful news with equanimity! Fitzwilliam's demise would have been preferable to the suspense of thinking him to be suffering a slow death with an unrecognisable countenance among strangers. Knowing how useless the indulgence of miserable thoughts was, Darcy did not wait a minute to prepare his trip to the peninsula and was resolute to stay there until he had found his cousin. Dead or alive.



Chapter 19 Half a Honeymoon

The reader who fully enjoys history will be happy to pay attention to the following explanation of the affairs occurring on the continent. However, it would be advisable to bear in mind that the present tale is by no mean a serious account of the famous siege. It was previously said that the war on the Peninsula was over. Nothing could be further from the truth, though certainly such was the wish of the heart of Fitzwilliam, as well of every man who had seen the horrors of the war. At this the reader will have to excuse the manner of this account, so disorganized, but I must say that some trifling disarrangement is always excusable and why not, to some extent becoming, coming from a novelist and not a historian. Yet it was true that at the moment of Fitzwilliam's alighting on English land, shortly after the battle of Badajoz, on April 6th 1812 (ha!), the odds were increasingly favouring the allies' victory, or so thought Colonel Fitzwilliam. Having been wounded in an arm, he had been sent back to England in charge of a group of severely injured officers. For the Spanish hauteur for the French had resulted in a violent intolerance of the enemy to the extent that every Spaniard, from child to old, like one single man, saw their duty to fight them out of the country. Every city that had been conquered rebelled with such force that the English-Portuguese alliance found a soldier in every Spaniard, man or woman, armed with whatever they happened to have handy. Fitzwilliam was only too glad to be away from that for awhile.

May 25th, 1812.

The Earl of Matlock's Townhouse.

Our story is destined in this chapter to go backwards in a very urgent manner. Indeed, having presently given proper enlightenment to the life of our hero from Pemberley, we shall immediately proceed to step back a year an a half and peep into the life of our hero from Matlock, so that the whole of the tale may get hearing. So we are now in London, where our dazzling colonel was staying ere taking his boat back to the continent with both his wife and her dame of company, who was none other than sweet Jane. After supping together in the dinning room in the parental home, the gentlemen had retired to partake of a tumbler of claret while the ladies, namely, Lady Matlock, Elizabeth and Jane, kept each other company as was the custom among genteel families.

"Richard. Why do you insist upon this journey? Can you not stay in England now that you are married?" Lord Matlock asked with concern. "You have already done enough harm in marrying the penniless daughter of a country square to dare risk leave her widowed and at my charge, sir. I dare say you are a fool to endanger your life in this manner."

Fitzwilliam flinched a little. He knew his father was not speaking nonsense. During the battle of Badajoz, a grenade had exploded too near him, and his right arm had been slightly hurt, yet that had been serious enough to afford him a passage to England to heal. Instead of resting, his indomitable nature had compelled him to flee to Hertfordshire and marry Elizabeth Bennet. No doubt he had done quite a romantic thing but thoughtless from the point of view of his stern father. [EJP1]Indeed, he was loath to displease the earl even further, but Fitzwilliam was a man of honour. Although he was certain there was little to be accomplished on the peninsula, he was still under Wellesley's command, and as soon as his arm got better, he knew he had to return to the field. (Badajoz had been a costly assault for the allies but the English general was certain of his own supremacy, a confidence that soon imprinted in his men's hearts) Hence, he parried his father's question as best as he could. "My regiment is there, sir. I am a hired man I've no other option."

"No option? Of what are you talking, sir? I can procure you a seat at Parliament any time, by Jove. There is no need for you to return to the madness of the battlefield. Look at your arm. I doubt it is recovered."

"My arm is fine, sir. I have rested long enough. I must return. You must not concern yourself. Wellesley knows what he is doing, and everything is under control for now. I am certain the conflict will be over by the time I get to the peninsula."

"Hang Wellesley! Boney is still on his two feet, sir. I would not be so sure. I dare say you have already done your duty. You must stay and take care of your wife."

"So that I show up as a coward, sir, and our name dishonoured?" Fitzwilliam interposed.

Lord Matlock staggered at this manner of response. Why, his son was absolutely right. In truth, it was Lady Matlock who had begged him to cajole her favourite son to renounce the red coats and stay in England. He told him what his mother's fears and wishes were and that he was ready to offer him a generous allowance if he stayed.

"If money is what you want, call upon my clerk," he finally offered. "You know I would deny nothing to my family."

But when Richard Fitzwilliam was bent on a thing, this line of discourse would only render him more resolute.

"I thank you, sir," said he to the old man. "I have made up my mind already. I am a gentleman and a soldier, sir. My word is given. I shall honour it."

Elizabeth's mind reeled with confusion. They were only a week married and she was already suffering from regrets. She trembled for the future. Her wit, spirits and accomplishments would not help her cope with the terrible notion that she was not married to her true love. How shall I be able to submit to my husband in our marriage bed, if I am still thinking of Mr Darcy's kisses? she berated herself. I ought to have refused him, only I have no heart to do it. How noble it was of him to marry me, to give up the possibility of marrying a rich woman instead of me! Oh, I am not worthy of him!

It is a great misfortune that ere a se'nnight of marriage was over, the poor girl's mind dwelled on such thoughts! But so it was, and there was no one's ears into which she could pour her confessions. Not even her sister!

But every cloud has a silver lining. Before Elizabeth succumbed to despair, Gad smiled on her, and mercifully provided Fitzwilliam with uncommon wisdom in a besotted groom.

Indeed, one would have expected a heavy dragoon as himself, and so in love with his wife (setting aside the fact that he had been for so long deprived of a woman's favours) to have thrown himself over his bride head first. Yet, Fitzwilliam was not a brute, and he was aware that Elizabeth needed time to come to terms with her new situation. Hence, he had made up his mind to presently woo her instead of claiming his connubial rights directly, thus postponing his wedding night for a while.

A week after the vows had been pronounced, however, he found he had wooed her long enough.

"Gad, what a fine night, and how bright the moon is!" Richard said as he approached his wife from behind. He had been watching her spying the blue moon from one of the windows in the blue room.

Elizabeth gazed at the round orb with a smile.

"I would like to see the moon from your room, tonight. Will that be agreeable, my love?" he whispered into her ear.

Elizabeth shuddered a little, her bright eyes blinking twice before she could nod her assent to her husband's suggestion to visit with her that night.

"I know I promised you a wedding night at a hotel in Madrid, but, unfortunately, the French refuse to allow me the pleasure. Your room will do, will it not?"

She nodded, her countenance as red as his coat.

"Blush not, my love, for your blush only intensifies the violence of my desire for you. It will not do, my own. I must control my wit for your sake." With that, he withdrew from her side and returned to the table where Jane and Lady Matlock were playing cards, leaving poor Elizabeth biting her nails with expectation.

But he did not leave her to fret over the future too long. As soon as the exceedingly flushed Elizabeth abandoned her window, Richard expressed his wish to retire early with his wife, and without much ceremony, took her trembling hand and ushered her up the stairs to her bedchamber under the astonished look of Jane and the knowing smile of his mother.

When they reached her bedchamber's door, he kissed her white fingers, his lips lingering on the back of her hand for longer than she could bear. With an agonised countenance, Elizabeth looked at him, not knowing what to do. Thankfully, her maid had heard the movement and promptly made herself noticeable with a light cough.

"Pray, tell your girl you do not wish to take your bath tonight. I shall come to you in a couple of minutes."

Elizabeth nodded again obediently, and was instantly gone behind the door.



Chapter 20

A wedding Night and A ReunionThe sound of a floorboard startled Elizabeth. She raised her eyes to discover her husband standing at the adjoining door, wearing but his shirt. He was too busy with the knot of his neck cloth to grasp the tension reflected on his bride's countenance. But Richard need not look at his blushing bride. He was aware of the awkwardness of the moment, since his nervousness had rendered him all thumbs at the simple task of untangling his cravat.

He came into her bedchamber, however, regardless of his state of undress or the tension of his emotions. With an air of nonchalance, he paced towards the corner of the room in which she was trying to pass for a wayward piece of furniture, her eyes averted to avoid the sight of Richard's bare legs (truth be told his legs were not what she was trying to avoid seeing, for the length of the shirt half concealed yet half pronounced the secrets bellow his waist). With a look of helpless impotence, Richard gestured her to help him with the rebellious cloth. She reciprocated in turn with a look of tender alarm in her features, but nonetheless obliged him, shaking her head in distress for it was the first time she ever found herself at the task of undressing a gentleman.

At length she managed to loosen the tie, and Fitzwilliam finished the job, his neck finally freed and on display.

"Faith! I do not fathom how Spencer manages to untie it so quickly," he exclaimed good-naturedly. That said, he backed a little holding her hands, realising she was wearing a beautiful shift.

"Let me look at you," he said as he grazed her body with his eyes. "Good Lord, Lizzy. You look beautiful. But you must know that." He turned her around to watch her gracefully make a slight curtsy at the end of the turn. Still, as hard as she tried, she could not erase the look of sheer apprehension from her face.

"Thank you," she gasped.

"Come," he said as he gently guided her to the bed." I have something for you."

When Fitzwilliam reached the bed, he released Elizabeth's hand and unexpectedly produced a small box, nicely wrapped, sporting a green lace in a knot.

Her lips parted to elicit a sound of surprise. "Oh!"

He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured her to imitate him, forgetting for a moment the sensual implication of the piece of furniture.

"Pray, open it," he said, hardly containing himself with the pride of having surprised her. He congratulated himself on having thought of the trinket, for the tentative smile that blossomed on her lips told him that things could go well after all.

Elizabeth fumbled with the lace, aware of the enchanted gaze of her husband, and she felt universally agitated, the pressure of what would follow in the near future a monstrous burden on her shoulders. "Let me help you," he said, perhaps losing some patience. And they were once again engaged in the task of untangling knots.

She giggled nervously and he laughed soundly, their hands lightly touching each other as they unwrapped the small packet together. When at last the lace and the paper gave way, Fitzwilliam let her finish opening the present on her own. The effect was the one he had desired. She was enchanted by the jewel in front of her, her mind instantly forgetting the sight of the half-dressed man who sat beside her. Why is it that women liked stones so much?

"Oh, Richard! You should not have! This is too much."

"This is nothing. You deserve the world. I am sorry I cannot afford anything better."

"Anything better? This is too much already."

"Let me put it on your finger." He took her hand with the greatest care, selecting her ring finger and sliding the band on slowly, his own fingers enjoying the task as a prelude to what was coming. Taking her hand to his lips, he repeated the gesture of kissing its back as he had continually done the past week, as if his lips had found the tender skin of her palm the natural recipient of their attention.

Only this time he would not be content with her hand alone.

Elizabeth noticed his beautiful face a little flushed as he dropped her hand. She followed his eyes as he leaned closer for a kiss, his gaze fixed on her lips. When he was close enough to kiss her, he halted for a second to take a quick look at her eyes, which had frozen with alarm. He smiled knowingly and then, without further ceremony, pressed his lips against hers.

Between them, Richard knew, nothing should happen quickly. He must proceed with great caution. He had never been anything less than a gentleman with her ? always polite to a fault. Only once had he dared graze her lips with a feathered kiss. But that had been so long ago he doubted that it counted as experience. Now, as he deepened his kiss, he felt the secret portion of his body harden and stir in excitement. Proceed slowly, he reminded himself. That was easier said than done for sure.

One of his hands, disobedient to his resolution for cautious progression, quite unexpectedly found its way under her shift and began caressing the cold flesh in between her thighs. To his surprise she did not recoil, but seemed compliant at his surreptitious touch. Her breathing was steady and deep, while his was beginning to be difficult and ragged. He stopped kissing her and directed his attention to that sensitive part behind her ears, whispering her name, telling her he loved her, again and again. Her leg under the hem of her dress felt smooth and tender, and his thumb came perilously close to her smooth confines, the name of which no proper girl dared mention.

Elizabeth was doing all she could not to ask him to withdraw his hand. She knew he had the right to touch her so. His hand was there because he was her husband. Because she had gone behind the sacristy at church and signed a written permission for him to act in this manner. The notion was quite strange, that an activity that had been expressly prohibited for them a few days before, now the simple signature on a book rendered perfectly normal, even desirable. The profound difference a wedding ceremony made was amazing.

Without her noticing how, Richard had eased her across the mattress and Elizabeth found herself lying supine on the pristine sheets of the four-poster bed, the boards of which protested sadly as Richard bent over her, his hand tenaciously remaining in place, examining her thigh with its strokes, his other arm cushioning her head on the mattress. How beautiful she was lying in his arms, her nightshift in a tangle up and around her thighs, her hair spread out on the white linen of the bed! Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! Richard could no longer hold his horses. His desire had lifted and spiralled into pure bliss. So much for self-restraint!

Richard removed his hand from under her shift and used it now to unbutton the portion that sheltered the sweetness of her bosom. He held her gaze with such a look of adoration that Elizabeth felt thoroughly guilty for not sharing his feelings. She wanted to love him, faith she did, with all her heart. With my body I thee worship. Those words still rang in her ears as her husband pronounced them during the wedding ceremony.

She felt his hands, warm and gentle, sliding through the opening to her décolletage, which he had worked laboriously unbuttoning the front of her shift to uncover, and watched his head dive into her bosom with heedless hunger. She tried to concentrate on the pattern that the fabric of the four-poster bed's ceiling afforded her eyes. She was trying not to think what was going on when an unpredictably soaring feeling assaulted her. Suddenly the bed was roofless and she was transported, weightlessly, in a powerful embrace; sheer breathless ecstasy enveloped her. A deep sound she could scarcely define escaped her lips, alerting her husband he had found his target. He rose from her bosom and looked at her. His countenance was pinker than ever, his blue eyes almost dark, his lips parted, his breathing rapid and hard. There was a smile on his lips. A smile of satisfaction.

Elizabeth covered her mouth with her hands. Goodness she was supposed not to make a sound! Yet, her husband's ministrations were eliciting quite unknown emotions that compelled her throat to release the strangest sounds.

"It is all right, love. Tell me. Show me," he murmured into her ear. Never before had Richard been associated with such overpowering a sensation. Yet there it was, definitively physical, but unquestionably her own. Such an important advance merited a second round, so she wordlessly directed him to that part of her body where the sensory discovery had been made; the beginning of womanly desire, however foreign, gradually pulsing for freedom from within.

His shirt and her nightshift soon became obsolete, hence they were readily discarded compleatly. For decorum's sake, as he divested her body from robes, he opened the covers and invited her to go beneath them.

She felt the bed dip and shake under their bulk as Richard climbed onto her, his pulsing anatomy between her thighs. The novel feeling of his bare legs against her soft skin was unexpectedly pleasurable and when she felt his naked hardness against her softness, a spreading thrill ran through her body, and she clung to Richard as if by instinct. She dared not, she wished not to see any of it, yet the picture of them both, so intimately joined, came inevitably to her mind. She closed her eyes fiercely as though that would prevent the embarrassing image from invading her senses.

Within a moment, and without warning, Richard had trespassed into the limits of her womanhood and they were one. To seal their union, he sought her lips; his tongue, in imitation of the activities beneath the covers, invaded her mouth. Contrary to her expectations, the path from maidenhood to womanhood had brought no pain, no blood. Instead, an overwhelming growing sensation spread through her navel from the darkest corners of her body, invoking her to whisper the three words she had thought she did not feel, but that nonetheless came with unknown violence reaching her husband's ears for his satisfaction and pride, binding her to him as he engaged her in frenzied lovemaking.

Thus, Elizabeth was pleasantly introduced into a wife's duties. Faith, she had never imagined them to be like so. The bitter picture with which her mother had presented her as her wedding day approached had been quite full of tales of sorrow and words that spoke of obligations and dues better than all the love and tenderness that she had felt. Though war and danger were in store, all she could think of was the hoarse groan of her husband as he called her name in fulfilment.



~ * ~The reader has been warned that our history is destined to go backwards and forwards, and having conducted it to yesterday presently, we must go to tomorrow for a while before the tale of Fitzwilliam's life is readdressed, assuming of course that more than one reader is desirous to peek into the particulars. Thus we return to our hero, Mr Darcy, as he readied himself to go in search of his cousin, seemingly lost in battle, and his potential widow still in the continent.

He wrote a letter addressed to Mrs Fitzwilliam, in which he put her wise of his intentions to go to her, using an extremely decorous language, selecting the most appropriate words according to the occasion and at all time avoiding over-familiarity, though in truth his heart was thumping widely with excitement of the prospect of seeing her, of being useful to her, of being her saviour, her rock of salvation.

The morning when he finally went on board the boat that would take him to the continent from Ramsgate, Darcy's emotions were threatening to overwhelm him. With misty eyes, he contemplated the preparations for sailing. The day was rainy and gusty, and Darcy had had an exceedingly wakeful night, listening to the wind roaring, and imagining what Elizabeth might look like now, and how she bore his letter. Would she be expecting him with trepidation? In the end, despite the fact that he was exhausted, he had got up early and insisted to walk to the port disregarding his man's opinion that he should take a carriage. Once on board, Darcy paced the platform of the steamer to and fro, the rain beating mercilessly into his face, and he looked westward across the dark sea-line, and over the swollen billows which came tumbling and frothing to the shore.

The steamer's whistle announced its departure, and Darcy watched the smoke being poured into the sky while his own fears poured one over the other into his heart, as fast as the waves broke onto the deck. Had Elizabeth received his letter? Would he find Richard alive? Most importantly ... how would Elizabeth bear Darcy's presence? Would she still be resentful with him?

