What You Will

PROLOGUE

Pemberley, 4th of December, late evening

“And so ended his affection,” said Elizabeth impatiently. “There has been many a one, I fancy, overcome in the same way. I wonder who first discovered the efficacy of poetry in driving away love?”

“I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love,” said Darcy.

Elizabeth could not mask her surprise as she looked to the incongruous source of this remark, wondering what he could know of either. Catching herself, she lowered her eyes demurely, “I beg your pardon, Sir, but you are mistaken. The Bard tells us that music be the food of love.” A slow smile threatened to overtake her countenance as she raised her face and observed the confusion furrowing his brow. “Perhaps you will grant me then, that dancing is love's drink, if one has a partner tempting enough?”

The gentleman's eyes widened with the shock of recognition and, if had the presence of mind for honest contemplation of such things, curiosity. He only distantly heard as Mrs. Bennet began repeating her thanks to Mr. Bingley for his kindness to Jane, with an apology for troubling him also with Lizzy. Habit alone governed his belated and shaky nod acknowledging the accuracy of this retort. His mind could not but continue what the lady had so aptly started as it whispered to him,

“ …play on.
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.”

This remembrance of her on the evening of the Netherfield Ball came unbidden at the sight of her brother, Sebastian Bennet, standing before him in the sitting room at Pemberley, his eyes downcast in so similar a manner and color high on his cheek. Truly, the resemblance is remarkable. He shook his head of the thought of his appetite for Elizabeth and schooled his mind to attend to her brother, who was anxiously turning a tall hat over and over in his hands. Without thinking, he muttered, “Yes. Play on...”

Elizabeth's eyes flashed up in panic. “I beg your pardon?”

“That is… forgive me, Mr. Bennet, I meant, pray, continue on…”

Elizabeth exhaled the breath she held before continuing to craft an explanation for the circumstances that had, incredibly, brought her to Derbyshire, Pemberley, and Mr. Darcy. “At the ball at Netherfield, sir, you did impart to me some of the history you share with Mr. Wickham… It pains me, but it cannot be concealed from anyone. My sister has left all of her friends- has eloped; has thrown herself into the power of- of Mr. Wickham. They are…” Her rushed words were here interrupted by a pained cry.

“Your sister!” He stood stricken, recalling the interest Elizabeth expressed for that worthless cad during the one and only dance they had shared at the Netherfield Ball. “Elizabeth- she has not…”

Elizabeth was too indignant at the suggestion that her own morals were so base as to subject herself to ruin with that man to acknowledge the emotion in his voice. “No sir,” her voice hard, “Lydia… my younger sister, Lydia, has gone off with him.”

Darcy only blinked, exhaling a shaky breath.

Ignoring, too, this expression of relief, she took a deep breath to cool her ire and fixed her gaze somewhere just beyond his shoulder. With an even tone, she continued her practiced request, “You know him too well to doubt the rest. My father's estate is comfortable, but modest, nothing that can tempt him… She is lost forever if I cannot locate them. I am come here to inquire after Wickham. Surely you could supply me with some intelligence…”

A hollow laugh interrupted; Elizabeth's eyes flashed to find the aloof features she recognized from the Meryton Assembly. I dare say that he is not surprised that the Bennet family should be so disgraced, but how dare he laugh at Lydia's ruin?! Hateful man!

“I am grieved indeed,” Darcy said, emotionlessly. “Grieved- shocked. But is it certain- absolutely certain?”

The anger and impatience in her voice stood in stark contrast. “Yes, they were traced almost to London, but not beyond; they are certainly not gone on to Scotland. We have gone to recover her- that is, I have attempted to recover her. Elizabeth… stays with our aunt and uncle in London.”

At the mention of her name, Darcy's eyes swept her face and he shook his head in silent acquiescence.

“When my eyes were opened to his real character- Oh! Had I known what I ought, what I dared to do! But I knew not- I was afraid of doing too much. Wretched, wretched mistake!”

Darcy made no further answer. He seemed scarcely to hear her and was walking up and down the room in earnest meditation, his brow contracted, his air gloomy. Elizabeth soon observed and instantly understood it. He would now ask her to leave, not wish to be associated with such a family. Her resolve melted, and in that moment she felt all the ridiculousness of her plan. To disguise herself as her twin brother in order to scour the countryside for Wickham, Lydia, and the self-same brother? This plot was as absurd as one of Shakespeare's comedies. Had I read of myself, she thought, I would have pronounced the plot preposterous.

A wave of nausea accompanied the sudden awareness of her situation: she stood in her brother's shoes and riding jacket, unescorted, unchaparoned, in the private residence of an unmarried gentleman well in to the evening hours. Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing in the world. Her power was sinking; everything must sink under such a proof of family weakness, such an assurance of the deepest disgrace. She began to wonder if he suspected her own ruse. How strange it would appear to him! In what a disgraceful light would it strike so vain a man! It might seem as if she had purposely thrown herself in his way again!

When Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had come to stay at Netherfield, the attentions of the former, an amiable gentleman well suited to their dear Jane had roused the hopes and expectations of her mother, whose simple mind could not be occupied by even the silliest of novels and whose fingers had no patience for the usual diversions available to ladies. The latter, despite the irresistible appeal of his fortune, had slighted her and effectively given offence to most of the neighborhood. Only her twin brother, Sebastian, (and Jane, of course) would defend the man, suggesting that the appearance of haughty disdain may disguise a deep and profound reserve.

Elizabeth snorted at this thought, until thoughts of her missing brother sent a wave of sorrow washing over her. So like Sebastian. Their father often teased them that, though they were cut from the same pattern, they could not be made from the same cloth. By all appearances, the two were identical- in their childhood, the pair took every advantage of the uncanny resemblance between herself and her brother; Lizzy frequently dressed in his clothing to indulge in boyish pursuits. The neighborhood was none the wiser, though it was often observed that Sebastian Bennet was a curiously busy and well-traveled child, often seen on horseback in one moment and in a tree the next. In temperament, however, her brother more closely resembled kind, sweet Jane. How I miss him.

With her curls cut close and face shadowed by the dust of the road, Elizabeth had all the appearance of a gentleman, but the delicacy of her heart could not be disguised. She set her jaw and clenched her fists tightly to contain mutinous tears.

CHAPTER ONE

The events that had conspired to bring Elizabeth to her current situation were easy enough to trace, however, no one could have predicted the dire consequences that would result from such an innocent beginning.

Hertfordshire, the 26th of November, one week prior

The autumn hunting season always brought excellent sport to the neighborhood. Eligible bachelors rented estates to shoot in the local wilderness, while the more cunning hunters conspired over tea and cakes to capture those eligible bachelors in their own nets of ribbon and lace. This autumn was no different, though some of the visiting bachelors were decidedly more eligible than others.

Naturally, Mr. Bingley, having the good sense to be not only handsome and unmarried, but also to be in possession of a small fortune, garnered the greatest share of attention from Hertfordshire mothers. To these already admirable traits, he added another prodigiously clever attribute which served to raise him in general esteem: a friend, in the form of another handsome and unmarried gentleman, this one in possession of a much larger fortune and estate in the north.

Despite such a promising introduction, however, it was quickly decided that Mr. Darcy's fortune was not quite generous enough to overcome the belief in his being the most proud and disagreeable man of their general acquaintance. Only the Bennet boy, Sebastian, seemed to find any pleasure in his company.

The other gentleman of this party was a Mr. Hurst. Upon being named the husband of Mr. Bingley's eldest sister, he was proclaimed to be of little use and no beauty and was scarcely mentioned again.

Mr. Bingley's sisters were, of course, also among the Netherfield party. While many admired their elegant gowns, their fine lace, their elaborate hair (indeed, a few girls even made attempts to emulate their fashions- Meryton had never before known a demand for orange colored ribbons), few would willingly confess their envy to their neighbors. Therefore, of the ladies, there was much appraisal, but little discussion.

There was one more bachelor being discussed in the parlors of Hertfordshire, though opinions here varied considerably. The latest, a Mr. Collins, had come to stay at Longbourne, under the guise of offering an olive branch to heal the breach between their families. Whether the promise of five attractive and unmarried female cousins encouraged such a benevolent action, he would not admit, but it is a truth universally acknowledged that an odious single man with a domineering benefactor must be in want of a wife. In fact, it was even before noisily sipping the afternoon offering of tea that he decided which of the Misses Bennet would fulfill his every wish in a wife.

Her well-formed figure was certainly pleasing (and he had several opportunities to consider the matter, as it was amply displayed), but Mr. Collins admired more the simplicity of her unstudied mind. Being himself a man of very mean understanding, he was content with the knowledge that neither her talents nor her understanding would eclipse those of the delicate Anne, and that, when in the presence of such the pinnacle of grace and good breeding, his own lovely lady would be appropriately humbled.