Dipping and rising in the water, the steamer crossed the sea, while Darcy's emotions went up and down in perfect imitation of the boat during the whole journey. Not twelve hours later, the crossing was completed. The day was so bad that as the vessel came alongside of the quay, there were no idles abroad; scarcely a commissioner on the look-out for the few passengers in the steamer. But as Darcy, heavily cloaked, stepped out on to the shore, he saw the most heart-piercing sight he had ever beheld after his own wife's dead. A lady in a dripping brown bonnet and a shawl, with her two little hands clasped before her, suddenly held them out as she ran up to him and in the next minute disappeared under the folds of his black cloak.



Chapter 21

The Three SistersMrs Gardener admired Colonel Fitzwilliam very much and trusted her dear niece would be happy with him. She hoped Mr Darcy would be consoled, for she liked the young gentleman, too, and knew he loved her niece dearly.

She had every reason to know this, for only the most unselfish love would have inspired a man of Mr Darcy's station to perform the services he had done for Elizabeth and her family entailing the rescue and consequent (and onerous) wedding of her rebellious sister, Lydia, and not say a word about it to anyone. He had put both Mr Gardiner and Mrs Gardiner under strict obligation to keep his intervention a secret. This had puzzled the lady at first, but then she understood that Mr Darcy must have had reasons of his own to act in this manner and, though a bit reluctantly, complied with his wishes.

What her surprise must have been, the reader can imagine, when she was told that Elizabeth was to marry Colonel Fitzwilliam and not Mr Darcy after all.

Full of curiosity, she had witnessed the wedding celebration and seen Elizabeth's confidence perfectly restored, though the girl expressed certain apprehension for the wedding night. But then again, all maidens are apprehensive, with some exceptions of course, one of them being her younger niece, Lydia, who had been but too eager to get to it, so much so that she had completely forgone it.

Therefore, when she spied the carriage belonging to the colonel's family at her door that afternoon, she made up her mind to see whether her niece's felicity was indeed compleat after a se'nnight with her husband. Two ladies were in the carriage, as expected. One, a little person with dark hair, dressed in the height of fashion in accordance with her new situation as the Earl of Matlock's daughter, and a rosy, round, happy face that did Mrs Gardiner good to behold; the other in a blue pelisse and a straw bonnet with pink ribbons that contrasted with her sad, but nonetheless beautiful, face.

Colonel Fitzwilliam followed them on a tall horse, the tallest Mr Gardiner had ever beheld. And what a fine figure he cut, by Jove! He was smartly dressed, faultless Hessian boots and uniform, a manly appearance and a happy fierceness of manner, all of which gave him enough credit to be among the handsomest men in Mrs Gardiner's acquaintance.

The first thing Mrs Gardiner noticed about her married niece was the beautiful ring Elizabeth was sporting on her finger. So the colonel was a generous man, seemly alert to those small shows of affections like trinkets; though, judging from the stone, his generosity went to large scales indeed.

Mrs Gardiner also noticed the intimacy her niece had with her husband. The girl had recovered her joviality. She laughed and chirped and sang and played at the pianoforte, and was a great deal too happy for a girl who had married a man she did not love.

"So I might have been mistaken after all," thought the lady to herself. Elizabeth's happiness notwithstanding, Mrs Gardiner's heart was pained to see Jane so sad, and she prayed to God that this journey would help her dear niece ease her mind from the bitter disappointment she had suffered.

But she was universally happy for Elizabeth. The colonel was exceedingly attentive and affectionate with his wife, and Mrs Gardiner was sure she had spied him sending her niece rather shocking looks that had embarrassed Elizabeth in such a manner that had forced the girl to break eye contact with him, and look away, her countenance visibly flushed. Granted, they were still enjoying the first blushing days of their marriage bed, and such exchange of looks was not only expected but also desired.

Just when they were about to open the backgammon table, a servant announced the arrival of unexpected visitors. They were none other than Mr and Mrs Wickham.

Despite the fact that the pair was thoroughly disliked, they were still family, and Mrs Gardiner was not inclined to close the door at a beggar's nose, let alone a niece and her husband. So in they came and sat with the rest of the family as if it was nothing at all. Conversation centred around the young people's recent marriages. Lydia was merry as merry could be. She pronounced her sister's clothes to be excellent and praised the exquisite taste of the colonel at selecting stones. Mr Wickham was as good-natured as always; his impeccable manners soon conquered Jane, who readily pronounced both scoundrels fully recovered and repentant.

It was Mrs Wickham who spoke first about war.

"George's regiment is ordered away, dear aunt. So we have come to bid you farewell."

"We?"

"Oh, yes. I am one of the staff. I am going with him."

"But, dearest girl, you cannot possible go with your husband to a war."

"I have no intentions to go to the war, uncle. But I would not miss the military balls for a kingdom!"

"Balls?!"

"Of course! And the parades! Those are my favourite ones. George has bought me a mare, and I mount beside General Marshal. He is a great flirt of mine!"

George laughed. "She is quite a rider, me wife!" and he patted her bottom in an affectionate fashion, at which she let out a sound like a squirrel.

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow and coughed. Thank goodness he seemed to have been the only one to understand the double meaning of the young man's speech. By Jove, the man was daring! To show himself and his wife in front of him and with such language! But Fitzwilliam was in no mood to allow past evils to cloud over his present happiness. What was done was done. He would not dream of inviting Mr and Mrs Wickham into the presence of his parents, of course, but he could tolerate their company.

"You are a military man," Mr Gardiner said, speaking to Colonel Fitzwilliam. "What is your opinion?"

"Well, I must say there is nothing unreasonable about it. If he is indeed not a man in the first lines, there is no risk of danger."

"I trust you know what you are doing," Mr Gardiner said.

"And you, dear Richard? Are in you in the first lines?" asked Lydia with great over familiarity and in compleat disregard of social etiquette.

"You are to go abroad, sir?" asked Mr Gardiner in astonishment.

"I am, sir. I expect to return soon enough, and hope you will take care of my wife until then."

Elizabeth sent him a look of reproach. "They will not perform such service, husband, for I intend to go with you," she announced.

Mr Gardiner laughed. "Laugh not, uncle," said Lydia with impertinent playful manners. "I think Elizabeth means every word."

"Indeed I do. If Lydia is going, why can I not? I intend to go in earnest." Both Colonel Fitzwilliam and Mr Gardiner flushed quite red. Looking at Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mrs Gardiner said pleadingly, "She cannot go."

"I can and I will," answered Elizabeth with the greatest spirit.

"Is it not too dangerous, my love?" asked Mrs Gardiner with excessive care.

"Hey! You do not seem that worried about me!" protested Lydia. Wickham roared with laughter.

"I am not afraid," declared Elizabeth with boldness. Looking at her husband, she said, "You have once told me I was to go with you, remember? I know I will not be sleeping in tents, which I thoroughly regret, but I shall be content as long as we are together."

"I am very happy to find you both so fond of your husbands, but I strongly believe a camp full of soldiers is no place for a lady," Mrs Gardiner intervened.

"Oh, that is the best part of it!"

"I suspect that Colonel Fitzwilliam here does not share your opinion."

"Indeed, I do not."

"Neither do I," said Wickham. "I confess I had hoped you would help me to make her see reason. Such a termagant my little wife is!"

"Elizabeth. Have you thought what might befall you if there is further fighting? What will you do if that happened?"

"Do not be afraid, aunt," Lydia said while sending a sheepish smile to her husband. "George has already told me that battlefields are not close to cities. And I intend to stay away from gunfire."

"Yes, but what about sieges? What if the army is defeated?"

"That cannot happen," declared Wickham patriotically. "We are going to chase Bony out, sir. Besides, as Lydia has already explained, we don't belong to the line. I go as General Marshal's aide-de-camp."

Putting her arm around her husband's waist, Elizabeth pursed her lips and declared that she would not leave him, no matter the risks, and the gesture enchanted her husband so much that he almost kissed the little pout off her mouth in front of everyone.

"I am going, too," Jane said, speaking beyond the meek answers she had given to small pleasantries for the first time in the evening. "I shall be your chaperone."

"But, girls. This is ridiculous! You must stay here. Colonel, surely you will not risk ..."

But the colonel's heart was commanding his mind. And everyone knows of the dangers one risks when allowing that treacherous organ to be in command of one's wits. Silencing his better judgement, Fitzwilliam was thrilled to hear Elizabeth's avowal to go with him. He began to ponder the idea and thought that, at any rate, they were enjoying a respite that might be of some duration, and war and danger might not befall them for months. He could send the ladies back when his regiment was ordered to march and, meantime, enjoy his wife's company. He was exceedingly pleased to see her so determined to follow him, for such attitude spoke of her love for him. To be permitted to see her every morning was now his greatest privilege, and he would be loath to part with her and deprive himself of the nights in her bed.

Elizabeth's determination to follow Fitzwilliam stemmed from the profound sense of duty she felt for him, the extremely curious nature she possessed, and a strong sense of independence that ran through her veins. From the earliest days of their acquaintance, Fitzwilliam had told her repeatedly of his travels and commissions abroad, and they had dwelled on visiting those very places together when he had first proposed. Besides, Elizabeth had been raised to know that the place of a wife was with her husband, a very wise concept, since everyone knows what happens when a man is away from his spouse for too long. Of course, she was not aware of the reasons behind that piece of advice, but she was determined to follow it.

On the other hand, she had grown quite attached to Richard, especially after their wedding night. Even now, sitting across from him at her aunt's backgammon table, Elizabeth found it difficult to hold his enamoured gaze, and flashes of the moments they had shared in the intimacy of her bedchamber came back recurrently, like waves lapping the shore of her mind.

So in the end, Colonel Fitzwilliam complied with Elizabeth's wishes to go with him to the continent, though he warned her that she and Jane would have to return with his man the moment he received his orders to go to the battlefield.

Little did he know the horrors that awaited them on the continent.

Chapter 22After arriving back at the splendid abode which belonged to the Earl of Matlock, Mrs Fitzwilliam retired to her own bedchamber in great expectancy. Ere long, just as she suspected, Colonel Fitzwilliam joined her in all that the phrase entailed. The frenzied lovemaking and consequent pleasurable emotions of the previous night were thus revisited, to the bride's satisfaction and the bridegroom's pride.

The same pattern of behaviour was repeated the following night, and the next...

And the next...

Elizabeth began to wonder if her nights would be so exceedingly busy her entire married life.

To her surprise, her afternoons began to be as busy as her nights. The moment her husband spied her in idle business, he would seek her favours with as much eagerness as a green lass. She got to learn the cracks of the ceiling of her bedchamber by heart and would employ some of the time she lay supine while her husband did his business, finding intricate patterns in the canopy of their bed, until the sublime moment in which, forgoing all other pursues, she was transported by the overwhelming commotion that was fulfilment.

Unsurprisingly, the newlyweds spent more time in their bedchambers than in any other room in blissful companionship, to the delight of lady Matlock, whose heart was bent to get a grandson as soon as possible, and the shock of Jane, whose job as a chaperone, she feared, had become compleatly obsolete.

The only period in which Mrs Fitzwilliam was not busy assuming her position as recipient of Colonel Fitzwilliam's consuming affection was the first hours of the day, for the simple reason that she slept in her bedchamber and he in his own. True, morrows were monotonous enough, but only until the occasion in which her husband made up his mind to stay the night with her in her bedchamber instead of returning to his own after the amorous rite, which proved to be the first of very busy dawns indeed. From then on, Elizabeth invariably woke up to find Fitzwilliam's morning pride firmly pressed to her bottom. Granted, her husband's passion needed no encouragement to burgeon like champagne from a bottle.

Of course, Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam's days were full of other interesting pursuits as well, mind you, but none as tiresome as that which was effectively consuming most of their waking hours. Lady Matlock, for example, insistently engaged her new daughter in activities that entailed getting acquainted with the rest of the family and the properties belonging to them. It was widely known that the eldest son would become the Earl of Matlock one day, but Henry Fitzwilliam's wife, though happily married for more than eight years, had not begotten a son, and she was not getting any younger.

So, unless the aforementioned became with child in the near future and successfully provided the family with an heir (she had already brought five fine girls to the world), the job would fall onto Richard and Elizabeth. God forbid the title ended up in the hands of a next of kin. Indeed, if Fitzwilliam's ploughing continued as steadfastly as this, he would soon have harvest to pick.

In all his life, Fitzwilliam had never been so happy as his little wife had made him in the past few days. All earlier enjoyments, all former loves and courtships, all easy conquests of soldierly Adonis were quite tasteless when compared to the licit delights which of late he had relished. Never before had he found his parents' townhouse so pleasant a place in which to dwell, and no women's society had ever conjured away his melancholy with so little as a look. Ah, those lively, beautiful eyes of hers!

Jane witnessed her sister's first married days with mingled emotions. She was aware that Elizabeth's heart had not always been wholly with Colonel Fitzwilliam and was pleasantly surprised to see how well her sister had conquered her feelings. The Colonel's captivation for her sister was compleat. He simply worshipped the soil upon which she trod with all regard and admiration. That Elizabeth was the object of his exceedingly vigorous...mmm...regard, Jane had no doubt either.

Any reservations Jane might have had about her sister's marital felicity were promptly erased upon one encounter she had of a most unsettling nature. Jane, having excused herself from accompanying Lady Matlock to a walk into Bond Street, and increasingly bored to the core, entered the seemingly solitary library of the fine house in search of some sort of entertainment to kill her boredom. Yet, it appeared she was not the only one to have sought amusement in the aforesaid room, for while she was above the wooden stairs perusing the upper shelves, making up her mind between a tome of Milton's Paradise Lost, or Shakespeare's Sonnets, she heard a sound quite foreign to her delicate ears in the context of a library. It was a kind of hoarse groan that she was sure she had heard from swains upon being fed. Instinctively, she tilted her head to see who was on the other side that was making such a peculiar noise only to be confronted by the most mortifying sight she could have ever seen. There, in the throes of a most amorous bliss, Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth were engaged in connubial and decidedly carnal union.

With outstanding incredulity, Jane focused her chaste eyes to deny what they presented before them. But alas, that only served as confirmation, for she spied Fitzwilliam's buttocks amidst the tangle of Elizabeth's petticoats, and Jane's ears could not escape the sound of her sister's moaning from under his weight. By the time Jane's senses registered her brain's desperate command to avert themselves from the scene, it was too late. She had witnessed sufficient as to keep her entertained for several lonely nights. Mortified, she crouched against the shelves and closed her eyes, her hands tightly pressed against her ears.

Albeit the encounter had not failed to render her compleatly out of sorts, Jane experienced a momentous emotion. However improper the exercise on the other side of the library shelves, far from feeling mortally wounded, Jane's body suffered from an unknown yearning that she would hitherto find almost impossible to fight.

Whether said yearning stemmed from nascent womanly desires in being thoroughly awakened or the sight of her desirable brother-in-law's lush rear as it descended over her sister, the author will leave the readership to decide.

Of course, with such a passionate man's constant provocation, anyone could forget a past heartbreak.

Anyone...

The stage was being readied for a scene as old as time itself...



Chapter 23 and 24Something to Remind Me of Thee

To add to Jane's befuddlement of emotions, she had taken to pass quite a long time in the company of Lady Matlock, while the newlyweds literary spent the hours above stairs. Evidently, the lady was exceedingly fond of her youngest, for there was nothing she would enjoy more than to proffer to the compliant Jane his every virtue. Ere long, sweet Jane began to feel...considerable warmth towards her brother-in-law. All that rattling on about him from his mother, added to his constant company and gallant manners, made quite an impression on the quondam unflappable Jane.

When she witnessed the scene in the library, she was done for. p>Hitherto, Jane found it difficult to sleep. Every single night, she lay on the mattress, tossing restlessly, in vain trying to erase the shameful images of Fitzwilliam's nakedness. Inevitably, and to her dismay, she had been compelled to be silent witness of the couple's lovemaking (though she did not peek from over the shelf not once more or take her hands from her ears for a second). The sounds Richard had elicited from Elizabeth spoke of delights she had no idea could be a wife's province. Obviously, she had been mistaken. From that day on, Jane would inevitably find her nights full of him: dreaming of him, sometimes even lying supine thinking of him. Without even touching her, her brother-in-law had awakened feelings in her that not even she knew were there: a hidden kiss on the corner of her lips, a burgeoning cry in the confines of her throat...

After countless such nights, she decided she would confront the obscure corners of her heart. Sitting up in bed she endeavoured to persuade herself that she had no feelings for her relative. It was only the excitement of the events and the unhappy happenstance that had her in such a fitful situation.

Granted, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was exceedingly handsome and all one could call charming and amiable. What was there not to admire? Any woman in possession of blood in her veins would find him highly desirable. In addition to all that, Jane had seen he was a loving husband to her sister. She reasoned that her feelings stemmed from proper admiration for the gentleman and decided not to give the matter another thought. She closed her eyes and went under the covers, begging the Lord for some sleep. Yet, when she finally dosed off, Richard's face came inevitably back to her in her dreams.

Likewise, Elizabeth's every thought were on her husband. The discovery of this side of him, that he could be the source of such a degree of sensual pleasure had left her spellbound. She thought she could leave her previous emotions for Mr Darcy behind, if only she could continue so well united to her husband.

Until one day...

It was in pursuit of remembering the various names of the Fitzwilliam ancestors that the unexpected happened. Elizabeth, Jane and Lady Matlock had crossed the whole house in one of the many tours they made of the premises, and entered a big room where the portraits of the family hung from the pristine walls. They went one by one, the grand lady repeating by heart the names of each ancestor and a short but detailed account of how the illustrious likeness had ended up in her house, until they reached a gallery were the portraits of the youths were on display.

Elizabeth found herself enthralled by the sight of a perfectly beautiful portrait of a young man of about twenty years of age on horseback. There was no way she could be mistaken. She could recognise that haughty pose anywhere. It was Mr Darcy, looking absurdly young and smiling down at her as she had countless times seen him smile whilst in her company. She stood in front of his portrait for the longest time in deep contemplation, searching his countenance as if she could elicit a word from him, until she felt the inquisitive look of her mother-in-law behind her.

"Oh, that is my nephew, Fitzwilliam Edward Darcy. It was drawn about eight years before."

"Oh, Lizzy! It is so very much like him!" exclaimed Jane.

"Do you know my nephew?"

Elizabeth coloured. "Yes," she answered terribly embarrassed.

"And do you not think him a very handsome man, girls?"

Jane noticed Elizabeth's discomfiture and went to her rescue. "Yes," she said. "Very handsome."

"I know none so handsome, or so kind." And Lady Matlock went on praising her nephew's good qualities with the same degree of emotion she had used to praise her youngest son. Every idea that she brought forward was favourable to his character, adding to Elizabeth's torture.

At length, Lady Matlock went on with another portrait, but Elizabeth did not listen, could no longer follow any of it. Before they quit the gallery, she returned to Mr Darcy's portrait. As she stood before the canvas on which he was represented, she remembered his regard with deep sentiment and was swept by the reminiscence of his warmth as he caressed her face, his impropriety in kissing her, and his avowal of everlasting love.

Overpowered by shame and vexation, Elizabeth was compelled to quit her mother-in-law's company. How was it possible that she could feel that way? She was married, happily married for God's sake! Those feelings were compleatly reprehensible. She must fight them at all cost lest they should ruin her present well-being.

However sincere the aspiration, she simply was not in command of her heart. To feel such fierce emotions for a man who was not her husband was ghastly. Vastly vexed and determined not to return to that gallery of torture in her life, she began to repair to her bedchamber claiming a headache. She would not give Mr Darcy another thought. Mr Darcy was undeserving of her regard. More so now that she was married. No, she would not think warmly of him.

When she was about to leave the room, however, she saw a small likeness of the same man, together with the likeness of several other young men she imagined must have been Richard's cousins. She was arrested by a terrible impulse to snatch it, which she did very quickly, and absconded with it amidst the folds of her skirt. Without a moment to lose, she proceeded to her bedchamber and there, in the solitude of her room, she produced the small picture and gazed at Mr Darcy's serious countenance painted on it at length. Taking it to her heart, she sighed.

Mr Darcy...

She went over to her bed and lay there with the picture still pressed to her heart. It occurred to her that he had not sent his congratulations to Fitzwilliam upon his marriage to her.

What could that mean? Did it mean anything? "This will not do. I must stop it!" She rose from bed and reached for her small trunk where she kept her personal possessions. There she hid the picture in the bottom of the trunk among her most cherished things.

When Colonel Fitzwilliam reached his commission in Spain, he was highly applauded by the youth of the corps when he was seen with the two beauties from Hertfordshire clinging to his arms. Already a champion among his officers, the good colonel rose immensely in the opinion of all these by his exceptional good taste in women. Mrs Fitzwilliam enjoyed the praise exceedingly well. She and Jane were no doubt the most beautiful ladies in the camp, and the most refined. Congratulations notwithstanding, Colonel Fitzwilliam was a little uncomfortable with the poor company these people afforded, for the officer's wives were not those with whom he would wish to surround his precious wife.

Howbeit zealously Fitzwilliam guarded both ladies, their simplicity and artless behaviour rapidly engaged the whole regiment in admiration. Jane was especially loved for her submissive nature. She smiled and blushed prettily every time she was addressed by the gallant officers. Therefore, it soon became the fashion among all the young fellows of Colonel Fitzwilliam's regiment to admire, nay, to adore his sister-in-law.

It was only when Mrs Wickham made her arrival on Spanish soil that every male head turned in her direction. She was twice the terrible flirt she had always been, and while she flirted so, her husband won every single farthing from those whom she cajoled into doubtful gaming. Still, they were very popular. But Colonel Fitzwilliam did his best to avoid their company.

However, Elizabeth and Jane had several opportunities to talk with their sister Lydia when they met occasionally.

"Guess who got married?" Lydia exclaimed after first seeing her sisters. "Oh, you will never guess, so I had better tell you." Making a pause for the sake of suspense, she then said almost in a whisper, "Mr Darcy."

On hearing Mr Darcy's name, Elizabeth was immediately impatient for more. Of course, she could not have found a more compliant informer. As soon as Lydia was sure she had her sisters' undivided attention, she proceeded to acquaint them with the details of the event. One of them, of course, was the name of the bride.

"His cousin? Miss Anne?" Elizabeth gasped in frank surprise.

"Indeed. They say she is a sickly creature, though I have not seen her myself. We were not invited, Wickham and I, which was quite vexing. After all Mr Darcy was Wickham's best man at our wedding."

"Mr Darcy? Mr Darcy was at your wedding?" repeated Elizabeth in utter amazement.

"Oh yes! He was to come to St Clement's with Wickham, you know. Have I not given you an account of my wedding? But gracious me! I quite forgot! I ought not to have said a word to you. I promised them so faithfully! What will Wickham say? It was to be such a secret!"

"If it was to be a secret then tell us no more. I shall not seek any more information for my part," Jane said, looking meaningfully at Elizabeth.

"Oh, certainly," said Elizabeth, though burning with curiosity. "We shall ask no more questions."

But to live in ignorance of such a point was impossible, or at least, it was impossible not to try for information. Mr Darcy had been at her sister's wedding. It was exactly a scene, and exactly among people, where he had least to do and least temptation to go. Conjectures as to the meaning of it, rapid and wild, hurried into her brain.

He must have played a more important role in the affair, which also meant that he must have acted following his feelings for her.

This intelligence left Elizabeth completely dumbfounded. So Mr Darcy must have been still in love with her by then. The idea was in itself preposterous, and there was precious little she could do to prevent her heart from sinking in the deepest of sorrows. What had his part been in her sister's wedding exactly? Was it possible that there had been a misunderstanding between them? Had she not encouraged him well enough? Did he still love her?

The only person in the world she thought she could ask about any particulars was her aunt. But how to write to her without risking that her letter was not read by any other? She was determined to know more about it, so she wrote in this manner,

You may readily comprehend what my curiosity must be to know how a person at that time so wholly unconnected with any of us should have being amongst you at such a time. Pray write instantly, and let me understand it, unless it is to remain in the secrecy which Lydia seems to think necessary.

Until Elizabeth had the satisfaction of a reply from her aunt she had no rest. But the contents of her aunt's letter threw her into a flutter of spirits, in which it was difficult to determine whether pleasure or pain bore the greatest share. Mr Darcy had in fact forwarded the match between her sister and Mr Wickham. He had followed them purposely in town, he had taken on himself all the trouble and mortification of the research, had frequently met, reasoned, and finally bribed the man whom he always most wished to avoid and whose very name was a punish for him to pronounce. He had done all this for a girl he hardly knew. No, no, of course not. Not for Lydia. Her heart did not fail when it whispered that he had done it all for her own sake.

Still a question remained unanswered. Why, then had he not returned for her?

It was a question only Mr Darcy himself could answer. She doubted her curiosity would ever be satisfied. But at least, she could rest assured that whatever the impediment, it had not been lack of affection. Such intelligence was a relief. For at least she could remember their past relationship with fondness, knowing that her love for him had not been unrequited, she had not loved in vain. It was painful, exceedingly painful to know that theirs would be a love story without a happy ending. But deep inside, she was proud. Proud that she had inspired in Mr Darcy such unselfish love that had elicited the best of him: Honour and compassion.

She rose from her seat and folded her aunt's letter several times and them put it away in the bottom of the little trunk where she had previously laid Mr Darcy's picture.

To be continued.



Chapter 25 The Girls I Leave Behind

When the campaign was opened again and the troops were to march into Madrid, Elizabeth was well into her third month.

For the first time in his life, Colonel Fitzwilliam loathed to leave. He had witnessed his wife's painful first months of pregnancy and did not like what he had seen. She had fainted several times, had grown remarkably thinner, and refused to be properly nourished. In addition to that, she hardly slept at all, round greenish circles surrounded her eyes, and she wept for no reason whatsoever.

But there was no way Colonel Fitzwilliam could escape his duty. He was a man of honour above all. So he readied her family for their return to England and prepared his sojourn to the battlefield.

He took the longest time to say his goodbye to his beloved. His gravity became such that it was making the whole endeavour to leave even worse. "I am not afraid for myself," he confessed to his wife tenderly caressing her flat womb where he knew his seed had produced an incipient sprout. "But if a shot should finish me, I fear for those I am leaving behind me, whom I should wish to provide for."

Elizabeth, by a hundred caresses to his countenance, and the most kind and felt professions of love, tried to soothe his feelings.

"You must go home at once. Understand? Do not linger one minute," he said a bit concerned. "Here are three hundred pounds. That will suffice until you reach home. Now listen. Do not cry, woman. I must talk to you. This is important. If I fall, you must know I have loved you more than anything. Listen. You and the child shall want nothing. My father has given me word to provide for you. If this one is a boy, and I am sure it is a boy, he will probably be the next Earl of Matlock. That in itself will secure your well-being." He was in such sad concern for his wife's future that he had not realised he was treating her as if she were already his widow.

And so, struggling to see how he could make sure his wife would not be wanting anything if an accident befell him, our dear colonel dressed himself in his oldest and shabbiest uniform with something like a prayer on his lips for his family better than for himself. The moment he said his last farewell, he pressed her to his beating heart, taking her up from the ground, holding her in his arms for several minutes. When he finally broke the embrace, both were on the verge of tears, quite red in the face, eyes brimming. Without further words, he put her down and left her.

Bellow the stairs, another woman awaited her farewell. But this one could not hope for a similar adieu. No. She would have to content herself with a shake of hands or in the best of cases a chaste kiss on her cheek. Jane trembled with the idea that Richard might not return. Love had obtained the mastery over her emotions and she found she could hold her feelings no more. So, when Richard reached her to bid her goodbye, she pressed herself on his chest and gave way to crying.

"Why, Miss Bennet. I may live to vex you and your sister yet."

"Oh, do not speak lightly of it, Fitzwilliam. I cannot bear it."

"Dearest Miss Bennet. Do you suppose I feel nothing? I tremble to know I am leaving you both here. You must promise you will leave at once. Do not wait for my return."

She nodded, and he kissed her hands and was ready to leave her. But she clung to his coat and begged him in a feeling manner, "Oh, but you will take care, will you not, Richard?"

"Of course I will," he said reassuringly. "Still, you know, redcoats make a deuce of a good mark for a shot. It is no laughing matter that. Look here. If I drop, you must stay with your sister in Matlock and help her with her maternity."

"You needn't tell me that. I shall take care of her."

"I thank you. Do it for me."

"For you, Richard."

"I must go, now Miss Bennet. We march in a quarter of an hour. Mind you, you are to stir from this town as soon as the regiment is gone."

"Oh Richard, I must tell you something before you go."

He looked at her in expectancy, imagining she would pass her some intelligence regarding Elizabeth. He was in no way prepared for such a declaration.

"I...I love you."

He was so surprised by her confession that he did not react immediately. Instead, he remained there, nailed to the floor, trying to come to terms with her words.

"Jane. What are you saying?"

"I love you. I do."

"Jane."

"I know, I know. I just wanted you to know before you go."

"Jane, I..."

"Hush. Do not say anything. Now you can go."

But before he could turn to leave, she rose on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his, wishing she could melt in his arms as she was sure her sister had a few minutes before. And as quickly as she did so, she let go of him and rushed to the kitchen where she could hide herself from his departure.



Chapter 26The town was quite quiet when the regiments, at the sound of the stirring call to battle, marched away. Despite the fact that Colonel Fitzwilliam had made it clear he wished his family back in England as soon as the regiment had retired, Jane, with Lizzie half invalided, and being left in command of the house, lingered on. The loyal servants who remained by their mistresses' sides made oaths to helped them come what may, for who could come near kind and gentle Jane without feeling touched by her sweetness and affectionate nature? Elizabeth, in turn, remained locked in her room the greater part of the day. The pregnancy, though still not evident to the eye, had brought all sorts of maladies to the young lady, from physical discomforts of a well-known nature to melancholy of the severest sort. Her poor soul grew so low in spirits after her husband's departure that she actually stopped eating at all. She had to be nursed into nourishment by cook, who had taken upon herself the care of the young ladies as though they were her own children.

Poor cook did not know what to do to ease the ladies' pain. Wouldst that she could bring back the rosy complexion to Mrs Fitzwilliam's cheeks! Elizabeth clung to cook and Jane for support, for the cruel grief that had gripped her heart tormented her every waking hour. Yet Jane was not fit to the task of consoling her sister after Fitzwilliam's departure. She herself was in terrible need of consolation.

Though Elizabeth was disturbed in spirit, in no way did her distress match that of her sister. Everyone thought her torment stemmed from fear for Elizabeth's wellbeing. But in truth, Jane was most painfully suffering the hammering of her own conscience.

She had seen her beloved depart, perhaps never to see him return, and carried the burden of their last exchange in which she had confessed to him her feelings, even... Oh for shame! She trembled at the memory. She had kissed him! The sole idea rendered her powerless. With horrible remorse, she remained for hours, silent, motionless, and haggard, by the windows in which she had placed herself to watch the regiments as they marched away, until the last bayonet had disappeared from her sight.

Only when cook asked her whether she should pack the pans and pots in such and such a trunk, did Jane realise they should be preparing to leave. But leave they could not, for Lizzie would not bear the journey in a carriage, let alone a boat. So stay they must, and Jane was relieved that at least she would be able to hear news of Fitzwilliam's faring sooner than in London

It was with the first light of dawn on the fourth day after the regiments had left that the first canons in Madrid began to roar. The dreadful sound shattered both Jane and Elizabeth's souls, as it disturbed every prayer that had been sent to Heaven on behalf of the soldiers. All that day, from morning until past sunset, the canon never ceased to boom, and its perpetual terror sent the small congregation of wives into cowardly emigration. Lydia was among the first to fly. Mrs O'Hara, the Major's wife, whose company Jane and Elizabeth had courted while the regiments were still settled in town, came by to bid them farewell, for everyone was flying, knowing that every minute they wasted in hesitation would only render their situation more dangerous.

When they received news that the French had prevailed upon the English in Madrid, Jane and Elizabeth found themselves the only English in town. Mercifully, cook had made friends with some peasants in the country, and these very readily offered their help to hide the genteel Englishwomen in case the French should come, which they did, and with them the news that Fitzwilliam's regiment had been forced to retreat to Portugal.

After some time, the enemy left, and a deadly silence resumed its empire over the town, remaining hushed as a desert after the French soldiers abandoned it.

Jane and Elizabeth with their small retinue, returned to the hotel. Little did they imagine the state in which they would find their belongings. What had not been taken, had been either burned or broken to pieces. They had no more clothes but those with which they had run away; and, of course, they had no food, no money, and no one to look after them but good old Spenser. Both the horses and harness Fitzwilliam had left them for their journey to the coast to take a ferry were gone, too. They found the carriage remnants broken in pieces a few yards from the house. But, by some act of providence, the mare had escaped and returned to its original owners.

There was no hope from that quarter then. They would have to remain in Spain and live on their small pittance, which they had been wise enough to hide with them, or on such aid as the good peasants could give them, unless they could find a way to remove themselves to Portugal and find Fitzwilliam's regiment. But Elizabeth could still not be moved, for these small movements which she had been compelled to make while changing quarters had caused her a little bleeding and there was no way they could consult a surgeon there. Fortunately, cook was quite experienced in matters of pregnancy and recommended that Mrs Fitzwilliam keep to her bed.

Jane, however, knew they could not merely wait to be miraculously rescued. Something must be done before their almost nonexistent sources of food were gone.

"I shall ride the mare and find Fitzwilliam," thought she. Accordingly, she readied her mount and went to talk to Elizabeth, who was still in bed.

"It's too dangerous," cried the mother-to-be.

"Yet, it cannot be helped. Suppose the enemy arrive again. I must go. Spencer, cook and Abigail will take care of you."

"Why do you not send Spencer?"

"He knows not a word in Spanish or French. He shall get lost. No. It must be me. But fear not, little sister. I shall return with Fitzwilliam. I promise."



~ * ~Yet, six months after this conversation, Jane had not returned. Poor Elizabeth was in a sorrow so profound and pitiable that her heart was bleeding in grief. The day came, however, when the poor girl had to face the end of her confinement. She had no Jane to press her hand or assist her during the terrified moments of delivery and no husband to pace the halls as her pains increased. With indescribable wonder, and unseemly terror, Elizabeth finally gave birth to a child, a little boy, a miracle of life amidst the horrors of war that brought tears to everyone's eyes and hope of better times to his mother's heart.

When the fighting finally came to an end and Bonaparte had been sent to his prison on Elba, Elizabeth knew she could no longer hope for her family to return by themselves. They must have been killed or in the best of cases fallen into the hands of the enemy. With great trepidation and tears in her eyes, she set herself the task of asking Fitzwilliam's family to come to her aid.