“Mama, tell Kitty that she must give me her pink ribbons for the ball! They look very well on me and since Papa will not allow us to have new dresses made, I must have them to look best for the officers! Oooh! The officers!”

Mr. Collins was moved beyond measure; he took this as clear evidence of her natural desire to please those of rank. Yes, Miss Lydia Bennet would make him an excellent wife. In his happy musings, however, the feature most dear to him, the feature which secretly inspired the most romantic imaginings was her voice, with all the melody of the old hinges of the church door, and so very like that of his excellent patroness, the Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

He stood impulsively and swept a hand over his shiny hair before taking hold of the lady's and bringing it to his lips.

“Miss Lydia, I hope I do not embarrass you with the particular attention I am about to bestow upon you, as politeness dictates that I should ask one of your elder sisters before you. However, on this occasion, I should hope that my fair cousins will attribute my preference to the right cause, and not to any disrespect, for I should like to bestow upon you the honor of opening the ball with me. I request your favor for the first two dances this evening.”

The partner of his future life was unable to speak, she was so taken aback with this singular honor. A look of horror passed over her face as she pulled her hand away and wiped it carefully on her gown. Oh, she is everything that is innocent and pure. She does not wish me to see how her palms perspire with my attention. I must put her at ease.

Affecting his sweetest smile, he continued, “Now, before you demure and blush, as I know you ladies are wont to do when presented with a partner such as myself, I am certain that you will show yourself to be an excellent dancer, however few the opportunities your blushing youth has afforded you to dance with true gentlemen.”

Mr. Collins had been hoping for the lady's high-pitched reply, but he was only a little disappointed. Lydia had been so overcome as to run from the room in a fit of giddy laughter. Mrs. Bennet was effusive and enthusiastic in reassuring him that Lydia would be honored by such an… honor.

He could not understand why, later, after greeting Mr. Bingley and his sisters in the receiving line, Lydia could not be found. He wondered if he had been too forthcoming. She had, perhaps, been overwhelmed by his attentions… but then, he recalled Lady Catherine's insistence on frank compliments and the preservation of rank and was assured that he was proceeding admirably in his courtship of the lady. She is everything that is good and proper- propriety forbids her from showing me the depth of her feeling.

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Elizabeth had dressed with unusual care and prepared in the highest spirits for the conquest of all that remained unsubdued in Mr. Wickham's heart, trusting that it was not more than might be won in the course of an evening. But in an instant arose the dreadful suspicion of his being purposely omitted for Mr. Darcy's pleasure in the Bingley's invitation to the officers; and though this was not exactly the case, the absolute fact of his absence was pronounced by his friend, Mr. Denny, who told them that Wickham had been obliged to go to town on business and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile,

“I do not imagine his business would have called him away just now, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman here.”

With that, Denny was forcibly engaged to partner a giggling blur of ribbon and lace that could only be one of her younger sisters, though on later reflection, she would not be able to identify whether it had been Kitty or Lydia. Elizabeth stood frozen, at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

“Lizzy…” Recognizing the glint in her eyes and arch of her brow as thinly veiled anger, her twin brother Sebastian intervened in a daring move to redirect her fury. “Let me remind you that we know none of the particulars of this story. The plot too closely resembles that of a romantic novel, which you know I have no taste for, and that I had assumed you had entirely outgrown.”

He stopped to consider his words. Though he had been informed of Mr. Wickham's imprudent habit of living well beyond his means, Mr. Darcy had been oddly insistent that no one know of his involvement. Observing the man since their discussion, Sebastian had come to believe that the soldier was well aware of his charm and exhibited his talent prodigiously. He disapproved of Lizzy's preference for Mr. Wickham, but decided that he would not violate his oath to a man he hoped to call friend.

“Furthermore, I strongly suspect that several volumes preceded this one, containing events which Mr. Wickham omitted in his telling. Why should he openly relate his history with Mr. Darcy so early in our acquaintance?”

But every feeling of displeasure against Mr. Darcy was so sharpened by immediate disappointment, that Elizabeth could hardly reply with tolerable civility to the rational argument her brother presented.

With a teasing smile that only served to further anger his sister, he blithely continued, “Really, Lizzy. I have come to expect better sense of you. If he is the party wronged, why should he choose to avoid confrontation?”

Only concern for the delicacy of her new slippers prevented her from kicking her brother soundly in the shin. Completely absorbed in their exchange, both were completely caught off guard when interrupted by the approach of Mr. Darcy himself.

“Good evening, Miss Elizabeth, Mr. Sebastian Bennet.” Though he addressed them both, his eyes seemed reluctant to leave Elizabeth.

The former blushed with surprise and embarrassment; the latter grinned shamelessly. A fascinating suspicion had begun to take form in his mind.

“Miss Elizabeth, I have come with the hope that, if you are not yet engaged, you would do me the honor of dancing the next with me?”

Having witnessed their earlier exchange, in which Elizabeth had employed her wit to give Mr. Darcy a subtle set down for slighting her at the Meryton Assembly, it was difficult for Sebastian to say whether she was more surprised by the gracious manner of delivery or by the application itself. He bit his lip against a smile that would betray his glee at seeing the unprecedented event of his sister silenced for a second time in the course of an evening. He could not but wonder that the same man had inspired each occasion.

As Elizabeth gaped dumbly at his request, Sebastian began, “Mr. Darcy! Perhaps you can help us to settle an argument…”

He was interrupted by a sharp, satin-covered elbow to his gut.

Finding her voice, Elizabeth replied, quickly, “Why, yes, sir. It would be my pleasure.”

Darcy looked between the siblings, confused. Truly, the resemblance in face and manner was dizzying. Though he would have preferred that the lady's scowl and gentleman's smirk had been reversed, he had been twice refused by the lady already and would not question his current good fortune. Bowing to the gentleman, he took Elizabeth's hand to lead her to the dance.

In an arch manner more frequently seen in his sister, Sebastian was heard to say, “Thus denied the company of my sister, I shall have to go out into the world in search of another!”

He would quickly come to regret this jest as he made mental tally of his sisters' whereabouts. Elizabeth was contentedly attempting to give offense to Mr. Darcy in the line of dancers. Next to them, Jane and Bingley wore a matched pair of lovestruck gazes. Mary was difficult to misplace, as Sebastian recognized a melancholy tune being forced from the pianoforte. He distantly wondered why Mary's studied solemnity had recently seemed more genuinely sad. Heartsick, even. He shook his head of this unlikely thought and scanned the room for his remaining sisters.

His mother's voice, loudly demanding that Kitty should procure some punch to stop her incessant coughing and her own poor nerves, alerted Sebastian to her whereabouts, leaving only Lydia.

Lydia.

Playing the evening's events in his mind, he could not recall even a single instance in which his attention was required to curtail the behavior of his sisters. Walking the length of the line, he could not discern her enthusiastic step among the dancers. A nearby party of red-coated officers congregating about Mary King gave Sebastian a pang of alarm; should Lydia have been present, she would not have tolerated their inattention.

He quickened his step back to his mother.

“For heaven's sake, dear, however should I know where the girl has gotten to? Certainly, she is taking every opportunity to enjoy herself, just as she ought.” He walked away as Mrs. Bennet turned back to Mrs. Phillips, “Though she is the youngest, she is an example to her sisters. Jane may be the prettiest, but Lydia has already secured the affections of Mr. Collins, no doubt by her own clever encouragement…”

The precise nature of her enjoyment was indeed Sebastian's primary concern. He and Elizabeth had sometimes argued about the behavior of their younger siblings. He had always considered Lydia's exuberant spirit harmless, but as she became more mature in her appearance, he had to own that there might be those who would willfully misinterpret her flirtatiousness.

Taking a fortifying breath, Sebastian discretely slipped through the doors on to the balcony. In the shadows of the far corner, he could discern the form of a lady with dark hair locked in passionate embrace with a short, balding man. Striding purposefully towards them, Sebastian stopped suddenly, turned his back, and darted back inside.

He shuddered; he hadn't supposed the Hursts to be so… affectionate a couple.

The set had ended, but Lizzy and Mr. Darcy were still standing on the dance floor, the tension between them tangible. Sebastian stepped behind Lizzy, just close enough to whisper a name in her ear. With some effort, she broke from Mr. Darcy's gaze and turned to her brother for a wordless exchange. Shaking her head, she turned, only belatedly dropping a half-hearted curtsey before striding purposefully away.

Sebastian made to follow her, but was arrested by a hand on his arm.

“Mr. Bennet- ”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy, but I must see to a family matter.”

“And I must insist; it is a matter of no little importance. It pertains to Mr. Wickham.”

“I thank you again for that bit of intelligence; I assure you that I have quietly given warning to the local merchants. If they knew to whom they were indebted…”

“No! Mr. Bennet, I beg of you... this concerns your sister.”