Chapter 27 The lady in a dripping brown bonnet was now kissing one of Darcy's hands with all her might, while the other he employed in holding her trembling body to his. She was mumbling some unintelligent words...you came...at last...and applying soft kisses to his large hand in an absurd manner. The rain was a perfect excuse to keep her under his cloak, a privilege afforded by the weather, which gave Mr Darcy a degree of pleasure mingled with pride that was impossible to explain in words. He helped her walk, shielded to his side by his cloak from the bitter rain, until they reached the Custom-house precincts. They issued out of it still holding each other, clinging to each other as if they would never let go until they found a carriage. Once inside, she emerged, drenched and dishevelled, from beneath his cloak, still keeping a tight hold of Mr Darcy's hand and looking up intently at his face, full of sadness.

"I thank you for coming. I knew you would."

"How did you know I was coming today?" he asked still bewildered by all the activity.

"I did not. I came every day to wait for you."

They spoke no more. Elizabeth (for the lady in the dripping bonnet was indeed, Mrs Fitzwilliam) put her head on his shoulder, cooing warmly within his embrace, like a cat close to the fireplace. Mr Darcy's heart was more confused than ever, yet full of tender love and pity for the creature whose hand he kept close to his heart. She was still holding his other hand as if afraid to let it go.

They arrived at Elizabeth's dwelling with the last light of day. She was shivering with cold. Ever so gently, Darcy helped her out of the carriage and took her inside the house. There seemed to be no one else there. She searched for a candle while he put an extra log on the dying fire and stirred it with a poke.

"You had better change those drenched clothes, lest you catch a cold," he warned her. She nodded and was gone but soon returned, changed into a cotton dress that looked like a nightshift and a large shawl that covered her completely. She took him to a small kitchen and insisted on preparing supper for him, fussing a great deal over it, offering everything she happened to have, which was not much. He would not have it and persuaded her that he would be satisfied with tea and some buttered bread, which she prodigiously had, given the severe circumstances in which she found herself. At length, she sat at the other end of the table. Silent and in great discomfort, smaller and thinner than ever, she remained sitting, waiting for him to say something.

But he could find nothing to say. The only thing he wanted to do was hold her in his arms again as he had done in the carriage, but he had no right.

She did not have to wait long, however, for Mr Darcy, though profoundly overwhelmed, was full of curiosity.

"Pray. Tell me how you have fared."

"First of all, I must thank you."

"I have not done anything yet. I cannot promise you anything."

"I know. This is not London. Richard will not be so easy to spot as Lydia."

"So you know."

"I do. I know it is a bit late, but I must thank you on behalf of my family for what you did for my sister on that occasion. My father does not know to who he is in debt."

"Your family owes me nothing." Mr Darcy blushed greatly at this reminiscence and was glad when a lady that was holding a baby called Elizabeth. It gave him time to think of what to say.

When she returned, he said hastily. "I would have thought your aunt could keep a secret."

"It was not my aunt who betrayed your confidence but my sister Lydia. She told me everything about a year ago. But then it was too late."

The implications of her words did very little to ease Mr Darcy's mind. He knew perfectly well what she meant. But he could not find words to tell her about the events that had prevailed on that occasion, about his terrible pain when he learnt that his thoughtlessness had in fact contributed to the fall of Lydia, that he had thought that the woman he loved would never look at him with respect again. He had failed her and, what was even worse, had not been man enough to face his mistakes. His pride, his abominable pride, had prevailed.

"Why are you here? I cannot believe Fitzwilliam brought you here," he said bitterly.

"Do not speak ill of him."

"Forgive me. It was not my intention."

"They are not dead. I am certain. We must find them."

"Them?"

She told him her history; how they had been obligated to forgo her husband's instructions to leave Spain when the French invaded Madrid in August on account of her weakness, and how Jane had followed the regiments to Portugal, never to come back, and how the baby had come earlier than expected. Strangely enough, Elizabeth did not cry while telling him her tale. She had no more tears to shed.

Darcy listened to her every word with great attention, every now and then sending her a look of reproach, but dared not say a word against the course of actions she had chosen. When he learned of Miss Bennet's disappearance, of which he knew nothing, he was visibly grieved and shocked, for, having heard all sorts of horrible tales about the inhumanities performed on maidens by soldiers, he immediately feared Jane could have ended in the hands of the Turks.

Still, he said nothing, always listening attentively, at times holding her hand when a difficult passage came.

"Why did you not return now that the war is over?"

"And leave Jane and my husband here? No, I could not."

"But the baby..."

Elizabeth made a pause. There was pain in her face, a pain that Darcy recognised as his own. "My baby takes after his father. He is brave and good, and can bear whatever his father and I can," she said almost breathlessly. Yet Elizabeth's head sunk after this admission. Her head went down to her bosom and her hands up to her eyes. But still she did not cry.

Darcy was speechless. He could not bear her wretchedness.

Raising her head, she inhaled deeply and endeavoured to look cheerful, "I heard you got married, too." Struggling with her true feelings, Elizabeth smiled, trying to change the topic of conversation.

Darcy sighed. How to pass her the intelligence of yet more sorrow? Had she not had enough? Could she have room in her heart for his painful tale? In the end, he told her his story, though he spared her the details of Anne's death.

"Georgiana adores her," he said talking of his daughter, a thin smile curving his lips at the thought of his progeny. "But she is simply overwhelmed with her."

"Poor souls. To think that both of them have been left without mamas."

"Indeed it is heartbreaking. Yet very much like your boy, Emily seems to bear it with boldness. She not even says the word. Perhaps it is simply that she has not heard it being told to anyone."

"But at least she has you."

Darcy chuckled. "Oh yes. But she insists on calling me 'brother'."

Despite herself, Elizabeth laughed. He laughed too.

"Then you should tell your daughter who you really are."

"Certainly. Unfortunately, a man cannot spend as much time with a baby girl as a woman can, lest she learn horse riding sooner than embroidering. So I try to be present when she's being fed, and at bed time. Georgina is always present at those hours. My sister calls me 'brother,' so Emily imitates her. But she used to say 'papa' when she was learning to say her first words. In fact those were precisely the very first words she said."

"That is reassuring."

They fell into an uncomfortable silence after this last exchange. Darcy could not help but think that, were his cousin dead, he would offer his widow his hand as soon as her mourning had passed. His heart ached with the thought. He loved his relative and did not wish him evil. But the happenstance that had befallen him was not his fault. Darcy loved this woman more than his life and would do anything to provide for her and her child until he could gather news either of his cousin's survival or of his death. Until that time, however, he must keep his countenance and refrain from further shows of affection.

"Are you ready to go home, now?"

"Without my husband and sister, sir?"

"Elizabeth...please. What good is there in your staying? You must exercise submission now. I am here because you sent for me. You must trust me. I shall be able to search much better knowing you and the child are safe at home. What I wish is that you go to Pemberley with my sister. You can stay there until I have found your sister and your husband. I would be immensely grateful if you could help Georgiana with Emily while I do my search."

Elizabeth stared at him with a look of wonder. Pemberley? Oh, the thought brought horrible anguish to her heart. Going to Pemberley? What was the meaning of it? Could her heart betray her in this horrible manner when her own husband could be lying on his face with a bullet through his heart and Jane could be missing forever? How could she dare imagine herself in the beautiful grounds of Pemberley and in Mr Darcy's arms when her heart should be mourning for so much? Perhaps, she had already given up all hope. Perhaps she had mourned her loss in her soul long enough. The idea of going to Pemberley simply filled her with elation. But she could not show she was eager to accept. She must keep her countenance. So she dropped her head and almost indistinguishably said, "Very well. I shall go if that is what you wish."



chapter 28

Bride to Be.I suppose there are few men in this world of ours who would not bend their knees in front of a suffering woman. And Darcy was not foreign to the sentiment - especially when said martyr was the woman he loved. Ever since Elizabeth had parted with her husband and sister, now both presumably dead, she had lived stupefied under the pressure of her sorrow. Only the arrival of Darcy had rescued her from the dark pitch in which catastrophe had trapped her. She received his friendship and kindness with profound relief and gratitude, in the secret certainty that nothing but sincere and unselfish love had inspired the gentleman to come to her aid. Indeed, he had placed himself at her feet and she was sure that, should she decide to trample upon him, he would not complain one bit, ready as he was to put the world at her disposal without asking anything in return.

Even though Elizabeth had fallen in love with Mr Darcy long before her marriage to Colonel Fitzwilliam, presently she could only think of her husband and sister's whereabouts. If anything, Elizabeth was loyal. Her heart might have bled for Fitzwilliam Darcy in the past, but it bled for her husband now. Acutely so. Still, although she would not accept anything but friendship from her new cousin William, as she called him, she wished to keep him by her side. He must give her everything but she would give him nothing. It was a bargain not infrequently levied in love stories.

Two weeks had passed since Elizabeth and Darcy's re-encounter took place ? two weeks in which they lived in pleasant companionship in the company of a few servants. But now it was time for Elizabeth to journey back to England. The parting between them caused both parties such pain that everyone who witnessed the event thought them to be a husband and wife forced into separation. That they loved each other was clearly written on their faces.

Darcy reckoned Elizabeth, to say the truth, had not encouraged him to pursue nothing but her friendship during his stay with her in the continent. Yet he was of the mind that Elizabeth was exceedingly attached to him, and that only her uncertain marital state stood between them. As for himself, his English habit, pride, and severity perhaps had prevented him from saying anything about his true feelings. He was too self-composed, too honourable to try anything else. Besides, Fitzwilliam's demise was still dubious. Yet the passionate love Darcy had for Elizabeth, his hunger for her touch might well have surpassed his capacity for restraint, and only his strong sense of honour had prevented his trespass of the door to her sleeping accommodations on those weary nights they had dwelled under the same roof for a fortnight.

Darcy's object in insisting on Elizabeth's journey to England was to the effect of securing her wellbeing and that of his cousin's only son. He was certain that, should Colonel Fitzwilliam have been able to communicate with him ere the misfortune befell him, he would have asked Darcy to take his family back to England, as it had been his wish in the first place.

Darcy had no doubt that Elizabeth was a widow. What else could have prevented such a love-struck husband as Richard from returning to the arms of his wife? So, with little hope of finding his cousin or Miss Bennet alive, Darcy began his search as soon as Elizabeth's boat was lost on the horizon.

Many of the brave soldiers who had suffered severely upon the days of action were still in Spain, recovering from their wounds. Spanish cities had become vast military hospitals after the battles; and, as men and officers began to rally from their wounds, public places began to swarm with warriors, young and old, who, just rescued from death, were eager to indulge in gambling, gaiety and lovemaking. To those Darcy went over to enquire after his missing cousin and friend.

"Were you in Colonel Fitzwilliam's company?" was the repetitive question upon Darcy's lips. One after the other, he conducted a survey among every officer, putting a guinea in every hand that could offer information. Soon, word was spread among the impoverished officers, desperate to grasp a guinea to afford their hunger for distraction, that Colonel's Fitzwilliam cousin was arrived and what a freehanded, generous gentleman he was.

Darcy had already lost all hope of finding Fitzwilliam when a voice startled him with information.

"He was my colonel, sir."

Darcy looked at the soldier who was reposing on a stone bench in a public garden and went up to him immediately and sat trembling by his side, his use of the preterit occasioning terrible uneasiness in his innermost feelings.

"Do you have any news of him?"

"Who asks?"

"I am his cousin, sir. And I am searching for him on behalf of his wife."

The man lifted his unwounded hand and touched his cap sadly and respectfully. "The whole army did not contain a finer or better soldier," the man said. "The captain of the colonel's company is in town. He might be in possession of some information regarding the colonel. Your honour might want to see him."

Darcy put a guinea into the soldier's hand and told him he should have another if he would bring the captain to his address, a promise that very soon brought both of them to Mr Darcy's presence.

On speaking with the captain, Darcy learned that Fitzwilliam had already been considered lost in action, but his corpse had not been found to that day, the cannon having done its worst. The man broke out into a rhapsody of praise for the disappeared colonel. No other soldier in all England had been so good at charging on horseback, no other colonel had been so generous and loyal towards those who were under his command. All that was said was true, but could scarcely lessen the suffering Darcy felt in his heart. This was his cousin about whom they were talking. They had been playmates, friends and sometimes even confidantes. All their lives together passed in front of him. To think that he would see him no more! What a dreary mourning affected Darcy's soul!

Alone in the small carriage Darcy had rented to move about the country, he sighed, recollection of the day he had parted from Elizabeth still coming painfully to his mind. Elizabeth. What to say to her? What words could he find to convey such tragic news? Darcy trembled at the idea of the task before him. Poor child! He would never come to know his father!

But his mind came to Elizabeth again. How changed from the fresh and comely girl he had held so passionately in his arms one evening in London! Her face was no longer glowing with happiness. She was thin and pale. Her beautiful brown hair was parted under a marriage cap, which would be soon be replaced by a widow's cap. Her eyes... Her eyes had lost their brilliance and life. They were so full of life in the past and now they were fixed and looking nowhere, except when Darcy had dared look into them. That was the only moment they regained their lively spark.

To think that she would be compelled to keep mourning for two long years, the poor child! Darcy felt his heart shrink. But he would make things right for her. He would be her son's father. As soon as her mourning was over he would marry her, and make her happy. He would return the life to those beautiful eyes. Nothing would come between them now. Nothing.

Despite Darcy's wish that she would reside at Pemberley, Elizabeth and her son stayed in London at her husband's house in the company of the Earl and his wife. Needless to say, the elder couple was torn with uncertainty regarding their youngest son's fate. The arrival of their daughter-in-law and grandson became their only source of consolation. How her ladyship nurtured that child! How she both laughed and wept over it! Richard might be gone, but a little cherub had come to replace him! It had his eyes, his nose, and his smile! What a miracle it was to hear it cry or laugh!

The Earl of Matlock was enchanted by the creature too. It was he who insisted that the baby and his mother stay with them. To see him holding the infant, and to hear Lady Matlock's laughter as she watched him, did Elizabeth great good. Much as she had wished to be removed to Mr Darcy's place, she just could not take the child away from his grandparents. They spent many hours in the fashionable streets of London, in the purchase of cups, spoons, and pap-boats for little Richard. They enveloped the delicate and unaware creature with love and worship such as God's marvellous care had only awarded to wretched, mourning hearts.

After what seemed an eternity for Darcy, he finally returned to England, bearing the burden of having failed to find Miss Bennet and the even more tragic outcome of his investigation over Fitzwilliam's fate. Yet on seeing Elizabeth's better looks, he cheered a bit. She had gained weight, and the pink in her cheeks spoke of a speedy recovery. Still, she had to go through many a difficult time, facing her family with the disappearance of Jane. Darcy was determined to stay close to her and, with that purpose in mind, took residence in his townhouse in London.

I suppose the Earl and her Ladyship saw through the intentions of Darcy the minute he came back from Europe for, after conveying his devastating news, their nephew did not show any intention of returning to his own family in Derbyshire but stayed to mourn with his relatives. He visited the Matlock townhouse daily and stayed for hours with them, or with the exceedingly suffering Elizabeth. He brought, on one pretext or another, presents to her and the baby, who was scarcely six months old, most of which were entirely premature for the infant: a wooden horse, a trumpet and other warlike articles that, according to Darcy, would remind the child whose son he was ? the son of a brave man of arms.

Although Richard's parents knew that the match between their son's widow and their nephew was as inexorable as the nascent sun the following day, still they could not help feeling a little annoyed. After all, Richard had been missing for less than a year. It was not until they stood in front of the stone in memory of Richard that they began to resign themselves to their youngest son's demise.

The sight of the stone, bearing the well-known and pompous Fitzwilliam arms, agitated Elizabeth's nerves, too ? so much so that she was compelled to leave the churchyard before the parson's words were finished, sobbing in her deep grief. Darcy was instantly tempted to follow her, but was prevailed upon to remain by his uncle's side at the head of the funeral gathering.

As the party, which included Elizabeth's family from Longbourn, finally broke, a persistent drizzle began to fall, and everyone left the cemetery to find shelter from the rain. Darcy went in search of Elizabeth with an umbrella. He found her seated on a bench amidst the stones in the back of the churchyard and sat beside her, sporting a huge open umbrella that easily protected them both. He watched her weep in silence.

"Elizabeth. What can I do to ease your pain?" he finally said when she failed to regain her composure. "Hush," said she, and she held out her hand, smiling between her tears. "You cannot have done more."

Taking the slender hand, he gently pulled her to him. "There is nothing I would not do for you, dearest Elizabeth."

"Dear William," she sighed. Her hand reached his cheek almost mechanically, and her tender caress made Darcy wish he could freeze time and stay there with her forever. But the soft drizzle soon turned into heavy rain. Darcy hated to ruin the moment but they must go lest they should drown under the rain.

"You are going to catch your death. Let us find some shelter." With that, he signalled to an abandoned Grecian summerhouse that serendipitously stood a few yards from the cemetery. Thither they rushed hand in hand.

"Heavens! We are sodden!" she gasped.

"Pray. Are you cold?" Darcy asked, concerned for her. "Please take my coat."

"Oh, no, William. I thank you. I shall be fine."

"I insist." Removing his coat, he presently wrapped her with it, but his hands lingered on her shoulders a bit. She rubbed her cheek on his hand and closed her eyes.

"Thank you," she said feelingly.

Darcy could not contain himself any more. He leaned his head closer and was about to kiss her on the lips when she recoiled.

"I...I beg your pardon," he stammered, embarrassed.

"No, I believe it is my fault. I am sorry."

"No. I am sorry. I did not mean to... I really am sorry."

"Don't be. It is just that I am not ready. You have been such a good friend. God! How good you have been to little Richard and to me," she muttered.

"And I am willing to do yet so much more," he whispered with passion in his voice.

She lowered her eyes and pursed her lips. "I know. But I cannot stay here any longer. I am going away, William."

Darcy panicked. "Going away? Where are you going?"

"My mother needs me. And my father, too. Jane is missing because of me. I feel so guilty. I know there is nothing I can do to bring her back, but at least I shall be some source of consolation for my mother."

"I see."

"I will write to you."

"No." Pressing her hand against his chest he declared, "There is no need for you to write. I shall go with you."

"You are always good and kind, William. But it is to me that the task falls this time. My family is too miserable. I must go to them and stay with them."

"And so you shall. But I shall go with you. I shall not part with you this time, Elizabeth. And as soon as your mourning is..."

"Hush!" she ordered him. "Do not dare allude to that!"

Darcy frowned. He had not expected resistance on her part. "Elizabeth. Someone must take care of you. And you know there is nothing I would not..."

"Oh please, William. Say no more!"

"Why do you insist in prolonging your suffering?"

"You cannot expect me to..."

"Why not?" he interrupted her. "You must think of your child. He needs a father. And there is also Emily. She needs a mother, too. I am certain you shall love her."

Elizabeth sighed. He was right. But the pain in her heart...the certainty that she had caused her family suffering did not allow her to ponder her future. Darcy did not see her hesitance in that light. Taking a step towards her, he pressed her hand to his cheek. "God knows I need you, Elizabeth."

She blushed uncontrollably. Seeing that he was winning her over, he gathered courage and went on.

"I think that Richard's memory will not be injured by the way in which I intend to provide for his widow and the mother of his son. I loved Richard as a brother would, but it is not wise to cling to the past. It would be equal to cherishing a fantasy."

"William. I am not clinging to Richard's memory. But it is too soon. I would feel I am betraying him."

"In marrying my cousin's widow, I would not be doing anything wrong! On the contrary ? I know he would approve."

She shook her head. "But I have other objections. You know I have."

"What?"

"Do you think I can marry again after I have ruined for ever the happiness of a most beloved sister?"

"I do not understand. Of what are you talking?"

"Can you not see? Jane is dead and I am alive! She left no child! I was left with a child who will be the Earl of Matlock one day and thus securing my future. Jane never married the man she loved. I married a wonderful man but Jane...well, she spent her last days witnessing my happiness while she was miserable! I have been so selfish! I have had everything and she has never had anything! And she died protecting me!"

"You are being too hard upon yourself. You have nothing to do with your sister's happenstance."

"Oh you are mistaken. I am to blame. And I am to pay for it."

Darcy lost his patience. In a state of great indignation, he wildly blurted out the first words that came to his mind. "Am I to pay for it, too?"

"William! You don't mean that! All the blame falls on me! I must show some repentance."

"By refusing to be happy again? You are condemning me to unhappiness as well! Have I loved you and watched you in vain? Will you deny me my own portion of happiness and bear another person's sad fate on your shoulders?"

Elizabeth felt not a little scared when Darcy faced her with such a speech. Was she being selfish?

"I once told you I admired you and loved you. My feelings remained unchanged even when I knew you married my cousin. I knew all along that the prize of your love was too high for me to pay. But destiny has willed us to come together again. By Jove! I know you loved your husband...you still cling to his memory... But do not tell me I have fooled myself when I believed you attached to me. I know you are. I can see it in your eyes even now."

Elizabeth struggled with the most painful confusion. "You are not mistaken. I am deeply attached to you. It would be a folly to deny it. But I cannot reconcile myself to live happily ever after when those I loved will not. At least not just yet. If I did anything to encourage you, I am sorry. Believe me. It was unconsciously done."

"No. I will not have it. You will not draw as apart."

"I am sorry, William. I am leaving for Longbourn with my parents tomorrow, and you must go to your family, too."

"Is this your final reply?"

"Yes. I have thought about this ever since I came back from the continent, and I think it is the best for all of us. I am very sorry to cause you pain."

"Pain? Elizabeth, I have been in agonies ever since I met you!"

"Pray, William. Let us remain civil."

"Civil? Are you laughing at me? After all I have gone through for you? God, I was a fool!"

"William. I am astonished at you! This is not the moment to discuss all this!"

He gave a sad laugh. "I am amazed I have not learned to read you, Elizabeth. After all this time in your company, I should have known better. Perhaps Byron was right after all."

"Byron?"

"He once warned me about..." he trailed off.

"You talked about me to Byron?"

He did not answer but went on venting his anger. "What a bargain! You have toyed with me to an excess. This is the second...no, the third time you have rejected me. But it shall be the last. I shall bargain no more."

"For shame, Mr Darcy! I have never known you to speak like this! You cannot expect me to?"

"It is not your devotion to your sister and husband's memories that moves you. That is but the pretext. I fear if you do not accept me now, it is simply because you do not love me with the same force I have devoted to you." He stared at her eyes searchingly, desperately trying to extract the truth from them. "Tell me, Elizabeth. Are you unworthy of my love?"

He looked so helpless, almost bereft. God, how much she loved that man! Could she pain him when he had been so good to her? Had he not shown her in every possible way that he only wished to protect her? Bearing his desperate look no more, she buried her face in his lapels and almost disappeared into his arms. "No!" she cried. "I love you! I do!"

Darcy kissed her hair with the greatest devotion. That was the reaction he had hoped for. That was the Elizabeth he loved.

"Then nothing remains to be said," he whispered into her ear. "We shall wed next Christmas, in a year's time. But in the meantime I shall be your son's guardian and yours too."



Chapter 29

Those back in peaceful London City soon forgot the horrors of the war on the Continent, engrossed as they became with their own affairs. Despite the noble sentiments that attached it to her late husband, Elizabeth's heart had been always Darcy's. Granted, Darcy himself was a fool when it came to Elizabeth. Ever since she agreed to be wedded to him in a year's time, he became her shadow. In no time, word of their allegedly secret engagement was spread, but truth be told they could not care less. They were together at last. There was nothing to stop them from being soon united in marriage. Not even the memory of those who were no more, I am sad to say. But I am sure that you, excellent reader, have not forgotten about them and that many of you would be thoroughly disappointed not to have any news of those who were left behind.

Indeed I have no heart, dear reader, to deny you an account of Richard and Jane's fate, however sad. Yet to go through such a story we must once again go back in time and return to the fields of Spain.

As crowds ran to Madrid gate to avoid confrontation with the French, the merchants closed their shops, women rushed to the churches and chapels, and people simply crowded the streets. The dull sound of the cannon came rolling and rolling while carriages with innumerable travellers hurried out of town. But to some, fleeing was not an option. Instead, as alarm began to take entire possession of their minds, they were compelled to bear witness to the horrors to come.

Undoubtedly, Napoleon had won the battle. The British were said to have performed prodigies of courage, and withstood for most of the onset of the whole French army. Yet at some point they had been overwhelmed, and for a moment it had seemed nothing would rescue the English from the butchery to come. Indeed, a great part of Richard's regiment lay helplessly in the battlefield while the rest had miraculously fled towards Portugal.

When the noise of cannonading was over, however, wagons and country carts laden with wounded began to come rolling into town, ghastly groans coming from within the carts. Miss Jane Bennet, who had been sent on a wild and impossible mission to find her brother-in-law, take him out of the battlefield and back into Elizabeth's arms, prepared herself for the difficult task that lay at her door. Wild with terror, Jane knew not how or where to seek Richard.

As I was saying, when the infamous noise of the gun and cannon was over, Jane tried to gallop onto the battlefield, but her mare had not had a minute to rest and had grown excessively weary. Consequently, it took her precious time to get to the place. Until then, Jane had had the feeling that everything had gone according to plan. She had successfully traced Richard's regiment's movements, but the sight that she was now beholding left her almost spiritless. Hundreds of soldiers that could not be moved, all of them drenched in blood and pain, were being carried on all sorts of stretchers into improvised hospitals that consisted of precariously laid tents, in which nothing further than homemade bandages were offered to heal their wounds. With painful curiosity, Jane peered into those tents only to be confronted with strange haggard faces looking up at her from their straw beds.

All that day from morning until past sunset, Jane never ceased to look for Richard. It was dark when she stopped all of a sudden out of weariness. Standing in the middle of what seemed a sea of living corpses, she looked around in despair as she felt that all her courage abandoned her. She was not alone. With the first stars, many teeth traders* and robbers that usually followed the army had set to their disgusting task of taking the teeth out of the dead and dying together with any valuable object that the poor man could still have on. Repulsed by the sight, Jane made up her mind to call it a night and look for shelter, unaware that her precarious situation had not passed unnoticed either.

~ * ~

No more firing was heard at Madrid. Only the ill had been left behind. Amidst the wounded soldiers, our brave colonel laid badly hurt. He had a serious cut too close to his left eye, and he could not feel his limbs but he was not really concerned about it. He had already been carried into a tent, and although he had not yet been attended by anyone, he was confident the surgeon would come and see to his ailment presently. There was a young aide-de-camp lying next to him whose legs had been completed yanked off by a blast. As Richard registered the horrible vision in a bloody blur, he was seized by a terrifying notion. Having noticed he was incapable of rising to his feet, he wondered if he was still a complete man. In a fit of temper he let out a cry and raised his head to check if he still had his legs. To his own surprise they were there, wrapped in a bloody sheet but he still could not feel them. In vain did he try to reach out to touch them. None of his limbs seemed ready to obey him.

"Come on..." he urged his arm between clenched teeth. "Come on..." But all his efforts went for naught. However, the extra energy he had used in pursue of feeling his legs left him without the last of it that he still had. A surge of pain seared his body with such force that Fitzwilliam imagined that he had cried out. But he had not. He had no strength left even for that. A nauseous feeling and pain took sudden hold of him, and he desperately gasped for air. Was that it? Would he not see his family again? And I am sad to say, dear reader, that in this absurd manner, with his last thoughts bent to his beloved wife, Richard Fitzwilliam collapsed into a deep slumber from which he was never to come round.

~ * ~

The months of secret engagement passed quickly, though not quickly enough for Darcy's impatient soul. Once the mourning period expired and the marriage was openly declared, the month of courtship would be but a gust of wind. Darcy had never been more nervous, yet his happiness was such that all his friends and relatives declared never to have seen him smile so much. It was worth the long months of doubt and suspense to see the beaming grin on his face when he raised his glass and announced his engagement to the lovely widow of his cousin.

And so it was that, when there was but a se'nnight for the bridal day, all preparations had been complete. Trunks had been packed and locked, those of Elizabeth's and little Richard's, who was to spend a month under the care of his proud grand-parents, while his mom and foster papa honeymooned in Brighton. Then the grand house at Pemberley awaited the happy family to make a new start.

But Elizabeth's soul was not at peace. She had felt a bit feverish by the whole affair. Truth be told, it was not the preparations that made her feel feverish, not the anticipation of the great change, the new life which was to commence, but pangs of dim remorse and shame.

It was nonsensical, she knew. Darcy and she had been innocent during the whole courtship. Still, she had at heart a strange and anxious thought. Something which she could not comprehend that called her to Richard's tomb.

Mr Darcy was absent from home, business having called him to Pemberley, and was not yet returned. Elizabeth would have wished him home to tell him the strange feeling that burdened her mind, for the enigma of the call perplexed her. "Richard is not in that graveyard, you goose," she thought to herself. "Why go there?"

But despite the scruples that might have restrained her feet from the cemetery, her soul sought the orchard where her husband's empty tomb lay and thence her feet dragged her one afternoon, driven by a warm wind, which all day had blown strong and full, drifting clouds away, unveiling the blue sky. With an uncertain pace, Elizabeth ran before the wind, descending the walk until she was face to face with the grey giant that was Richard's stone.

Elizabeth, whose shawl and bonnet were off, stood miserably in front of the imposing monument, eyes closed, her body wrapped in the playful warmth of the zephyr that had summoned her there. Tears finally brimmed over, gradually rolling down her cheek. There were several big stone benches in the orchard, discreetly placed in front of the big stones and graves. On one of those Elizabeth sat, full of sadness, head hung down in penitence.

"Forgive me, dear Richard. Dear, dear husband." she muttered over and over between sobs. "You must know I loved you. 'Tis only that I cannot bear... I cannot... alone for ever."

Her head fell to her bosom, and her hands went up to her eyes, and there for a while she gave way to her emotions. "Your cousin ... he insisted on marrying me. You know ... He and I ... He and I had been promised once. But there has been ... nothing ...between us... until now." Elizabeth's head sank down and for the longest time, she commenced to weep in a most agitated manner. "There is nothing to forbid me, I know ... But 'tis only I.... O, Lord! I may love him if you will forgive me!"

She fell into a grave silence, then sobbed a little more and finally, after shaking all over with sincere pain, she confessed with a trembling upper lip, "I love him." She immediately felt a great relief washing down her body, as if she had gotten rid of a heavy load.

With her spirit thus calmed down, she proceeded to tell him all about the solitary hours that she had spent in Spain, and how Darcy had helped her, as if she were convincing him how sincerely Darcy loved her and of his attachment to little Richard. Of this latter not one detail did she forget. He was a handsome boy, to be sure. His beautiful azure eyes were so similar to his. His grandfather had already picked a pony for him ...and a school. If only Richard could see him! Could he hear all that she was telling him wherever he was? she wondered.

Uncertainty notwithstanding, she continued with her tale about his son's petty progresses, his toys, his games, detail after detail, how he had already started to walk. "He is a bold one, your son," she said with a smile as she recalled the infant's determination to walk.

"I promise he will come in good time," she said.

Satisfied with her one-way transaction, she kissed her gloved hand and then placed the kiss on the cold stone, lingering her hand there for a while. "Goodbye, my colonel," she said at last. "God bless you. It is time for me to grow green again."

She was thus pouring her soul when she sensed she was no longer alone. Now, Elizabeth would have liked to kneel down and say her prayers there. But to her dismay, a rather cast down gentleman, dressed in a black cape and a crape hat-band came out of the blue, starling the poor girl with his sudden appearance. Standing between the graves opposite, his back to Elizabeth, the man did not seem aware that he was disturbing her.

"Forgive me, sir." she began to say to the stranger, a little annoyed by the unexpected interruption. "Are you related to the family?"

"I hardly know," he answered in a whisper. "Are you?"

"I am."

"And you are..."

"Mrs Richard Fitzwilliam."

"I see." And as he said those words he turned around, gradually taking the large hat that concealed his features. "In that case I suppose we must be related."

* Teeth traders were unscrupulous men that used to rob tombs or, as described in the chapter, follow regiments to pull the teeth out of the dying and dead after battles in order to sell the precious dental pieces to dentists who would use them to make false teeth for the very rich. President Washington, who had one tooth taken out every year since he was 22, use to have one of these set of teeth, which had probably been made of teeth stolen from graves. Disgusting, huh? (As appeared in Awake magazine, September issue, 2007).

Acknowledgment: as in my other works, this story, in particular this chapter, contains quotations from various famous authors of the 19th century. However, the story itself is the fruit of my own imagination.

Chapter 30 Fernando

It had not been his intention to startle Elizabeth. He had no idea the woman leaning on the stone was her, for that was the first time he had seen her. Granted, it would have been impossible for him to have predicted such an undesirable encounter, had he had the opportunity to see a likeness of her in advance.

But judging for the reaction his unexpected appearance had made on Elizabeth, it was plain that in her case, this was not the first time she had seen his face. The look in her eyes, the turn of her countenance had been such as to appal him excessively. The change of her features spoke of a frightful surprise, the sight of the unexpected. Had she seen a ghost, she could have not been so shaken, so completely taken aback. For a moment he thought that she would faint, so pallid she became, her knees failing to keep her erect.

"Are you..."he said, meaning to ask her if she was not feeling well, but he trailed off for it was evident that she was unwell.

"I am sorry. I understand this must be very difficult for you."

"Fitzwilliam..." she finally managed to gasp as her knees finally abandoned her.

Fitzwilliam reached out to help her to her feet.

"Let me help you," he said with his characteristic compassion. "You do not look well," he said in a whisper and gently motioned her to sit back on the stone bench. Elizabeth could not be more confused. There was her husband, in the flesh, after she had thought him gone for ever, dressed exquisitely in jet black, like a very rich gentleman would, talking to her as if it was the most natural thing.

"Are you feeling better?"

"I am, I am. O my God," she said with a feeble voice. "It is you. Fitzwilliam!"

He smiled at her sweetly, then sighed and looked down. "So it seems," he said with pained voice.

"Lord. You are alive!" and then frowning with confusion she added, "This is so...this is so..."

"Unexpected?"

"Yes. No! I have always had this feeling inside that you... that you were...O my God, Jane! Where is Jane? Is she safe?"

"She is."



~ * ~Before the night died Jane Bennet had withstood the unthinkable. She could have been an easy target for the attack of the greedy robbers, but had been mercifully protected by the timely arrival of a sergeant and a small group of soldiers who proceeded to put up a hospital tent, thus dispersing the robbers and teeth traders that still lingered about. So, after resting a little, Jane resumed her search for Richard Fitzwilliam among the bodies that lay in the field. In the end, when the daylight broke, some country carts were brought to carry the dead and dying away. Jane was looking into one of these when she spotted Richard's familiar face amidst a heap of dead bodies.

"Stop, stop!" she cried with a weak voice as she rushed to the man with the pallid face. It was Richard, in a frightful state but mercifully unconscious, not dead.

Jane immediately demanded that the colonel's body be given into her care. The officer in charge of the cart protested a bit, but he finally gave in to Jane's demands and handed the unconscious Fitzwilliam over to her.