Sebastian was taken aback by the pleading tone and his desperate look, appearing so out of place on the face of the reserved man. He certainly believed Elizabeth capable of so disconcerting the gentleman, but could not imagine that she would actually call him out whilst dancing. Curious, he allowed himself to be led from the ballroom to the privacy of the library.

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Elizabeth engaged Jane in her discrete search for Lydia, leaving Bingley dumbfounded and dejected. Together, they approached their mother.

“…such a fair prospect for my girl. Imagine, shelves in the closet and everything that is fine!”

“Mother, we are looking for Lydia. We would like to have a word with her.”

“Everyone is looking for Lydia this evening! First your brother and now you- and to say nothing of poor Mr. Collins, who has been wanting for her company all evening and is now forced to converse with that plain Charlotte Lucas! I suppose she is only hoping to excite his interest by her game of chase. Oh! Yes! I am certain that girl knows what she is about. You, Jane, might take a few pages from Lydia's book…”

Kitty, who had been standing some short distance from their mother, though in truth, in much closer proximity to the punchbowl, was plagued by a sudden fit of coughing. Lizzy's eyes narrowed slightly as they gazed on her sister, arms folded and mouth fixed in a miserable pout. She looked to Jane, and with one sister on each arm, Kitty was guided, stumbling, into the corridor for interrogation. She promptly burst into tears.

“They none of them want to talk to me. Why should Lydia be the first to be engaged? I am at least as pretty as she, and I am two years older.”

“Kitty, where is Lydia?”

“She could not be satisfied with Mr. Collins, though he is rather a toad, do you not agree, Lizzy?”

“Kitty, dear, we must find Lydia.”

“I should not want to marry a toad, not when I might marry Mr. Wickham in his stead!”

Three voices united in the cry, “Mr. Wickham?!”

Lizzy and Jane looked up to find Sebastian had approached their party from the distant corridor, wearing a dark look.

“What do you say of Mr. Wickham?”

Kitty looked exasperated and spoke slowly, as if to a child. “That Mr. Wickham is not a toad, of course- I daresay that you will agree, Lizzy, that no one would wish to marry Mr. Collins when they might instead have Mr. Wickham in his red coat.”

“I am afraid that Wickham may be worse than a toad.” Sebastian said, quietly.

“Kitty, do you mean to suggest that Lydia is to marry Mr. Wickham?” Lizzy was indignant.

Jane intervened, with as much grace as can be expected of a situation in which one's youngest sister has left the protection of her family to elope with an officer who had, until recently, been paying particular attention to another sister. “Kitty, dear, you must tell us what Lydia has… where Lydia has… what has become of Lydia?!”

“She will be very angry with me. I was not supposed to tell, but it is not fair; I am two years older.” She pulled a folded piece of paper from her glove and handed it to Jane.

With shaking fingers and trembling voice, Jane read the letter aloud,

“You will laugh when you know where I am gone, and I cannot help laughing myself at your surprise when you discover I am missed. I am going to Gretna Green, and you will never guess with who, for it is not Mr. Collins! You would think me a simpleton to marry him, when there is but one man in the world I love and he is an angel. I should not be happy without him, so think it no harm to be off. What a surprise it will be when I write to my sisters and brother and sign my name, Lydia Wickham…”

and promptly fainted.

CHAPTER TWO

The Netherfield Ball, evening, the 26th of November

Wishing to conceal the unhappy truth for as long as it was possible, Elizabeth and Sebastian judged it wise to withhold the intelligence of Lydia's whereabouts from their parents until the time that the family would be secluded in a more private locale. It would be no easy feat to disguise the absence of one rather conspicuous member of their family party, but they agreed that time was indeed, of the essence. They decided, therefore, that the attention which would inevitably be drawn by the most unusual event of the Bennets being the first of all the company to depart, could not be helped, and conspired jointly to maneuver the Longbourne party into the carriage within a quarter of an hour.

Elizabeth caught Mr. Bennet's eye. She knew that despite the appearance of being tolerably diverted with the occupation of bating Mr. Collins, he would eagerly lend his authority to their suggested departure. He was, in turn, engaged to extract Mary from her seat at the pianoforte following the conclusion of her song. Mr. Bennet's enthusiasm for leaving the party, however, could not be contained; Elizabeth felt a brief pang of guilt as he chose to interrupt Mary's performance with an ill-judged display of his own dry wit.

"Come Mary, that will do extremely well. You have delighted us long enough. let the other young ladies have time to exhibit."

At the same moment, a pale-faced Jane was escorted to the door, leaning heavily on the arm of their brother, who also dragged a stumbling, wailing Kitty behind. The master of the house followed with genuine sorrow and concern for the well being of his guests. He repeatedly tried to persuade Miss Bennet, nay, both the Misses Bennet to stay until they were better recovered; but Jane could only offer a listless smile in return. Left with nothing more than a few false excuses for their sudden departure, Bingley stood at the doorway looking miserable.

Elizabeth touched her gloved hand to her forehead and closed her eyes to conceal their rolling, irreverently wondering if her family would ever claim even the slightest acquaintance with discretion. Observing, but mistaking the source of her dismay, Charlotte, who had come to stand beside her, clucked her tongue with disapproval.

“If Jane continues to conceal her affection with such skill, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him. Bingley likes your sister, undoubtedly, but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on.”

“But she does help him on, as much as her nature and prudence will allow." Elizabeth was in no spirit to humor Charlotte in this absurd discourse. "If I can perceive her regard for him, he must be a simpleton, indeed, not to discover it too.”

Charlotte only raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly to the simpleton in question. Elizabeth sighed, admitting that he stared at the door with all of the devastation of a hound whose master had recently quit the room.

“In nine cases out of ten, a woman had better show more affection than she feels. Jane should make the most of every half-hour spent in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be leisure for falling in love just as she chooses.”

Anxious to continue on her mission, “You make me laugh, Charlotte, but it is not sound. You know that you would never act in this way yourself.”

“Of course I would!”

“You would act to show partiality to a man, even before you are secure in your own understanding of his character or disposition?”

“I wish Jane success with all my heart; but if she were married to him tomorrow, I should think that she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelve-month. It is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.”

She gave a wicked laugh and glanced about the room. Affecting wide eyes and a demure expression, she continued, “Allow me to demonstrate how a lady might practice such a skill. Your mother informs me that Mr. Collins has made his choice; he is safe from my innocent attention.”

“No, Charlotte, you mustn't!”

“Though I dare say, his character is not so difficult to make out!”

With a wink to Elizabeth, Charlotte joined Mr. Collins where he stood alongside Sir William. Both were speaking, though it was not clear if either were much aware of what the other was saying. Charlotte gave a small, shy smile to the diminutive clergyman before applying to her father to allow him to return to Longbourne with the Lucas', so that he might continue to enjoy the local society.

Elizabeth looked on briefly in horror, but could do nothing to intervene. Returning to her purpose; she steeled her nerves for the final task of collecting their mother.

As anticipated, Mrs. Bennet was most heartily dissatisfied and quitted the house whilst proclaiming her conviction that should Jane tolerate but one more set complete, she might have danced with Mr. Bingley three times. Such an occasion would certainly see her daughter settled at Netherfield in three or four months! Imagine two daughters married!

As Elizabeth gathered the cloaks and ushered her mother out the door, she observed to herself, that, had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could during the evening, it would have been impossible for them to play their parts with more spirit or greater success. In vain did she endeavor to check the rapidity of her mother's words, or persuade her to describe her felicity in a less audible whisper; for, to her inexpressible vexation, she could perceive that the chief of it was overheard by Mr. Darcy, who, inexplicably, stood opposite them in the entry. Throughout the evening, she was convinced that his attention was invariably fixed on her. She had supposed that he took pleasure in disdaining her impertinent manners, but when their eyes met, she was surprised to find he wore a peculiar expression of indistinct concern.

Though far from suspecting it, Elizabeth had been the object of his interest for the greater share of the evening. Though his vigilance had been inspired at first by the adamant determination not to pay her particular attention, he became alarmed as he observed her movement about the room, smiling, but with stealth and purpose rarely occasioned by a country ball. With his critical eye, he could detect more than one imperfection in the mask of her playful manner and her eyes, though he could admire them no less, did not sparkle with lively intelligence, but were instead dark with determination. Despite his previous resolutions, he was drawn to her side and followed them again down the stairs.

He watched as Sebastian handed Mrs. Bennet into the waiting carriage.

“Miss Elizabeth…”

“I beg your pardon, I must leave.”

His eyes searched hers and Elizabeth was suddenly recalled to a sense of her situation by the voice of her unexpected companion, who, in a manner which, though it spoke restraint, spoke likewise of compassion, said,

“Then I will not detain you- unless there is something that could be said or done that might offer consolation to such distress.”