You would not like to know the pains Jane had to go through afterwards. First, she fought fiercely for Fitzwilliam's admittance into medical care. There were so many soldiers in dire need of attention, that a dying colonel would only be a waste of time and effort to the eye of the nurses. But Jane would not give up. She cried and begged until she was given a straw bed for her patient. From then on, poor Jane, despite being in a fevered and critical condition herself, took up to watch incessantly by the severely wounded colonel, whose pains were indeed fearful to behold. When at long last the surgeon condescended to see to him, more than a se'nnight had passed. After a brief inspection of the colonel's pitiful condition, he shook his head disapprovingly.

"Colonel Fitzwilliam, ain't he?" asked the surgeon to Jane as he scanned a notebook. Jane nodded in affirmation. "I say, infernal infection in his leg, a deuce of a fever, palpitation of the heart, off he goes! He won't last this night, mark my words." Jane stared back at him with bewildered eyes. "I beg your pardon, sir?" It was then that the surgeon realised he was not talking to a nurse but probably with the colonel's wife and was completely taken aback. "O, damn," said the doctor in alarm. "Are you a relative?" Jane nodded once more, blushing deeply. The physician's countenance, instead, became peculiarly ghastly. He hated talking to the family, especially when he had such distressing news to impart. "I am sorry, ma'am. There is nothing I can do for him. We need the bed. I shall inform his superiors."

"Lord! What do you mean?"

With a painful look on his face the old man faced Jane with the bad news. "He will not make it," he sentenced gravely, "and there several other men out there who will have a chance if they could be given your husband's place." Looking at Jane's eyes, the doctor thought that she probably had been crying for ever. Broken-hearted, he tried to explain his position. "Upon my word, ma'am," he said bluntly, "the colonel could have a chance if I could amputate his leg, but he is too weak. He will not make it. I am sorry. If we were in London perhaps ... but not here. I am sorry." He then recommended that Jane rest. When she refused, he asked her to tend to the young lad lying next to Richard who had more chances of recovery. But Jane would not hear of it. There was only one man in the army for her and she would not abandon him regardless of the opinion of the surgeon. She braved the men who thereupon came to remove the colonel and defied any of them to lay one finger on him. Far from abandoning him, she doubled her attentions to the colonel, and as she did so, she spoke to him in a hushed and tender tone.

Another day passed, and then another and to the surprise of the surgeon, his opinion of Richard's health was refuted by the colonel's heartbeat and absence of fever when he came by to check on him the next week. He congratulated Jane for her efforts but was adamant against risking yet a word in favour of Richard's complete recovery.

"You have arrived just in time, like a miracle ma'am. A positive miracle from Heaven, I assure you," the surgeon declared, still amazed at the colonel's recovery. "Yet I insist that you should go out a bit and see the light. Even guardian angels must have some sleep. Or I won't answer for your health!" He then turned to see his other patients, but when he was done, he returned to see the colonel before he went out, still in awe for his miraculous recovery. Again he recommended that Jane get some rest lest she should fall ill too. Jane thought that she could use some sleep and was happy to accept the straw bed in the nurses' tent that the doctor offered. But when she overheard the surgeon that there seemed to be some cases of consumption and that he would have to declare a quarantine, Jane made up her mind to stay and remove Richard from the ward at all costs.

In taking care of her patient, and in thinking of the escape she would make with him, Jane's second week passed away not so slowly. The young lad that first lay beside Richard was replaced twice by other soldiers who, like him, did not survive in the end. But Colonel Fitzwilliam seemed to endure almost everything thanks to Jane's care.

The next day was Sunday. It was the perfect chance to fly with Richard. In the middle of the night, she dragged Richard's stretcher with God only knew whose strength, until she successfully made it out of the ward. With strenuous effort she pulled Richard's stretcher onto an improvised cart tied to her mare and very slowly guided the beast out of the place. They reached the open fields about six hours later. Feeling that they were safe from the terrible grasps of the quarantine, she collapsed beside Richard. There they lay until they were found by a peasant who just happened to pass by.

Now, Jose was a Spanish servant who did not speak a word in English. The servant was returning to his lady's house in a faraway estate from Madrid where he had been sent to bring news of the young master, Fernando Fernan Ruiz y Albornoz, who was an officer for the Spanish Army. Jose did not bring good news, though, for his young master's name was among those on the list of casualties. Wondering how to convey such terrible news to his beloved mistress, Jose lost complete consciousness of the world around him and did not notice when the cart stopped. There could be only one reason for the oxen to refuse to go on. There must be something blocking their way. Not a little puzzled, Jose stood up in the driver's seat for a quick inspection of the dusty road but he only saw what seemed to be the corpse of a soldier. A few yards from him, he saw a mare, grazing lazily in the fields. Now, Jose was a good Christian, but these days corpses were abundant in the fields, but horses were scarce. So he climbed off his cart with the sole intention of tying the mare to the rear. He was about to finish his job when he was confronted with the strange sight of the young lady lying by the side of the bulge that Richard was.

"Virgen Santa!" he gasped and quickly abandoned the reins of the mare to run to Jane's side.

In vain did Jose try to wake Jane up. Her poor soul was so exhausted after the tremendous effort that she had fallen into a deep sleep and there was no way that she could regain consciousness soon. With excessive care Jose carried Jane onto his cart but when he kneeled beside her he also noticed Richard's ragged breathing. Seeing that it was not a dead soldier, but a badly battered one, he carried Richard's body onto the cart too, and the three of them started a silent journey back to Jose's mistress's lodge.



~ * ~The man that had once been known as Colonel Fitzwilliam soon discovered that his wife was, indeed, a sensible young lady. She did not fuss as much as he had expected over his bizarre resurrection but, once the first shock was over, she seemed more interested in her sister, rather than herself. As it was, Elizabeth was firing him a hundred questions.

"You must rest assure you shall see your sister soon. She is resting now, at the hotel with my mother..."

"Hotel? Are you not at home?"

He seemed to stop for a while, his gaze scanning her face pleadingly. What was he asking of her? Patience, perhaps. Elizabeth immediately sensed something was even stranger than Fitzwilliam's sudden appearance in the cemetery and she could not wait to find out what it was. As if he were capable of reading her thoughts, her interlocutor once more resumed the thread of the conversation.

"Mrs Fitzwilliam. You must know... I am not who you think I am. At least, I may be your husband but the truth is...I am a bit confused." Elizabeth did not answer, but wisely waited for him to make his meaning clearer. To show him she was expecting him to elaborate on that last thought, she arched her eyebrow inquisitively. Fitzwilliam, then, sat beside her. With excessive gentleness he captured her hands between his and began his tale.

"I am no longer known as Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. It is true I am him, but I am now known by the name my benefactor gave me. My name is Fernando Ruiz Albornoz. I am told I was a colonel with the British Army that fought in Madrid. Apparently I got severely hurt. Your sister Jane found me and somehow she managed to rescue me. But as it happens, I have no recollection of how or when this came to be or what my life was like prior to last year..."

Chapter 31When Mr Darcy arrived back from Pemberley that afternoon, he was quite disappointed to find that instead of his lovely fiancé, it was his dog that ran towards him for a wet kiss of welcome.

Now Darcy had been thinking of his oncoming wedding the whole journey back to London, making inward notes to see to the last detail. The notion that he would be finally united to his beloved Elizabeth was exhilarating, and he devoted this quiet moment at home in his townhouse to dwell on the thought. As he undressed himself, whilst alone in his chamber, which would soon witness his coupling with his bride, he imagined what his life would be like in a few days, and the passion which inflamed him left him breathless with anticipation.

Having Elizabeth so close to him in his own townhouse all through those past days had been in itself a glorious experience not only for him but for his family too. Emily had grown so fond of her would-be mother, if not a little anxious for the novelty, that the little girl had almost forgotten Georgiana. She now sought comfort with Elizabeth every time she felt in need of some. Elizabeth, in turn, was only too glad to spend time with her, since Richard's parents were taking care of her son's every need.

Darcy himself had grown excessively fond of Master Richard too. Truth obliges us to confess that the boy's mien and appearance were his father's, though he had Elizabeth's hair and complexion. Perhaps it was prescisely that that had made him fall in love with the infant. His ruddy face lit up every time he saw Darcy. The little fellow had even called him Da-da the other day, bringing tears to all who had witnessed the event. Truth be told, Darcy had always wished for a son. Although he planned to have children of his own with his wife, he thought of the heir of Matlock as his own flesh.

They made a merry party. Their meals together were moments of joyful companionship and tons of laughter. What with one occurrence or the other, the little ones always managed to end their parents' meals with a broad smile on their faces, and sometimes with a pain in their stomach after laughing so much. Indeed, contrary to social rules, Darcy had insisted on the children being with them at meal time.

Georgiana looked so relieved now that Emily had a mother. Not that the company of sweet Emily vexed her in any way. On the contrary, Georgiana was of such a humble disposition and loved her niece so much, that she could hardly do anything else other than devote herself to the poor child. It had been a trying time for the young lady from Derbyshire, to found herself alone, in charge of a child that was not her own, when she was supposed to be frequenting dances and balls instead.

Now with Elizabeth in their lives, everything seemed to be settling down in the right way. Georgiana would be able to pursue her personal interests, and Darcy and his little family would soon retire to the peaceful life on the beautiful grounds of Pemberley.

Little did Darcy know, when he rose to answer to the light knock at his bed chamber door, that his wonderful world was about to suffer a spectacular downfall.

"Elizabeth," he almost gasped in surprise. His fiancée had never knocked at his bed chamber door before or ever trespassed into it. Elizabeth was dressed very neatly and smartly, while he solely had his robe on and bare feet since he was readying himself to take a bath. This and her presence there had the effect of leaving him with a headless feeling. Had she missed him so much?

"May I come in?" she blurted out as she made a shrinking curtsey in front of him, completely ignoring Darcy's state of undress. Her entering the Master's room, albeit completely inappropriate, induced Darcy to imagine she had envisioned the warmest of welcomes. "But of course," he replied, slightly bemused, as he moved aside to let her into the antechamber. If anything she looked pale and out of sorts.

"Thank you," she sighed as she stepped in. Not a little puzzled at the feeble tone in her voice, Darcy surveyed her with suspicion. "It is good to see you too," he said, sounding a little hurt.

At once Elizabeth realized she had given too cold a reception to her poor fiancé. Poor, poor Darcy! After all he had no idea what had befallen them. It had not been her intention to hurt his sensibilities with her cold response, but she was far too worried to feel romantic, let alone unsure of the state of affairs as regards their union. "I am sorry. It is good to see you," she said apologetically. "It is just that I am not myself at the moment."

Darcy came closer and in a forward manner endeavoured to hold her in his arms. He had never attempted anything like this before. At least, not since those glorious days in Cheapside, when they were young and na�ve and he would sit enraptured gazing at her white face and bright eyes, when his entire happiness depended on the fleeting touch of her bare arm, or the exquisite sweetness of a stolen kiss.

She quickly stepped back and with an impatient gesture put some distance between them. Albeit surprised at Elizabeth's unresponsiveness, Darcy still thought that her reaction stemmed from her modesty. He cursed himself for his thoughtlessness. Still, he could not help feeling hurt, so, sending a look of reproach in her direction, he did the only thing he could do: he apologized. "Forgive me. How presumptuous of me."

"What?"

"Never mind. 'Twas my mistake," he sighed. How much he wished to hold her, kiss her, make her his at last! He was longing for it. "But since we are so close to our wedding ... and seeing you here in my bedchamber..."

"You do not understand," she exclaimed almost vexed. "Something ...unexpected has occurred, Darcy." She began to pace the room trembling, nervously twisting her hands as she went up and down the room. Soon Darcy understood that her appearance in his bedchamber did not have romantic purposes nor did her strange behaviour stem from pre-nuptial nervousness. By the look in her eyes he saw that a great crisis had befallen them. His first thought went immediately to the children. Had something awful happened to one of them?

"Where are the children?" he asked with certain alarm.

Elizabeth stopped and beheld him for a while. Then she tilted her head and sighed profoundly. She was getting ready in silent misery to break the terrible news to the man she loved. "They are just fine, Darcy. It is not them," she mumbled in heartbreaking distress.

"Then what is it? Do not have me in suspense."

"We have had some ... news ... from the continent."

"News?"

"Someone came from the continent yesterday."

"Jane?"

"Fitzwilliam."

Elizabeth knew how to conjure away any signs of melancholy in her fiancé, but this time, after she broke the news of Fitzwilliam's return, his gravity became such as to leave her speechless. Greatly shocked by the news, Darcy went and leant on the chest of drawers. Poor, poor Mr Darcy! Poor Elizabeth! The long laborious edifice that had taken them so many pains and struggles to build, all of a sudden had fallen apart as if it was nothing. So much longing, buried passions and self sacrifice ...one word and away it all flew!

"Fitzwilliam?" he asked with incredulity. "He is alive? Good Lord. This is grave indeed."

"Just how grave?" she asked almost in a whisper, too afraid to hear what she already knew.

He blushed a good deal and made a great effort to gather himself before he answered. "All will be well. Don't be alarmed."

She surveyed him with perplexity. What she saw in his countenance did not bode well. Addressing him in the lowest, most tremulous voice, she asked again, "But you said it was grave. How grave?"

Darcy blushed violently. "I do not know," he said and averted his eyes.

This manner of answer struck Elizabeth even harder than the worst response. After the first moments of abashment, a feeling of anger succeeded, and from being pale before, her face flushed up red and returned his look with unseemly steadiness. "O don't you dare to hide anything from me! How grave?!" she demanded, agitated to an excess.

"Hang it, Elizabeth! If you mean to ask me if you are still tied to your husband, I just do not know. Let your own heart answer that question."

On hearing his words, almost cruel to her ears, her face crumbled and she almost gave way to tears. "My heart ... O Darcy. I have been on my knees ever since I returned from the cemetery trying to figure this out."

"Cemetery?"

"It is a long story," she answered dismissively.

"But is it certain? Is it truly certain that Fitzwilliam is alive?"

"O yes, it is. I have already seen him this afternoon. It is so unexpected! I feel so awful! I am happy and yet grieved!"

I am shocked, grieved, he attempted to say, but those words did not represent his chagrin. Speechless, he reached out for her hand and merely held it after applying a gentle squeeze to it.

"The worst of it is ... I believe Fitzwilliam does not know anything."

"Do you think him inclined to welcome you as his wife again?"

"I think he expects to be so reunited with us this evening."

"Don't be agitated. I shall talk to him. He saw us in happier days before he married you. He is noble and generous and will see that things have changed. You will divorce him and ..."

Elizabeth tried to draw back her hand. Never since her life began had she felt so forsaken. Divorce him ... Good God! Could she divorce a dead husband with no memory? Could she explain a man who had returned to her from the dead that she loved him no more? Could she deny such a man what was rightfully his; his son, his wife, his life? Was she to betray a hero? She drew back her hand and trembled all over.

"You do not understand. Fitzwilliam is not himself. He lost his memory in a cruel way. He had no recollection of me or his son... oh, for shame! This is so ..."

"You mean he lost all recollections of everything? Even of you? Do I take it that he does not remember that you are his wife?"

"No. He does not remember me or his family. He has even adopted another name. But Jane ... Jane is also alive. She is here in London and will be at Fitzwilliam House this evening. She is well and will surely pass more intelligence as to what happened to Richard." She took an envelope out of her belt and gave in to him. "Here. There is a letter from your uncle. It was sent this morning. I did not see it until I returned from the cemetery. I wager he is addressing you on the subject."

Darcy took the envelope, opened the seal and proceeded to read immediately, but the reading seemed to be taking ages. After a while, Elizabeth could bear the suspense no more and she demanded intelligence of the contents of the missive.

"So he does not know yet?"

Darcy did not seem to hear her. He was looking vacantly at the paper in his hand. At length he gathered his thoughts and sighed.

"Good Lord. He does not."

Chapter 32

An Exceptionally Uncertain Future

Mr Darcy could not find consolation. The result of the distressing news about Fitzwilliam's return was that Elizabeth had to be returned to Matlock House and to Fitzwilliam's side. Mr Darcy accompanied her with little conviction of the fairness of the business. True, after Fitzwilliam's resurrection there was no hope for their life together. Never again would they walk in pleasant companionship, hand in hand! Instead, they would be forced to see each other daily, yet unable even to exchange minimal words lest the feeble façade they had so painfully built to hide their true feelings would crumble.

But they were not the only ones to be suffering cruelly. Others had been forced to part with loved ones too. Sweet Jane was one of them. It was she who had brought Fitzwilliam back to England and to his wife's arms. To see Jane hiding her emotions when Elizabeth was reintroduced to her husband was a heartbreaking sight, one that would have melted a general's heart.

What to say about the man, once known to us as Colonel Fitzwilliam. He was confused as confused could be. The only memory he had was his home in Spain, where he had left his adopted family who loved him; the only person that meant anything to him was Jane, whose presence was his one consolation. Sadly enough Jane was restored to her parents shortly after their arrival to London, leaving him all alone to face his family. Everything was new to him, everything was strange.

To add to Fitzwilliam's misfortunes, he found the new environment in London extremely confusing. The simplest task became a whole enterprise: to find the way to his bedchamber had been an odyssey the first day, yet everybody seemed to expect him to remember names, locations, details of his past life of which he, in truth, had no recollection at all. It was exasperating, yet he bore the pressure with perfect composure as became a gentleman of good breeding.