Tears of anger and confusion conspired to overcome her composure, but before she could turn to enter the carriage he took hold of her hand.

“There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well.”

With a raised eyebrow and a whisper of a smile, he aided her ascent into the carriage and turned to find the inquisitive eyes of her brother. Darcy opened his mouth to speak and closed it again as quickly. There could be only one rationale for his behavior, and the astonishment of both gentlemen, he offered her brother only confirmation in the form of a shy half-smile.

“Bennet.”

Sebastian offered his hand. His own smile was sad, but sincere. “Darcy. Thank you.”

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The Bennet's carriage, evening, the 30th of November

The carriage careened through the dwindling twilight towards London. Inside, the two occupants sat, worry mirrored in the identical expressions of their faces and bow of their dark heads.

Mr. Bennet left Longbourne on Sunday; on Tuesday, his son received a letter from him. It told them that Lydia and Wickham had been traced to London, but not beyond. He was now determined to inquire at all the principal hotels in town. Sebastian did not expect any success from this measure, but as his father was eager in it, he meant to assist him in pursuing it. Though this was his stated intent, he meant to quietly seek the counsel of Mr. Darcy, who he believed to be his best hope for intelligence that might uncover Mr. Wickham's whereabouts.

Though little was known for certain, their mother had already given way to useless alarm, closeting herself in her apartments, lamenting her greatest fears in turns, that she should not have such a son-in-law as Mr. Collins and that Lydia would not know which were the best warehouses for her wedding clothes. As her least favorite daughter, Elizabeth felt herself to be of little use in quelling her mother's nerves. She could not countenance sitting idly by, and resolved to accompany her brother to London.

The wheels of the carriage hit a small rock, breaking the symmetry and the silence.

Not for the first time, Sebastian kicked the seat opposite him with the bottom of his boot. “Stupid, stupid girl! What on earth could she have been thinking?”

Though she was well aware of the potentially dire consequences of her sister's folly, it could not dwell long on her spirits. She was not formed for ill humor. Elizabeth gave a sardonic smile and drew breath to reply, “I believe that we have long established that Lydia's actions rarely result from any sort of meditation. Why should you expect this particular occasion to be any different?”

“Then the fault is mine. I had not the foresight to see that my exposing Wickham would result in such a retaliation.” He stared angrily at the shadowy trees passing. “Nor that Lydia would act so impulsively to avoid the attentions of our cousin.”

In the long hours spent confined in the carriage, this very conversation had already borne three fruitless repetitions. In truth, Elizabeth felt no small share of guilt, for, had she considered the circumstance beyond the entertainment it had lately provided, she might have predicted Lydia's actions.

Elizabeth closed her eyes and sighed before she continued patiently, “Brother, you take too much upon yourself. You must allow Lydia to have her share. The blame for this situation is Lydia's alone.”

“Lizzy, you are a gentlewoman and cannot understand…”

“Or our mother's, for encouraging her flirtation…” Elizabeth blithely continued her list, deaf to the familiar litany.

“It is my duty…”

“Surely you must be at least generous enough to share it with our father, who would not be bothered to check her silliness... or her elder sisters, who would not trouble themselves to guide her behavior.”

Sebastian's voice shook with frustration. “It is my duty to keep my sisters safe! When Mr. Darcy told me of his shared history--“

She had been drawing breath again to blame the King himself for outfitting his soldiers in an irresistible shade of red coat, when her ears registered the unexpected name. “Mr. Darcy?!”

The argument was instantly put aside in favor of curiosity for the circumstances of that party, though she would not reflect too closely on the source of that interest. A deafening crack was heard. By force of instinct, the twins grasped hands as the carriage lurched and threw them against the door. All went black.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The 1st of December, late afternoon

Elizabeth woke to a stream of sunshine in an unfamiliar room. Her body moved to sit up in alarm, but a sharp pain in her head caused her again to wilt. Her moan brought a gentle face through the door's opening.

“Try not to move, dear. Simply rest. You are safe.” The woman spoke in soothing tones as she moved to sit at the edge of the bed.

“What place is this?”

“My husband's estate, very near to London.”

“And my brother? He is here?”

This question briefly marred the lady's graceful composure and her hand sought Elizabeth's.

“No, dear. He is not.” Her eyes searched Elizabeth's for a moment. “Our carriage came upon another overturned in the road. The driver reports that the axel was split… You were the only survivor amongst the wreckage.”

Elizabeth felt as the color, barely returned to her face, faded. She struggled to breathe.

Taking Elizabeth's hand in both of hers, the lady spoke quickly to infuse the moment with some semblance of hope. “We know nothing of the particulars… perhaps… it is chance that you were saved, let your own fortune give you hope for your brother's.”

Elizabeth nodded, an empty gesture of gratitude for the lady's kindness.

“Your brother, he is very dear to you?”

“We were born within an hour, and God willing, so we should end.”

CHAPTER THREE

Morning, December the 2nd

Elizabeth woke again, this time from the dreamless, exhausted sleep of someone holding fast to the barest thread of hope. The night before, at her pleading, the Earl had summoned for her personal interview the driver and footmen responsible for her rescue. Unfortunately, even presented with the pretty exhibit of her face, the inquest was useless; none of the men could confirm, nor absolutely deny, her greatest fears. The men had then been dispatched to retrieve the trunks, and, though no one would confess it to a young lady, Elizabeth knew it was likely that they would also return with the bodies of the men who had perished.

When the breakfast tea brought no news, Elizabeth attempted, without success, to compose a letter for her father at Gracechurch Street. Worse than being the bearer of sad tidings, she could only provide intelligence of her own whereabouts, recalling but little of the events that followed the accident. Elizabeth chose to spare her mother and sisters the pain of uncertainty; being unable to act, she knew they would be sentenced to an interminable period of wait. She also hoped to save Jane from the additional burden of indulging their mother's talent for imaging every potential horror.

A physician came then to attend her, and save for a few bruises, pronounced her in uncommonly good health. Despite his education and training, she thought, it seems he cannot observe the reluctant beat of a broken heart.

And so it was that going about the business of being still alive kept Elizabeth unhappily occupied for the better part of the morning, each item trying her patience and offering a fresh reminder of her loss. For one accustomed to a home bursting with busy nothings, the physician's order confining her to the quiet elegance of the guest chambers could not have been less conducive to Elizabeth's health. She was grateful, then, to Lady Margaret, who came to sit with her and offered precisely that amount of cheer that Elizabeth could safely tolerate.

“I am a very selfish creature, and I must own, my dear, that in spite of the wretched circumstance that occasioned your arrival, I am exceedingly grateful for the society of a female companion.”

“You have no daughters? For shame, I had not thought of your husband as one to deny you anything.”

“It's true. I have only two sons.”

“They favor their father, I presume?”

“Yes, how did you know? They, too, seem to wish to deny me any daughters!”

The ladies shared a gentle laugh, but when their eyes met, Elizabeth felt a pang of guilt.

“My family may have an excess of them.”

Elizabeth reflected that, in her sorrow, she had barely given thought to her sister, Lydia, wherever she may be. This loss was not hers alone.

A young maid interrupted, breathless with the charge of delivering an announcement the entire household had been anxiously anticipating.

“They have returned, ma'am.”

Another servant followed behind, and with an apologetic look for his mistress, delivered a nod of encouragement along with her trunk.

Elizabeth leapt from the bed and fell to her knees before the case. Her heart fell as her fingers traced the initials over the clasp; where it should have read E.V.B. in bold, straight lines, the gentle curves proclaimed the owner to be S.J.B. With shaking fingers, she opened the lid, only to be met with the scent of her brother.

“The trunks were a matched set, as were we.”

“Suspense is sometimes more painful than the truth. Let us go, dear, to learn what is known for certain.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

There was to be no certainty. Sebastian was not discovered among the dead, which allowed for the continuation of hope, but his trunks were untouched, and, most alarming to Elizabeth, the horses, including his favorite, were found grazing nearby. He may not have perished at the first, but, in the bitter chill of a November night, he would have little chance on foot.

A search of the area had been initiated, and, denied the right to assist the party, Elizabeth sat on an elegant satin settee in her room, teacup in hand, and cried, not tears of sorrow, but of frustration. With her family in tatters, she would not be allowed to be of any use but to embroider handkerchiefs.

“Forgive me my tears; I simply cannot think what to do.”

“There is no need.” She searched Elizabeth's eyes for a moment. “I know the pain of losing a cherished sibling. My husband's sister, who could not have been more dear to me than my own, was lost in the birth of my niece.”

“I am sorry. To suffer a loss on what should be the happiest occasion…”

“Thank you. Her husband was devastated and did not survive her long.”

“Oh, how tragic! The poor child was left alone?”

“No, not alone. She, too, depends on the care of a most beloved brother.”

Lady Margaret was too well bred to consider approaching the subject directly, but in the hours of her acquaintance with Elizabeth, the woman had begun to believe that she could detect in the girl's manner a particular urgency, in degrees, it seemed to her, even in excess of her considerable loss. You must understand that in ordinary circumstances, the Lady was, quite rightly, considered to be an intelligent woman. However, being too often deprived of feminine companionship, she was sometimes prone to flights of romantic fancy. This being an occasion of the most extraordinary circumstance, the Lady began to invent a tale that would necessitate a frantic nighttime journey to London.

Gathering wool, she considered all she knew. From Elizabeth's clothing, it was obvious that she was not from the highest tiers of society, but neither was she a servant. Indeed, she was well spoken and polite. She was certain that Elizabeth had mentioned traveling to stay with an aunt and uncle in Cheapside, but she could not recall that Elizabeth had made voluntary mention of any other family. An orphan.

It was, of course, innocently meant; she did not wish to add to the poor girl's burden by delving into her private affairs, only to offer reassurance of her assistance where it was in her power. Elizabeth's fresh tears seemed all the confirmation she needed, and she laid the next words down carefully, though she could have no notion of their true effect.

“She is a sweet, shy girl who has been, perhaps, too well protected from the truths of the world. My own son, who shares in the responsibility of her guardianship, has lately written to ask my advice, as he and Darcy have been much concerned by her recent… withdrawal from company. I say she needs only a suitable companion to bolster her spirit.”

Elizabeth, who had been listening politely, started. “Mr. Darcy?”

“Yes, forgive me, dear, Mr. Darcy is the name of my nephew. I should like to introduce you, of course, but he has lately returned to his estate for the Christmas holiday, and my son visits with my sister-in-law in Kent.”

Elizabeth's face, reflecting utter horror at this suggestion, roused the belated fears that, perhaps, she might have insulted Elizabeth with the insinuation and she moved to withdraw from the room. “I am embarrassed, prattling on about my family's concerns, when your own must be heavy enough.”

“No, your Ladyship has been most…”

“No, I fear you have been long desiring my absence. Will I have the pleasure of seeing you for dinner tonight?”

Elizabeth nodded. “I thank you; you have been everything that is kind and good.”

Lady Margaret returned a fond nod and quit the room.

Truly, Elizabeth thought, the fates were possessed of a perverse wit.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Elizabeth sat on a carpet before the fire, enveloped by the comforting scent of her brother's riding coat, turning all of the possibilities over and over in her mind. She could hardly fathom the hardship her family would face with the loss of her brother, the heir to her father's estate. Entailed to the male line, on the occasion of her father's death, the estate would pass to the nearest male relation. The odious Mr. Collins would come to inherit her beloved home.

Worse, her family had been secure in the good health of their son; she was certain that there was no savings. Elizabeth knew her father could hardly be troubled to open a book whose contents were not translated from Latin or Greek; he often crowed to his neighbors that Sebastian had learned his numbers balancing the figures in the estate ledgers. Her mother's understanding of investment principles was limited to the improvements of her daughters for the return of rich sons-in-law. That had been a venture of high stakes, indeed, as the stock of the whole would now be lost by the fall of the youngest daughter.

Had they been successful in their efforts to recover Lydia, the whole affair might have come to nothing more than the tea cup whispers of a rushed marriage. Elizabeth scolded herself for the fleeting thought that, considering her sister's well established reputation as the silliest flirt in all of Hertfordshire, this evidence of her utter want of prudence may not have been novel enough even to merit a whisper.

Now, even should they be found, the estate was lost and there would be but little money, little to induce Wickham to marry the girl. Had she known nothing of the genuine love between Jane and Mr. Bingley, she could have borne the dread of Lydia's infamy somewhat better, but she understood the ways of the world too well to suppose that Mr. Bingley, no matter how great his affection for Jane, would ever willingly join such a family. Combined, their meager dowries would not be sufficient to buy respectability; her sister's heart would be broken. None of the sisters would be considered eligible matches.

The entire family would be ruined with the knowledge of Sebastian's death.

Grief moves us to do all manner of peculiar and desperate things. For Elizabeth, the seed of an idea had begun to take root in her mind. As she was the sole custodian of tragic news, it was as much within her power to withhold the information as it was to share it. Though her heart ached for the comfort of her family, Elizabeth knew she could bear the burden of her solitary grief for a few more days if it would allow her father and uncle a period of grace in which they might secure the future of her family. Though it would be deceitful certainly, to allow them to labor under the false assurances, and they might resent her for denying them their right to mourn for him, she could only imagine that the deferral of their pain might allow for some little good.

All this might be accomplished by the posting of one letter, the contents of which would not be so much a lie outright, but by omission. After all, though she had all but resigned herself to the fact of her brother's being dead, she could not strictly report this to be the case. One lie might save her family.

Having retrieved Sebastian's writing box from the trunk, Elizabeth moved with purpose to place it on the vanity. Her breath was caught in her throat and she stopped short at the vision captured in the mirror. She laughed ruefully at the illusion of her brother with long skirts, which summoned, against her will, bittersweet childhood memories of sharing clothing - and mischief - with her brother. Would that I could exchange myself for him.

The contents of the case had been severely jostled, and Elizabeth reverently set out to restore his pens, wax, and grooming implements to their rightful compartments. Amongst the papers, she discovered the fragments of a letter from her brother, addressed to none other than Mr. Darcy! Her heart fluttered inexplicably as she averted her eyes. Curiosity warred with the impropriety of reading her brother's private correspondence, but, in this case, the opponents were not at all well matched. Elizabeth's hands shook with something resembling fear as she opened the letter and attempted to decipher the words scattered amidst ink blots and crossed words.

Mr. Darcy,

I hope you will forgive the complete disregard for{blot} I now display, for sending this letter and for the plea it contains, but on the occasion of our last meeting, I believe that we have come to understand {blot}. Perhaps I assume too much, but I must beg your assistance, for your own sake for my sister's potential happiness, as much as for myself.

It is imperative that Wickham is found. Having the knowledge misfortune of being so well acquainted with the scoundrel, it is my hope that you {blot}must best know where

The rest of the letter was unfinished. Elizabeth sat, unable to give name to the hollow feeling residing within her chest. She had not known of any particular friendship between her brother and the gentleman, no connection that would have warranted divulging such intimate family information, nor given merit to such a request for assistance. Neither could she fathom what Sebastian might have meant by some of his cryptic words. Still, it was clear that her brother believed Mr. Darcy to possess their greatest chance for recovering Lydia. Elizabeth sighed, absently wondering if her fate would ever be untangled from that of Mr. Darcy's, as she sat to begin a letter of her own.

Dearest Papa,

An accident has unfortunately caused our delay. Please do not let your concern for us detain you from your purpose, and we shall do everything that is within our ability to bring you aid.

Your loving daughter, etc.

Folding and directing the letter, Elizabeth's mind lingered over the words, within our ability. Her gaze drifted again towards the mirror, but she immediately rolled her eyes and laughed off the ridiculous notion.

She studiously paid it no mind as dressed for dinner. She endeavored to ignore it as she spoke to a servant about posting her letter. She labored not to think on it as she passed the peas to the Earl, but a lady's imagination is very rapid. In a moment, it jumps from guilt to blame. No sooner had she considered Sebastian's survival, did she begin to regret that, in her place, he would have been able to be of some use to his family.

The only conversation from which her attention would not be divided pertained to Mr. Darcy.

The more she tried not to think of it, the more she was distracted by her mind's insistence that it was, in fact, within her ability to bring Sebastian back to life, if only to appearances.

It was with these heavy thoughts that, preparing to retire, she sat before the vanity and stared resentfully at the progression of the brush through her long curls. She paused, replacing the delicate silver brush in her hand with her brother's coarse steel shaving blade.

As the first dark lock of hair coiled at her feet, Elizabeth felt the mad beating of her heart replaced by a peculiar sense of calm.

Pemberley, the 4th of December, even later in the evening…

The clinking of crystal brought Elizabeth back again to the present moment and she steeled herself to receive his scorn.

“Bennet, is there nothing you could take for your present relief?”

Her shock at this familiar appellation, as well as the warmth with which it was expressed, prevented Elizabeth from comprehending the content contained in the question.

“A glass of wine, perhaps, or something stronger? Can I get you one?”

Still much occupied by the attempt to decipher the creases written across his brow, she could not immediately formulate a polite refusal. Taking her silence for sufficient encouragement, Darcy thrust a tumbler containing a generous dose of brandy into her hands, which rose reflexively, moving as if to cradle a teacup and saucer. The wafting smell burned in her nose, and as she peered down at the contents, Elizabeth forced herself to stifle a grimace.

“I… I thank you, sir.”

Darcy chuckled with mild disbelief. “Though our acquaintance has not been long, I should hope that our… understanding each other might allow us to do away with such formal address. Please, call me Darcy.”