It was a fine evening when Fernando, for that was the name under which Richard Fitzwilliam was travelling, left his suite of splendid rooms which he had occupied at a fine hotel in Cavendish Square, the same place where he had honeymooned two years before and of which he had no recollection whatsoever. Jane, who had also occupied a separate suite of rooms in the same hotel, walked with exceeding shyness and timidity by his side. They could have easily strolled to their destination, for the evening was cool and Lord Matlock's townhouse was an easy distance from Cavendish. But in the scarce year and a half in which he had lived in the opulence of the great house of Ruiz Albornoz in Spain, Fernando had made these foreign people's manners his, hence he preferred to make the short journey in a fashionable barouche with four horses, as became Spaniards of exceeding wealth and rank.

When they found themselves in front of the grand townhouse belonging to the Earl of Matlock, Fernando squeezed Jane's hand, which was resting on his arm, and they proceeded to announce their arrival to the doorman. Mr Darcy and Elizabeth had arrived earlier and were waiting for them in the drawing room. As soon as Jane perceived her sister seated impatiently beside her fiancé, she stifled a cry of emotion. Instantly, Elizabeth rose to her feet to go to her sister's side and the two girls melted in an embrace while tears welled in their eyes, and lumps formed in their throats, leaving both of them breathless and unable even to speak.

Fernando came up to Darcy and shook hands with him heartily.

"How do you do, sir."

"Fitzwilliam. It is good to see you, old man. I am so glad you are on your feet."

"Darcy, Richard knows who you are, but he..." the earl started to explain but was interrupted by Fernando.

"Sir. You must pardon me. Though I understand you are my cousin, I have no recollection of you."

"He is a good friend of yours, Richard. A brother, I dare say."

Nodding towards Elizabeth, Fernando smiled weakly. "I understand that you took prodigious care of my wife and my son during my absence."

Darcy frowned with uneasiness, not knowing what to say. Was his cousin's comment said with sarcasm? Or did he really mean it? He was relieved to find out that it was probably the latter when Darcy heard him say, "I thank you, sir. I do not know how I will ever repay you."

Relaxing, Darcy acknowledged with a light bow and then smiled weakly. "Well. You can start by forgetting the etiquette and calling me what you have always called me."

"Very well, Edward."

"Darcy," Mr Darcy corrected.

"Darcy?"

"Yes. Your father prefers my middle name, since my first name is his last. But you have always called me Darcy, for similar reasons."

"I see. Then Darcy it is."

"I am very happy to see you again, Fitzwilliam." And he smiled wearily to Elizabeth who was watching the exchange with apprehension. Noticing his cousin's frown, Darcy imagined he was not comfortable with the appellation. "Do you wish that I call you Ruiz or Fitzwilliam?" he inquired.

"Do not be absurd, Edward. You must call him by his name, of course," protested the earl.

Darcy's eyes darted from Fernando to his uncle, obviously inquiring what that name was.

"Richard, of course," finished the earl, anxious to recover his son once and for all though unable to comprehend what prevented him from remembering his own family.

Fernando nodded. "Call me as it suits you, Darcy."

"Very well then. I have always called you Fitzwilliam. Same as you have always called me Darcy."

"Jane, dear," said her ladyship in a compassionate tone, eager to change the topic which evidently had distressed both her husband and son. "I hope you have had a pleasant rest."

"I have your ladyship. Thank you," she answered meekly.

"And how do you find your sister?" her ladyship inquired with a fond smile as she guided both her daughter-in-law and Jane into the dinning room.

"Very well, your Grace." Beyond this, Jane hardly opened her mouth again, except when she exchanged a few words in Spanish with Fernando at the dining table while she thought the rest were distracted. Their familiarity was quite evident, though. Elizabeth noticed this and she resolved herself to ask Jane about it when they were left on their own.

Indeed, Jane, being overpowered by a befuddlement of emotions, became universally timid and reserved. The moment Elizabeth stood by Fernando, or when on one occasion, he leaned towards his wife's ear to inquire after their child, Jane, having no intelligence of the nature of his approach, became remarkably unhappy.

To think that he had been hers for a while! How she had nursed him back to good health, and fed him and lived upon him, and scarcely allowed any other hand to tend to him! How many sleepless nights had she spent by his bedside, watching him sleep in painful slumber, worshiping every minute they had spent together, need not be referred to! That man was her being, her life! Love like hers was not to be found in all England. It had been her doing that had kept Fitzwilliam alive, yet she had no rights over him any longer for she could see with fatal perspicacity that there was no place for her by his side. He belonged to Elizabeth. And so, gently, she bore her fate, as only good-natured Jane would.

Elizabeth was also silent and subdued after her husband's apparition, and scarcely said a word more all evening. Under the earl's insistence, she had vowed not to say a word to her husband of her previous engagement to his cousin Darcy, but to stay by her husband's side until his health was completely restored.

Darcy had refused to comply with such an outrageous petition at first, but on further inquiry, his lordship's lawyers informed him that in a case like this the wife was still tied to her husband. The only solution was a divorce and to this aspiration Darcy clung fiercely, though deep inside he knew theirs was a helpless case.

Indeed, Darcy comprehended there was no way he could prevent seeing Elizabeth by her husband's side in the near future, but so far he had had enough. To see her, looking so pale and unhappy, and Richard, so distant, so much unlike himself, pained Mr Darcy more than it would have pained him seeing them happily reunited. Immersed in confusion, he sank down on a chair and gazed at Elizabeth with pleading eyes, for Darcy knew how his noble beloved felt about all this.

Elizabeth was unsure whether she would be ever bold enough to go through a divorce and return to her fiancé's arms. After all, she loved her husband. At least, she used to love him before all this had ensued. True, this recoil gentleman dressed in extravagant clothes and speaking with a slightly foreign accent was far from the affable red dragoon she had married. Yet, he was the man that had fathered her son, the man she had vowed to love and serve until death drew them apart. Well, it seemed life and death had both conspired and played a dirty trick on them all. In any case, honour was uppermost in her mind and she would never go against her duty. This she dared not do.

Yet, if Elizabeth felt uncomfortable, Darcy's uneasiness was only destined to increase to a frantic note before the night was over. As the evening closed down, it became clear that Fitzwilliam was exhausted to excess and soon it would be time for someone to show him to his chamber. Darcy trembled to think the task could fall on Elizabeth. What if Fitzwilliam requested that she share the marital bed with him? The sole idea was revolting to poor Darcy. His Elizabeth would not be his cousin's again. No, no, that could not be! He racked his brain thinking of an excuse that would enable him to stand up and seize his fiancé before any of this happened. Maybe if Emily was found ill, he could request her presence at Darcy house to comfort her... A suspicious movement made by his cousin instantly brought Darcy back from his reverie.

Alas! What the deuce does Fitzwilliam think he's doing? Darcy thought as he instinctively almost rose to protect Elizabeth from another man's advances.

With inexpressible abhorrence he observed his cousin whispering something to Elizabeth ere rising to his feet. Had he asked her to accompany him up the stairs? He felt the wild impulse to throw something at Richard's face before calling him out. He restrained this exhibition of jealousy, however.

"I think I will retire now," announced the fair cousin, carefully brushing his neat lap and straightening his collar with gracious fingers.

This simple declaration staggered the poor lover. With a look of alarm, Darcy entreated him to stay on. "But the ladies have not sung yet. I am sure you will be delighted to hear them, cousin. Do stay."

If anything, the comment was out of place. Not in a million years would any of the ladies present have dreamt to be asked to perform under the circumstances. Lady Matlock sent her nephew an arch look while the rest of the ladies looked down to the hems of their dresses.

"I am afraid I am too tired to really appreciate their musical talents," Fitzwilliam answered with sincerity. "I am sure there will be plenty of opportunities in the future to hear them, which most certainly I look forward to. As for now, I beg you to excuse me," and with this final remark he began to make his way towards the stairs, which Elizabeth thought was a hint for her to follow. Accordingly, she rose too.

"Oh, no. Please don't trouble yourself," Fitzwilliam interposed. "I understand it is your talent Darcy was talking about. Do stay and play for the company. I am sure you have much to converse about with your sister, as well. I can find my way with the help of the servants."

Hardly had Colonel Fitzwilliam left, when Mr Darcy's happiness was instantly restored. He sat in silent contemplation at first, but as the evening closed he became bolder and sought Elizabeth's company.

"I shall find it difficult to sleep tonight," he confessed.

"I know."

"Will you..."

"No, of course not," she interposed.

"No, of course."

"He is a gentleman, you must know..."

"I know."

"Well then?" she inquired, a little vexed.

Darcy sighed, then, he shrugged. "I wish you would honour me with one of your songs. I think there is a chance that I could go to sleep if at least I had the memory of your voice in my heart. That might help..."

She nodded. Of course she would sing for him. With a certain degree of contentment, Darcy sat by her side at the piano forte and turned pages for her. Jane enjoyed her sister's playing with excessive pleasure, too. But she also perceived the over-familiarity with which Mr Darcy interacted with her sister. She resolved herself to ask her sister about this in the morning.

Ere long, Darcy made up his mind to retire himself. He had lingered on with only one purpose: to make sure that Elizabeth stayed away from her own bedchamber long enough for her husband to fall into deep slumber.

As his carriage drove off, however, he turned around and looked up to the drawing room windows still illuminated. Without a second thought, he ordered his men to a halt. There he remained, at some distance from the house, until one by one all the lights but one went out. By nine, the chamber occupied by his fiancée was still illuminated. Darcy was very tired, but deep inside he needed to know that Elizabeth would remain in her bedchamber. That she would not enter her husband's.

At least not while their professions of love were still fresh.

Chapter 33 In Which Mr Darcy is Relieved

Imagine some six months after Elizabeth's conversation with Mr Darcy that fateful evening have passed in the lives of our hero. Afterwards, he spent the most dreadful time in sorrow, comparable only with the loss of a dear one. Having presented him with such an enticing future, Fate had capriciously divested him of it in the blink of an eye! Cruel, cruel life! How dare it have failed him!

You might find it difficult to picture him suffering in such an ignoble manner. True, he withstood the loss of his beloved's company with quixotic courage, never letting others prone to sadness know his true feelings. But much as he succeeded in his endeavour of hiding his heartbreak, in his solitary hours he indulged in melancholy. Fancy him deeply wounded and cast down, housebound in his own nostalgia. I know that this kind of account can be tedious to an excess, but this was what Fortune allotted to poor Mr Darcy.

Having being most politely hinted not to visit with Elizabeth, the impossibility of seeing her with regularity vexed him greatly, thus he became restless beyond measure. Yet that would not be the end of his misfortunes. To make sure that his nephew would not be tempted to enter into any secret endeavour to see Elizabeth, and at the same time to avoid word of his son's awkward situation being spread amidst the ton, the earl took his whole household to Matlock in the north. Without warning, Darcy's life, which had once again begun to give him joy, suddenly became an insupportable amount of time in which he found no other employment but to mull over what had been expropriated from him, and yet he was unable to share his depression with anyone. Deprived of both romantic expectations and a friendly shoulder to cry on, what sad, unsatisfactory thoughts invaded his sleepless nights!

Many and many of said nights he would spend supine in bed, lost in thoughts, recounting the times in which he had almost forgotten niceties and had made up his mind to open Elizabeth's bedchamber door (conveniently located just across from his) in the middle of the night and make love to her, only to hesitate at the last minute and finally abandon the whole enterprise. O how he wished he had been bolder! It was all too late now. He was destined never to know what it would be like to satisfy Elizabeth's womanly needs and desires. He was never to roam his hands over her trembling body, entwined in her scent.

Instead, Colonel Fitzwilliam was the one entitled to take whichever liberties he would fancy over her. The sole idea was insupportable. All in all he inwardly thanked Gad his uncle had hinted to him not to call on them for a while. It saved him the embarrassment of witnessing Fitzwilliam's connubial bliss.

There was not one single day in which Mr Darcy would not walk the corridors of Darcy house and end up at her door, now deserted. Not one single day had passed in which he had been able to resist the temptation to revisit every single place in the house where they had resided in blissful happiness.

With such melancholy swelling his heart, there was no employment he could find to pass the time. No fencing club, no morning rides, no backgammon at White's, not even a single night at the theatre to accompany Georgiana, for fear questions might be asked by those whose noses enjoyed meddling with the lives of others. There was nothing that tempted him beyond his solitary imprisonment, his one occupation being idle, sitting about in the library or in vain trying to focus on work, of late a cheerless duty that had once been merry enough. From time to time, he recovered, then rallied, and relapsed again until having taking more than he could bear, he merely gave in to depression.

In the midst of all this solitary resignation, one thing shone as a stone of salvation for his poor-spirited heart. Indeed, something or rather someone had changed dramatically in his eyes during Elizabeth's absence from his house: Emily. Darcy had grown very fond of his daughter, with whom he had not been inclined to spent time before. But whether it was for Emily, since the girl had grown so fond of his once fiancée, or solely for the fact that he had so much unrequited love to spare that he simply chose to spend it on his child, our gentleman, having resolved to feel better, took to whiling away the time with Emily. Indeed, the innocent child became his one source of consolation.

It was for Emily's sake that he abandoned his agonising lingering at home for the sunlight outdoors. Every now and then, the girl encouraged him to go for ices at a pastry-cook's shop in Charing Cross, or a simple walk in the street. These invitations were grudgingly accepted, but after several of such outings, Darcy discovered he quite enjoyed them. So every so often, he took to going with his daughter for rides along Kensington Gardens, and even allowed her to run up and down the slopes and broad paths, while he sunned on a bench, communing with his own thoughts.

Hardly had his heart begun to heal, when the unexpected happened. After six months had passed since his family had left London, he received a letter in which he was notified of their imminent return. And not a day passed after the appointed day of their arrival that his cousin was at his door. Darcy welcomed him with great warmth. After all, they had always been the best of friends.

Unsurprisingly, Fitzwilliam was determined to love him, too. While he avoided social activities of all kinds, every so often he would visit with Darcy for the sake of good company, which Mr Darcy valiantly strove to provide. In truth, his cousin's visits were to a certain measure tranquilizing, since Fitzwilliam would stay with him for the longest time, and would not return home until very late, thus leaving his wife in solitude for the major part of the night.

During such nights, Mr Darcy and his cousin would sit together in the library emptying Mr Darcy's brandy decanter and puffing cigars, revisiting their passed lives together in hope that the elusive memories would finally return to the good colonel. But Darcy found Fitzwilliam a different man. He was no longer the cheerful soldier he used to be. He was more collected and a little more like himself. At least Fitzwilliam's thoughts were still just, his brains were fairly good, his heart as honest and pure as ever.

In these conversations it was wonderful with what perseverance and ingenuity Mr Darcy would manage to bring about the topic of Elizabeth. He did not know as yet what events had happened between husband and wife in their intimate hour, though he imagined the worst. Of course, he dared not ask. But the fact was that he was love-smitten with his cousin's wife and he was bent upon loving her for life, no matter what. Indeed, he was not aware of it himself, but he hypocritically wheedled, and complimented his cousin with a perseverance and cordiality which men only use over male relations of the female they are courting. Without realizing it, Mr Darcy turned into a rogue, ready to please the unaware husband in order to extricate information regarding the object of his desire.

The reader must be aware though, that Mr Darcy had turned into this hypocrite by force, since there was no other way he could find to see Elizabeth or at least know something about her. At heart, he was the same honest gentleman we all know. But are not all men prone to such comportment when in love? Are we all not fools for love? Mr Fitzwilliam Edward Darcy was no different than the ordinary, I tell you. He did love his cousin. He was a brother to him. In truth, the only time in which his feelings for Richard had suffered a significant change had been after Elizabeth Bennet was introduced into their lives. Thus Mr Darcy always welcomed Fitzwilliam's calls. When Fitzwilliam failed to come, however, Mr Darcy would grow so impatient and ill-humoured as to surprise his closest family and servants who had always admired his amiability and good temper.

He longed to see Elizabeth. The knowledge that she was there, so close and yet so out of reach simply tortured him. Until one day, Emily's innocent but devastating logic came to his rescue.

"Where's mummy?" Emily asked on a certain occasion.

"Mm?"

"Where's mummy?" she repeated.

"She is...she...is visiting with Uncle Fitzwilliam."

"Can we go see her?"

"Can we go see her?" Of course, as simple as that. Go see her. If only he could. Wait a minute. He could, could he not? It was his daughter's request. Not his. Why must he deprive the little girl of seeing the person she regarded as her own mother. "Hang it," he thought if only a little unconvinced. "Yes, Emmy. I suppose we can."

The girl then stretched out her hand and offered it to her father as she began to walk.

"Fine," she encouraged. "Let us go see mummy."

"Now?" Darcy asked incredulously.

"Yes, Papa. Now."

And so, without further notice, the two of them walked the short way to Matlock townhouse. Mr Darcy began to tremble as he walked the lane leading to the street where the grand house stood as if he was about to commit the greatest sin ever. As they approached the well-known neighbourhood, Mr Darcy prayed to God that he could control the thumping of his heart. A myriad of thoughts arrested his mind. Was she going to be happy to see him or not? Had her affection for her husband grown again? If he were to meet her alone, good God, what should he do? An idea began to trickle into his mind. He would ask her to come with him. Yes. They had had enough of this charade. They belonged together, she and he. They had a family already. She must come to him and they should go to Pemberley...no, not Pemberley...somewhere further away...to Italy...or perhaps to Scotland... Gad ailed him to find the words to persuade her to his plan! He saw a lady with a baby in her arms coming his way...was that she? He began to shake at the possibility. When he came to the house, at last, and to the gate, he got hold of it and paused.

"Is Mrs Fitzwilliam in? Mrs Richard Fitzwilliam?" he asked the footman.

"I am afraid she is not, sir," was the dispassionate answer.

Darcy's face fell. He looked down gloomily at his little daughter and the girl immediately comprehended his look of disappointment. She sighed and dropped her little hand. "When is she expected back?" asked Darcy perfunctorily.