Understanding?

Elizabeth nodded tentatively and tested the name on her tongue. “Darcy.”

With a smile of satisfaction, he gestured towards a pair of chairs standing before the fire. “I beg you, forgive me. The shock of seeing you here has caused me to misplace my manners. You must have been riding the whole of the day, come warm yourself by the fire.” Then, nodding to the glass in her hands, he gave a wry smile. “Come, I assure you, you will be glad for it.”

Noting the awkward manner in which she held the glass, Elizabeth inwardly chastised herself. She quickly shifted the glass to one hand and affected what she hoped was a purposeful stride towards the chair.

Each sat, silently searching the flames for their next words. At last, Darcy began.

“At the Netherfield ball, I acquainted you with only the first volume of my history with Wickham, but now you will hear the story complete. I must now mention a circumstance which I would wish to forget myself, and which no obligation less than the present should induce me to unfold to any human being.”

A deep sigh brought him back to his feet and he paced before the fire.

“My own sister, who is more than ten years my junior, was left to the guardianship of my mother's nephew, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and myself. About a year ago, she was taken from school, and an establishment formed for her in London; and last summer she went with the lady who presided over it to Ramsgate; and thither also went Mr. Wickham.”

Elizabeth had watched Mr. Darcy's visage grow darker, the light of the fire silhouetting each turn of his feline gait. Without thinking, she took a large sip of the brandy and sputtered at the heat in her throat.

Mr. Darcy looked at her distantly as he continued the tale, “Undoubtedly by design, for there proved to have been a prior acquaintance between him and Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were most unhappily deceived.”

She could not remove her eyes from the man who stood before her now, humbled by his tale, his face despondent and shoulders depressed by the weight of responsibility. This could not be the same man who she knew to be so proud and disdainful. She felt her throat tighten with the unbidden thought of how handsome his features became thrown into shadowy relief. Her nose wrinkled with the burn of a second sip.

“She was but fifteen…”

How differently did everything now appear in which he was concerned. She could not but allow that never, in the whole course of their acquaintance- an acquaintance that had at Netherfield brought them much together, and given her a sort of intimacy with his ways- seen anything that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust; that among his own connections, he was esteemed and valued- that even Wickham had allowed him merit as a brother…

“You may imagine how I felt and how I acted. Regard for my sister's credit and feelings prevented any public exposure…”

Listening to his story, she grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling that she had been blind, prejudiced, and absurd. 'Til this moment, I never knew myself- The increasingly fuzzy quality of her thoughts nearly made her smile at the miserable irony. And who would know me now?!

“That, sir, is a faithful narrative of every event between myself and Mr. Wickham.” He finally sat, and, exhausted, closing his eyes and cradling his head in his hands before continuing. “Our excellent father died some six years ago, leaving her in the protection of his son and nephew. It was for our love that she acknowledged the whole to me. You can hardly blame me for refusing her entreaty, for leaving that place immediately, but she blames me for the whole.

“She believes him to return her affections with sincere and equal regard. To convince her, therefore, that she has been herself deceived, has been a very difficult point.” Darcy stared at his hands now, lost in the vision of his mind's eye. “She has sequestered herself from the company and sight of men- for that worthless scoundrel she will hardly see even me- for six years, the time when she may speak for herself.”

A hand reached out and covered his wrist, bringing him back to the present, where he was suddenly abashed at this unsolicited confession. When his eyes lifted, he was startled anew by the resemblance of the gentleman's eyes, with eyelashes so long and fine, to those of his sister. Though full of sorrow, the sympathetic glimmer and half smile conveyed at their meeting only heightened the illusion. The small hand was quickly withdrawn and Darcy forced his gaze towards the fire to keep from searching his features for more of hers. “I will accompany you tomorrow to London. We shall uncover him together.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Pemberley, 5th of December, morning

Elizabeth made her way slowly down the cavernous hallways in search of the breakfast room. It had already been a difficult morning. The exhaustion of the previous days (and an unknown quantity of brandy) enabled a quick and merciful surrender to sleep, but the dawn's light brought trials and trepidation anew. She had not anticipated the servant dispatched with water for a most welcomed bath and a not so welcomed shave.

“No!” Her agitation did nothing to disguise the natural timbre of her voice. She folded her arms in front of her and willed her heart to slow. “That is, I thank you, but I do not require your services this morning.” Nor any other.

“Very well, sir. I will leave your clothing. It has been cleaned.”

Elizabeth's eyes flashed to the chair where she had a vague recollection of abandoning her own garments in favor of a rather oversized nightshift, which she had discovered to hold the faintest, but most delightful scent.

Her head ached and she closed her eyes to better conjure the cloudy memory of the joyful, if awkward dance she had performed as she unwound the fabric that served to bind her breasts. It was little more than rags, the remnants of her petticoat, but the length of fabric had been dutifully pressed and meticulously folded atop the neat pile of her brother's clothing.

She turned her attention back to the servant, weakly attempting to summon words of praise for the efficiency of the staff. If his curiosity was piqued, the servant was too well trained to give voice to an inquiry. The subtle lift of an eyebrow and the ghost of a smile was the only acknowledgement of the curious cloth.

“If there is anything else, sir…”

At first she had feared that her hasty dismissal had inadvertently given offense, then she feared that she had been discovered. She dared only a quick bath before dressing, vowing not to be so careless in the future. And never to drink brandy again.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

As she continued to wander the great hallway, family portraits drifted past, but they could have little to fix the interest of a stranger. Elizabeth walked on in unknowing quest of the only face whose features would be known to her. At last, it arrested her- and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy. She stood, searching his familiar features for evidence to credit her newly formed opinion: eyes, cheek, jaw, and lips, with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen… when he looked at her. The thought prickled her skin and flooded her cheeks with heat.

Before this revelation could take root in her mind, her ears alerted her to the strains of a familiar melody played on the pianoforte. This time, however, dawning of recognition brought a bewildered chuckle- the player had transposed the love song in to the mournful chords of a minor key! How peculiar! Elizabeth followed the sound to a door ajar, revealing a slivered view of a handsome parlor.

The young woman at the piano was tall, and though little more than sixteen, her figure was formed. Though the severe black gown was better suited for mourning than morning, the daring cut did little to hide her womanly figure. Elizabeth knew at once that this must be the sister of Mr. Darcy. Irreverently, Elizabeth considered that, though she now knew Wickham's primary object had been Miss Darcy's fortune, the burden of seducing her could not have been too much a trial. She might have been even as handsome as her brother, but for the sadness and ill humor written plainly on her face. How unjust it is that a scowl might accentuate a man's features, but look so very ill on those of a pretty woman. The poor creature.

Elizabeth pondered what she had learned, just the evening before. Miss Darcy had formed an attachment to the mercenary Mr. Wickham, and had even agreed to an elopement. Mr. Darcy, Darcy, her mind corrected, as every good brother is want to do, blamed himself for the romantic whims of a silly young girl. Having had no desire to ruin for his orphaned sister any happy remembrance from her childhood, he had chosen to protect her from the knowledge of Mr. Wickham's infamous behavior at Cambridge. Miss Darcy had been seduced by the man whom she understood to be her brother's childhood friend, and could not understand why she would need to be protected from forming an attachment to him.

She could not but think of her own sister, Lydia.

Elizabeth did not wish to intrude, but before she could move to retreat from the room, the song abruptly stopped and the eyes of both women met. Elizabeth's widened in panic, Georgiana's narrowed in alarm and anger.

“Whence came you, sir?”

Elizabeth laughed and offered a mischievous smile, which she hoped would disarm any reproof. “I am afraid that your question is one for which I have no easy answer. I left my apartment in search of the breakfast room, but found only the portrait gallery. Then, just when I thought I might know which path to follow, I was captured by your melody and now find myself quite lost. The only accurate answer I might give, then, is the hallway.”

Belatedly, one foot moved behind her and she bent at the waist in an awkward alloy of bow and curtsey.

Georgiana only stared, suspicious of this impertinent man. She had angrily announced to her brother her sworn vow to sequester herself from the company of any man who did not believe in the strength of her heart, until that time when it was legally her own to give. Unfortunately, several months had passed without any word from the only man she imagined to be exempt from this self-imposed quarantine, and even she had begun to doubt the conviction of her professed affection. Until now.

She began to hope, as she had scarcely allowed herself to hope, that George had finally sent word for her. The man before her was younger than her brother, and she knew her brother required his friends to possess the same traits as his hounds- loyal, amiable, and docile. Besides, the Bingley party was not expected to arrive until the afternoon. Curiosity bested her pride. “Speak to me, and I will answer for her. I have often played her part.”

A smirk drifted across Elizabeth's features, as her quick mind could not ignore the irony of that remark.

“Surely you must have some hideous matter or another to deliver, when the courtesy of it is so fearsome. Why not speak your office to my brother?”

Despite her obvious interest, Georgiana had such a familial look of affected disinterest, Elizabeth struggled not to smile at the resemblance. “I am come to seek the counsel of your brother, but first, there is a delicate matter I would wish to relate only to the lady of the house. Unfortunately, you have me at a disadvantage. I would not wish to waste it on another's ears, but I have never seen her. Are you Miss Darcy? May I safely proceed?”

“Against my will, I remain so.”

“It is a lovely name. You are too keen to give it up.”

Georgiana's face fell with obvious disappointment.

“Are you a comedian? You ridicule me!?”

“No, madam. I own that I dearly love a laugh, but in this instance I would not jest.”

“For whom do you speak?”

“For a brother's love of a sister.”

“Ah, yes. I know him already to be everything that is valiant, virtuous and noble. I know of his love and his wish to protect me from every ill.” Her voice was cold. “I have heard this treatise from Fitzwilliam himself and do not much care for its repetition.”

Thinking of her own brother, Elizabeth leveled her voice to contain the anger she felt. “At present, I speak not of your Fitzwilliam. I speak instead of another brother, though by your description, very like your own, who would die to protect his sister from a lifetime of unhappiness, from her own impulsive folly.”

Her look softened as Georgiana struggled to contain her tears. Forgetting that her outward appearance would make the gesture highly inappropriate, Elizabeth took hold of her hands and spoke softly, “Forgive me for speaking harshly, I wish only to acquaint you with the lengths that a brother will traverse to prevent the unhappiness of a beloved sister. I believe you to be a young woman capable of both strength and understanding, so I will tell you plainly. I am come to beg your brother's assistance, as my youngest sister has left her family, thrown herself into the power of a scoundrel.”

Georgiana's heart raced as she looked down at their joined hands. She was unable to credit the behavior of the young man before her. He had teased her, insulted her, chastised her, and yet, his honesty was… enthralling.

Like most young ladies of sixteen years, she considered herself to be a worldly woman. Even by her brother's exacting standards, she could be accurately described as an accomplished young lady, as she was always endeavoring to improve her mind with extensive reading. However, locked away in the gilded cage of Pemberley, Georgiana was left to glean all of her understanding of the world from the wisdom of literature. In fact, on her Aunt Margaret's recommendation, she had recently acquired several new titles. Now, taking stock of her tumultuous emotions, she could identify the pangs of disappointment, but blended alongside were the flutters of anticipation, and she began to suspect the bright eyes and warm smile of the man evidence of his being one of the dashing heroes of whom she was always reading.

Her voice shook as she spoke, knowing what would follow. “Come to what is important.”

“Mr. Wickham does not deserve your devotion.”

Georgiana gasped, and in an instant, her suspicion turned to hope.

Netherfield, the 1st of December, early morning

The horse skittered and snorted at the cold. It was just dawn, and the protest came from his nostrils in angry clouds of condensation. Bingley reached up to stroke the animal's neck before allowing a groom to assist him into the saddle. Once seated, he allowed his eyes to climb the stairs to the grand entrance of the estate one last time before delivering a fierce kick to urge the horse on the road to London at a breakneck pace.

The young groom stood watch until the horse and rider disappeared. Where the young Master had been known by all the household to be a jovial, good-humored sort of fellow, in the days immediately following the ball, he had been utterly changed. At first, he was restless, driving the servants in the main house mad with his incessant pacing from room to room, moving about the place without apparent purpose. However, even before the housekeeper could order the furniture to be arranged in a pattern to prevent damage to a particularly fragile carpet, he settled into his study with worrisome stillness. The Master, from whom the staff had come to expect jovial laughter and frivolous observations to flow eternal, now only sat, staring silently at the fire. The houseboys, ever loyal to his needs, were frantic trying to maintain the flames at an appropriately contemplative height.

Being a young man and little experienced in such things, the groom resolved that he would never fall in love, if a man could be so very changed by the miserable affair.

On the road, Bingley's thoughts were similarly engaged. He was changed; his hopes had been dashed and replaced with bitter disappointment. He had thought himself in love before, but he had never known himself to be so completely captivated as by the angelic Jane Bennet. It had been his intention to propose on the very evening of the ball, which, she must have known, he was certain that she must have known, was held in her honor, even though he had not the right to publicly proclaim it so. That night, however, she had not blushed demurely and allowed herself to be led to the secluded candlelit terrace as he had envisioned she would. Instead, she had hurried past him, leaning heavily on the arm of her brother, avoiding his eye and steadfastly ignoring his entreaties to remain for a few moments more.

He shook his head to rid himself of this vision, believing any further speculation to be futile.

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

To understand how he came to be on the road to London, alone, so early on this morning, the events of the morning before must also be known. Having spent another restless night upending his memory for any expression of her face or turn of phrase that might provide insight into her perplexing behavior, Mr. Bingley carelessly took an empty chair between his sisters. Caroline was giving voice to her disdain over someone or another's blowsy hair. Darcy, to whom, it seemed, this complaint was principally addressed, considered the image, but did not respond. A hint of a smile suggested that he did not share her opinion of this person's conceited independence and country-town lack of decorum.

That battle apparently lost, Caroline changed tactics, and set her sights on one whose defenses were already much depleted. Her brother was not, by nature, a complicated man. His uncharacteristic reticence, coupled with the dark circles ringing his eyes, made her target clear.

“I do have an excessive regard for Jane Bennet.”

Louisa's mind was never so sharp as her sister's, and, at present, was entirely occupied by the task of buttering a third muffin for her husband. She missed the look of conspiracy from Caroline and enthusiastically agreed, “Oh, yes, she really is a sweet girl!”

Inwardly, Caroline rolled her eyes, but she knew that brother's interest had been effectively captured. Too exhausted to hear the notes of inauthenticity echoed in the clicking of her tongue, he would absorb the whole of her conniving chorus.

“I do so wish with all my heart she were well settled.”

Louisa glanced up from her task, knowing full well that Caroline wished nothing of the sort.

“But with such a father, Louisa…”

“And mother?” Louisa volunteered tentatively.

She was rewarded with a cackle.

“Oh, yes, dear, and her sisters! With such low connections, it must lessen the chance of her marrying a man of any consideration in this world.” She paused for effect. “Such a shame, too, for she must feel obliged, then, to the benefit of her family, to receive every attention with pleasure, even if she does not invite them with any participation of sentiment.”

“But her look and manners are so open and cheerful…”

Louisa persevered in her confused expression, but her brother, Caroline's true mark, was quite distressed by her pointed speculation. She drew back, took aim, and released the final arrow.

“Yes, and without any particular symptom of regard.”

Bingley pushed his plate away, untouched, and rose to leave the room. “If you'll excuse me, I… have some business.”

Darcy, who had been eyeing this exchange with some alarm, was torn. Though he wished to give comfort to his friend, whose disappointment was so plainly written on his face, he had no ready opinion of the eldest Miss Bennet's heart. She had never been an object of his notice, for, in spite of her beauty, the serenity of her countenance could not compete with the dangerous and bewitching eyes of her sister. He was, however, certain in his conviction that something of great family import had occurred last night, but lacking authority to speculate on the matter, he could only offer,

“I should think that she was quite distressed, to leave so abruptly; she looked quite unwell.”

Caroline smiled triumphantly, knowing her victory was already won. “Yes, how very ill she appeared last night.”

It had been won, for Bingley began immediately to make the arrangements necessary to leave Netherfield the following day. With plans already established to gather at Pemberley in a few weeks time for the Christmas season, Darcy suggested that they might travel there directly. He was not eager to allow his friend to continue in his misery, nor to leave him to the miserable company of his sisters, and hoped that the journey would afford him the opportunity to give his friend some words of hope in private. That the selfish desire to remove himself from certain misery guided this somewhat impulsive suggestion, he could not deny, for Miss Elizabeth Bennet had attracted him far more than he liked. He had begun to feel the danger of paying her too much attention.

It was a solid and rational decision, and after but a few moments' recollection, he found he was quite sorry for it.

Deferential as ever to the whims of his tall, imposing friend, Bingley agreed to the scheme, but would be delayed by the need to tend to some urgent matter of business in London. Whether this was a matter of actual business, or a gentleman's urgent desire to avoid the miserable company of his sisters, he would not own, but it was finally settled that Darcy would accompany Miss Bingley and the Hursts to Pemberley in the carriage while Bingley rode on, ahead of the party, on horseback.

Each member of the traveling party expressed their perfect contentment with these arrangements. Each member, of course, save one. His reticence, though, was so commonplace that no one suspected how very discontent he was with his own proposal.