"Your Excellency must pardon me, but I have not been informed of Mrs Fitzwilliam's plans. Would you like to come in and inquire of the colonel?"

"No thanks," he said quickly. "We shall come tomorrow at a more convenient time. Good day."

"Good day, sir."



~ * ~Hardly had Darcy and Emily returned from their little outing when the bell of the front door at the grand Darcy house rang signalling the presence of a visitor. Emily, inquisitive as a little cat, abandoned her games and ran after the manservant to see who had called.

"Papa, papa!" Emmy cried out before the manservant had any chance to announce the visitor. "Mummy's come, mummy's come!"

Mr Darcy started up, shaken in surprise. Then he stepped forward, as pale as a ghost, and made a bow to Elizabeth who stood a little distance from him.

When Elizabeth stepped forward to salute him she had a brilliant smile on her face. "Lord bless me, sir. Don't you remember me, Mr Darcy?" she said and she laughed girlishly. The gentleman instantly understood that she was visiting them alone. On which, and I believe it was for the first time that Mr Darcy ever so conducted himself in his life in front of others, he took the lady in his arms and kissed her on her cheek. Emily laughed joyfully, delighted to see her Mum and Pa together again, and gave little cries of excitement, which brought up the attention of Georgiana, who was astonished to find Elizabeth in the embrace of her brother again.

Elizabeth quit Darcy's arms and made a curtsy to Georgiana who responded in kind. "I am so glad to see you all," she said, and she blushed prettily. "Richard...my husband has told me he visited with you, so I made up my mind to pay you a call myself," she explained to a disbelieving Georgiana.

"Are you staying to dine?" asked Georgiana almost in a whisper.

She shook her head and her brown ringlets that peeked out of her bonnet bounced prettily too. "I'm very much pressed for time," she explained giving Darcy a meaningful look. "But I was dying to see my little Emily." Smiling to the girl, she beamed, "Come. I have a present for you." And she took the little girl in her arms and carried her to the drawing room she knew well. There, she produced a beautiful parcel with a pink ribbon on top and gave it to Emily. The girl was both charmed and astonished at the size of the package. "For you, my love." Elizabeth said with a sweet smile, wrinkling her nose prettily.

The party of three sat in the drawing room, with Emily at their feet playing with the adorable doll that her "mummy" had presented her with, the three conversing amiably about the latest events in their lives, in the midst of which they were several times interrupted by Emily who wished to draw all of Elizabeth's attention to herself. Darcy was deliriously happy. Every so often his eyes would lock with hers, causing poor Georgiana to feel universally discomfited. Finally, when the clock on the mantel piece struck seven, Mr Darcy, desirous to have Elizabeth for himself, requested Georgiana that she withdraw with the little girl so that he could have his chance alone with Mrs Fitzwilliam.

The request astonished the sister, but she complied all the same, and aunt and niece bounced away to their apartments, leaving the couple on their own.

Once they had been left alone, Mr Darcy went to the door and locked it behind them. Then he returned to his seat in front of the flushed lady. He watched as she unlaced her bonnet with soft feminine fingers. Then she retrieved her gloves, which she neatly folded into her reticule, thus revealing the satin of her hands for him to feast on. After such coquettish actions, which in fact were nothing out of the ordinary any lady would perform, Darcy remained mute, incapable of any movement, so enthralled was he in watching her. They were both so silent that the tick-tock of the clock on the mantel piece became rudely audible.

What was it that made them so nervous, I wonder, when they had been so comfortable in each other's company before? What was it that made Elizabeth start back and gaze upon him as if it was the first time? What made her lose her self control? Why was she so violently agitated under his gaze?

For he was scrutinizing her. He actually had the courage to change seats and go to sit beside her on the little settee. He looked down at her face, o how fondly! She was so lovely, if only a little paler and a little lighter in figure. Her eyes still shown for him, he knew. They were speechless for yet another moment. Why, o why could he not sway her in his arms and keep her for himself?

Elizabeth not completely unaware of the nature of her companion's thoughts, is very much to blame for what followed. She blushed at his scrutiny and looked at him with a devilish grin that sent Darcy's heart thumping wildly. But what finished him was her next movement. She gave him ever so gentle a pressure with her pretty little hand and then drew it back quite frightened looking for one instant in his face and then down at the carpet. By Gad, if that was not an advance then what was it?

The intelligent reader will notice the difficult alternative before Mr Darcy. Either he vented the pent-up feelings he had till then painfully secreted in the innermost confines of his soul the whole summer and took the chance that Elizabeth herself had afforded him to intimate with her on the smooth carpet of his drawing room, thus forgetting his convictions and ideals about honour and loyalty or he collected himself and dismissed the lady before the inevitable happened.

After meditating for a while on the chances before him, he finally concluded that to be so united with Elizabeth, whose bright eyes were now fixed anxiously on him, would be much more desirable, not to mention pleasurable. To this conclusion he arrived while his eyes roamed immodestly the swell of her bosom. Indeed, to miss such an enticing opportunity would be a misfortune. A terrible misfortune.

Honour notwithstanding, he was a man with needs. And presently the satisfaction of those needs sat all together with that pretty lady in white that was nervously biting her adorable ...tender... pink lower lip he wished to kiss so much ... The wonderful part of all this is that not for one moment did Mr Darcy meditate in the evil his plans entailed.

"So you were dying to see Emily?" he finally asked saucily with a knowing smile on his lips. "Is that the only reason you had to come?"

She shook her head, an inviting look upon her face. "No," she murmured, her eyes alight with amusement. "I had a more pressing reason to come."

"And may I be so bold so as to ask you on the ultimate reason for your calling on us this evening, madam?"

"I needed to see you, sir."

"I am glad to hear that ... for I also have great urgency to see you too."

"Oh."

"But ladies first. How can I be of service?"

"I am ashamed to confess that my husband does not know of this call ... I ..."

Elizabeth did not immediately notice the double entrée of his question, nor take immediate heed of the decidedly sensual expression that Mr Darcy's countenance assumed in hearing her speaking so, but she realised it soon enough when it was too late. Suddenly it struck her, with great mortification, that she had been encouraging Mr Darcy with her manners and discourse to an excess. A meaningless exertion if you ask me, since the gentleman needed no encouragement.

"I do not think Fitzwilliam will ever learn about it," he answered with a mischievous smile.

Elizabeth blushed. "You do not understand..."

Darcy nodded. "O yes, I do. Most definitely I do. You need not concerned yourself. No one will ever know." That said, he leaned forward and for the first time in a long time he opened up his heart. "I have missed you so," he confessed with an aggressive look that sent Elizabeth's heart into such a flutter that she was ready to surrender to him at once.

Yet she did not. Instead, she blinked twice. She noticed that Darcy's eyes had that certain look she had not seen for a long time. It was a dark, sensuous, almost indecent look. She instantly searched for a safe subject to talk about but nothing came to her mind.

"Have you not?"

"Have I not what?" she asked back quivering.

"Missed me."

She nodded quickly.

"How much?"

"How much? I ... I ...think it is getting late, I ..." but her hesitant observation went unnoticed for he took both her hands as she looked, flushing, into his handsome face. He took the two little hands between his two and held them there, and Elizabeth knew her heart had decidedly melted inside her chest.

"How much, Elizabeth? Have you missed me so much that you have not been able to rest at night? Have you felt forlorn and bereft even in the best company? Have you felt that you are not home in your own home?" and he raised her hands to his lips and planted an ardent kiss on the satin skin there. Then he turned them and kissed her palms with great tenderness, sending thrilling shivers up her arms that in turn, shook her whole body.

Upon my word he was playing his cards rather too fast! Elizabeth quickly understood that she had unwisely awakened a sleeping lion. Not that she did not welcome his attentions, mind you! Only that she had not expected such forwardness in the light of her marriage to his relative. What did he have in mind? O silly, petty woman! Was she not well aware of Mr Darcy's passion? But women are vain creatures that seem to think that they are entitled to play with a man's sentiments as a cat believes he is entitled to play with the mouse by nature. Had not Pandora unwisely opened the box that contained the most dangerous trap within? Had she not been warned that once opened, it could not be sealed again? But she opened it all the same. Well. So did Elizabeth.

And in so doing she had not realised that her visit would encourage the gentleman into shameful comportment. Her nervousness was soon visible in her face and she tugged a little to free her hands. As she retrieved them, however, Mr Darcy noticed she was no longer wearing her ring, the one that he had presented her with upon their engagement.

"What have you done with your ring?" he asked a little alarmed.

Elizabeth smiled reassuringly as she withdrew a golden chain from under her blouse with a cameo attached where she had secreted the lovely ring. Darcy was exceedingly pleased to see she still clung to it.

"I'm glad you kept it," he said in a very sentimental manner. "I was afraid you no longer had it with you."

"How could I ever get rid of it? I value it more than anything I have in the world."

"Do you, Elizabeth?" cried he, very agitated.

"Yes. It is the only memento I have of the happiest time in my life."

Mr Darcy could hold it no more. "Elizabeth, Elizabeth", he said as he wrapped his long arms around her and kissed her hair with devotion.

Ere long, he was kissing her adored face, clinging to her, pouring out his whole heart in front of her. In other words, he behaved quite ungentlemanly. "Elizabeth! Elizabeth," he said softly into her ear. "When I bought that ring for you I thought you would always wear it until death drew us apart. I loved you then as much as I love you now. I think I loved you from the very minute that you spoke to me, when you rebuked me for my taste in poetry. You were but a girl then, do you still remember? And we used to argue about every subject that we talked about. And then that night at Netherfield, when we danced, I thought you ... you were the handsomest woman I had ever danced with. Do you remember? Since then, I have thought of no other woman in the world!"

Elizabeth, who was not used to seeing Darcy behaving in such a way, was greatly moved by this sudden outburst, "I do, I do remember," she said with emotion. "There is not one single day in which I do not think of those days, sir."

"Lord. This will not do. I have longed to feel your lips on mine so much! Why o why did you ever allow me to touch your lips! To be deprived of your sweetness again will be the worst of punishments! And I do not deserved to be punished, do I, do I, Elizabeth?" with that he kissed her tenderly on the lips.

O the glorious feeling! The velvety of his lips upon hers was simply enrapturing! Her hands, quite of their own volition, set quickly to wrap his neck.

After a moment, however, it was Elizabeth's conscience which reacted first. "Darcy," she objected. " Pray, someone may see us..." He paid no heed to her words and proceeded to hold her in a tighter embrace still, his mouth tracing kisses all over her face.

"Darcy...someone..."

"Hush. No one dares to enter without knocking. Beside, I have locked the door myself."

"Darcy...This is not correct."

"Shhh. Just let me hold you this once. I missed you so much." His kisses were all she could wish for, and so she indulged in the feelings that his intelligent lips were awakening. It took only one caress, one light touch of skin to skin, to persuade her of the benefits of a dumb conscience. One touch of his hand on the tender skin of her neck and her resolution caved in like an old dome. Next they were kissing each other with unprecedented hunger and longing.

When Mr Darcy's passion, however, reached a certain barrier that all gentlemen long to break in a woman's embrace, Elizabeth knew it was time to wake up from the dream.

"I don't think we should be doing this," she whispered, quite agitated, when from the position in which she was she could spy Darcy pondering his chances to dip his hands into the valley of her bosom and reveal the magnificent vision her breasts would surely afford.

"What?" he said, much too busy with her tantalizing decolletage to pay heed to her words.

"I say we should not be doing this. It is not...it is not..."

"What?" he gasped breathlessly.

"It is unfair for Fitzwilliam." That was it. Fitzwilliam's name was the magic word. Instantly, Darcy recovered his common sense.

"Right," he said as he reluctantly abandoned the territory he had so painfully won.

"I should have never come," she mumbled tidying her ringlets in a proper way.

Dejection is the worst thing a man can be exposed to. Darcy was no less prone to the bitter feeling than any other of the male species. "So why did you come at all?" he asked a little vexed.

"I ... I ... I cannot do this to Fitzwilliam."

"And yet, you can do it to me."

"What do you mean?"

Darcy, in a state of great indignation, if only uncertain of the results his insulting discourse would have on Elizabeth, vented all the frustration that he had accumulated over the months. "Have you not thought of what I feel knowing that you sleep in a bedchamber with an adjoining door to Fitzwilliam's every night? Have you not ponder the sleepless nights that I have endured ever since you parted to be so reunited with your husband? The longing I feel when I merely look in the direction of your house?"

"And what is it that you propose? That I come to lie with you in the nights while my husband stays in his own bedchamber?"

"I do not wish you to fool your husband, Elizabeth. But I ask for nothing more than your love which I know well you feel for me. I am asking you to be true to your feelings and stop this charade. You must leave him at once and get a divorce. I would not have you otherwise and you know it."

"Leave him? And then what?"

"The world is open for us. We could start over anywhere."

Elizabeth shook her head with indignation. "Pray, tell me," she endeavoured to reason. "Suppose we were to run away. Where could we go that shame would not follow?"

"Upon my word, there is no shame in true love."

"I cannot believe it is you, sir, who is saying this. You, who have always done what is right."

"Precisely. For I have always done nothing but what is right. You must trust me, Elizabeth. This is the right thing to do."

"I cannot! I cannot! How could I ever betray our family? They all love us, Darcy. And I am still Fitzwilliam's wife!" and here her voice broke and she hid her face from him. Feeling the worst of rogues, Mr Darcy folded his arms around her, holding her to him as if his life depended on it.

"You must see that we cannot live this way," he whispered as he kissed her head. "It is not only you and I who are suffering. There is also Emily. She thinks of you as her mama. What shall I say to her when she sees you with Fitzwilliam? What am I to do when I see you with him?"

"Do not be cruel. Do not use your little girl to torture me. You know I love her. I never wished to part with her or you!"

"You could have refused to comply with my uncle's wishes..." he complained.

"Stop! Do not mention the subject any more," Elizabeth said with some spirit. She pulled away and rose to her feet. "Anyway, this is not what I came for," she declared annoyed.

"Indeed," he rebuked frustrated and sought refuge in his corner by the window facing the park, though this time it was a silly posture he adopted for the window panes had already been closed so it was pointless to look that way.

Far from enraging her, seeing him so angry and out of sorts only diverted her. "My silly dear sir," she said compassionately. "I know what you are feeling now. You are hurt in your heart and are tired of waiting. But I think I have discovered something that might speed our reunion."

"Do not trifle with me Elizabeth."

"I dare not, sir."

Intrigued, he turned to face her and inquired, "what are you speaking of?"

"I ... I ...There is something of the greatest importance that I have to discuss with you."

"Discuss?"

"I came to speak ... that is that ... no, I mean ... Darcy, it's about Richard."

"About Richard," he chanted in a tone so discomfited that Elizabeth almost feared him.

"Yes. That is ... ahh ... about Richard and Jane," she continued.

"Well. What about them?" Darcy asked impatiently.

She paused a little, unsure if she was doing well in confiding such outrageous thoughts to Darcy. Yet she knew she had to confide in someone, so she sighed deeply and began her tale. "There has not been one day in which Richard has not asked for news of her."

"So?"

"Well...is it not obvious?"

Darcy looked at her in utter confusion. What was it that she was trying to say?

"You know how much I love and respect my sister... such an angel has never walked earth ... but ..."

"But?"

"Who knows what could have happened in those days when they were left alone in Spain."

"What do you mean?"

"Well ... they were left alone for several days ... and then lived together in this house ... Richard has never spoken a word about it. But I wonder... under what pretext did they live together under the same roof? If Richard had no memory at all...why did not Jane ever write to us to tell us what had befallen them? Why did my sister leave so quickly and never send a word again? I have sent her countless letters, Darcy, but it is only mama who answers them... I strongly believe that something is disturbing Jane. It is not like her not to correspond with me."

"And what says your mother?"

"Oh you know, mama..."

"What about your father? Has he not written to you?"

"No, he has not. I am worried. No news of Jane, and yet Fitzwilliam seems to be expectant..."

"Indeed. Richard has changed so much..."

"But that is not all...there is also...I mean... he has...he has not even..."

Darcy blushed. Twice or thrice he had meant to ask about the marital bed question, but his heart had failed him. "Say no more," he said hastily.

"Is it not ... "

"It is uncommon to say the least." But to hear Elizabeth whining about her husband's coldness in the marital bed displeased Mr Darcy not a little. His tortured jealous heart sunk heavily.

"What do you expect me to do?" he cried, deeply wounded. "Have you come to ask me to talk to your husband into making love to you? What am I to do? To watch and long like a poor boy looks at the contents of a rich man's table?"

"Lord, Darcy! How can you speak so? That is not my meaning at all!"

"Then I am afraid I fail to comprehend."

"Don't be agitated, sir," she said reassuringly. "Please do not misunderstand me, I have never wished for him ... On the contrary, I was determined to reject him had he ... but there has been no need for it. He never ever gets close to me, further than reaching out for my hand to escort me to the table."

"I still do not see what all this has to do with your sister."

"Don't you see? I think he is in love with Jane."

"Fitzwilliam? In love with Jane?"

"Please, I do not mean that anything out of..."

"You are telling me that you suspect that Fitzwilliam..."

"No ... not Fitzwilliam. Fernando."

Understanding suddenly hit on him. Of course! Fitzwilliam was no more. Instead, there was this new man around them. And he was not in love with Elizabeth. O joy! Relief of the greatest nature washed over his soul.

"Good Lord, I see," he exclaimed as a lopsided smile crooked the corners of his mouth. Fitzwilliam was dead, long live Fernando!

To be continued.

---