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

On the road to London, the bitter, bracing cold had done little to distract Bingley; the burning wind on his face brought to mind the blush of her cheek when their hands met during the last quadrille. A break in the monotonous rhythm of the horse's gait brought his attention back to the present moment, and he pulled hard on the reigns to avoid what appeared to be the remains of a carriage strewn about the path. Though he had seen naught but an occasional farm wagon on the road, it was clear that he was not the first to discover the wreck, as some of the debris had already been removed to the side of the road and covered by a rough blanket.

Happy for any distraction from his own misfortunes, Bingley dismounted to survey the wreckage, but, upon closer inspection, was rather disappointed to find that there was little that he could do to be of use. Satisfied that the road had been effectively cleared for travelers following, he glanced about for his mount, only to find that the animal had wandered from the road some distance ahead. Rolling his eyes, he walked towards the creature, and made a note to speak to the horse's trainer. The horse seemed a bit skittish, stepping backwards as he made to hoist himself into the saddle.

A flash of movement in the trees alerted Bingley to the creature's very real concern. Giving the horse's flank a reassuring and somewhat apologetic rub, he silently opened the saddlebag containing his pistol. The movement might have been nothing, but he could not but consider that the carriage wreck might have been an ambush by highwaymen. Where logic and reason would suggest an immediate withdrawal from danger, Bingley instead, as many men before him whose disappointment lent a peculiar sense of reckless bravery, decided to risk further investigation.

For several long minutes, he crept through the woods in the direction of the movement, vigilant for any sight or sound, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. He heard naught but the sound of his own steps on the dry leaves until the bray of a horse finally cut through the silence. Bingley started and nearly fired his pistol at the sound, before exhaling a nervous laugh; there, in a small clearing, stood a fine, tall horse.

Desiring a closer look, Bingley approached the animal with caution, certain that it would shy away from a stranger. It had no saddle, but seemed to wear a bridle, the reins loose. The horse nickered and stepped anxiously, but seemed quite determined to stay his ground. As he drew closer, it became apparent that the creature's steadfast determination was borne out of fierce loyalty, for, at his feet lay curled a man who could only be his master. Lowering his head towards the ground, the horse used his nose to nudge the man, who only moaned in response. The quality of the man's dress and riding boots at once identified him as a gentleman, but when he rolled over and the short brown curls fell from his eyes, Bingley's astonishment was complete.

“Good Lord! Bennet!”

Sebastian Bennet did not open his eyes, but frowned as he tossed his head from one side to another. Kneeling before him, Bingley removed the glove from his left hand and reached to touch the younger man's brow. Even before he felt the heat from the fever, he knew Sebastian was very ill; his body shook violently and there was an angry blaze of color in his cheeks.

“Bennet!”

Bingley stripped his own greatcoat to cover the frozen young man as he ran back to the site of the carriage wreck to retrieve a blanket. His mind moved even more quickly than his feet, first attempting to make logic from his discovery of Sebastian and the wrecked carriage, and then recounting the personal items strewn about the roadway for some indication that his Jane had not been inside. Finally, he scolded himself. Having insufficient information, he knew he could not be satisfied on either point, but in the present circumstances, he could be of some use to Sebastian.

Bringing his own horse near, Bingley lifted the young man's shoulders to sit upright as he wrapped him with the wool blanket. The action opened Sebastian's eyes, but they were glassy and as they searched Bingley's face, it seemed that they did not full see.

“Lizzy.”

“Your sister, Lizzy? Miss Elizabeth?”

Sebastian sat up and gestured to his face in response. “Yes, she has… It was said that she much resembles me, though she is, by many, recounted as beautiful.”

Bingley smiled ruefully. “Yes, my friend, you may trust that I am quite well aware of the beauty of your sisters. She is here?”

“She requires my aid.”

“And you need mine. Sebastian, is your sister… are any of your sisters here?”

“No, they have taken her.”

Bingley's throat grew tight as he considered the possibility of Elizabeth, or any other of the Misses Bennet, being present in the carriage at the time of the accident. It was, however, apparent that Sebastian was not thinking or speaking coherently. He had surveyed the area and had seen no sign of her; she had not been among the dead, he was certain there were only men, servants, all of them. Still, the word chosen: taken. He shuddered and felt the chill, of both fear and cold.

“You and I, together, we shall find her, Sebastian. This promise I make to you and your family, that I will do whatever is in my power to assist you.” It was with uncharacteristic conviction that Bingley now spoke, and, steeling himself to think only of needs of the present, he continued with still greater authority, “However, sir, we shall begin tomorrow, for today we best first see to your health.”

“I am well.” Wracked with a fit of coughing to rival his sister Kitty, Sebastian was unable to continue in his protest. He was lucid for but a moment before again closing his eyes. “Forgive me your trouble, Bingley, you are a good man. Yes, you will do very well for Jane.”

Helping the young man to sit before him on the saddle, those words rang in Bingley's ears as he rode just as far as the nearest inn. Sebastian Bennet was gravely ill, and it would be several days before he was recovered enough to speak again. Bingley sat, fixed to his side, silently tending the most tenuous flame of hope rekindled by the feverish words of this, the brother of his dearest love.

CHAPTER SIX

Rosings, the 4th day of December, afternoon

As she idly fingered the unruly curls that fell across the forehead currently cradled in her lap, Anne cursed their irresistible charm and considered the often conflicting and contradictory feelings she bore with regards to their owner. Comfortably curled in the corner of the chaise with her lover, she was at once utterly content and completely at odds- at once determined and reluctant to know his intentions. “Your Aunt will hang you for your absence at tea this afternoon.”

“Let her hang me.” Colonel Fitzwilliam replied without lifting his eyes from the day's correspondence.

“Or perhaps she will but turn you out- though the depravation of Rosings would hardly be punishment for you, would not that seem as good as a hanging to her?” Anne twirled a bit of ribbon, tickling his nose.

He moved suddenly, rolling over to secure her wrists. His eyebrow raised in speculation as he considered her feigned indifference. A rakish smile grew. “Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage, madam.”

As she held his gaze, her heart leapt into her throat. The tenderness of his expression belied the vulgarity of the words. She inhaled deeply and fixed her mouth into a coquettish pout, “So you are resolved to be turned out, to leave me, then?”

His reply came in the form of a nip to the offending lip. “No, indeed, my love.” said he to the crook of her jaw as he planted a row of kisses there, “I find I am quite loathed to leave you ever again. I have not yet resolved the finer details of how we might avoid this undue hardship, but for the moment, I am resolved on two related points…” He bowed his head to further clarify his position. Anne made no protest.

It was a rather well kept secret that this pair had been… attached for some time. In fact, one could trace their peculiar engagement, if not quite from their infancy (for that notion would seem rather absurd), then from the time shortly thereafter. The long-standing nature of their affections should have made their union quite the foregone conclusion. However, for as long as the two had been aware of their shared inclinations, they had also known it was her mother's favorite wish that Anne should be intended for another cousin and that she had, quite absurdly, planned for that union since both were in their cradles. Though it would seem to many that exchanging one cousin for the other would be no hardship to endure, after all, each of the men in question were descended from the same noble line, the wealth of one was so much more splendid than the other. This was the material point and her Ladyship would not be dissuaded from her purpose.

Since no one in the extended family had ever been able to tolerate conversation with Lady Catherine long enough to contradict her, so came to be that she was allowed to maintain the sincere belief that the destined union was lent support by the voice of every member of their respective houses. As Anne grew, her mother paid every attention to ensure that her education in this field of study was painstakingly complete- refusing to oblige her mother, disobeying the claims of duty, honor, and gratitude would result in her ruin and make her the contempt of all the world. Secure in this early understanding, concealment had become Anne's most constant companion.

The reason, then, that England's finest physicians had been unable to cure Anne's intermittent listlessness and poor health was simply that they had not the means to diagnose a broken heart. They had rightly observed that her health seemed to wane at the conclusion of each holiday, most especially if the season's festivities had warranted the gathering of a large family party and had come to the reasonable conclusion that the exertion of being in company was overly taxing on her health. They could not know that her cheeks had been glowing with good health upon the arrival of that same large family party.

Being of delicate constitution had perfectly suited Anne's purposes for some time. She had been quite content to be excused from participating in the idle gossip of tea time visits and certainly had no inclination towards parading about in front of the ton. By all accounts, her hand and heart had already spoken for and to do so would only have been in service to her mother's vanity, for should she have been well enough to attend balls and concerts and other affairs of society, she would have been forced to do so on the arm of her intended. Anne had absolutely no wish to engage William's honor through public display; indeed, his sense of familial duty was cause enough to give her alarm.

In more recent months, however, Anne had become increasingly dissatisfied with this arrangement, for her primary aim in propagating the myth of her own poor health had been to dissuade William's interest in her as a potential bride. In planning her marriage to Richard, the completion had always been dependent on William's first making another choice. She had taken comfort in that he had so far demonstrated no romantic inclination towards her, but in recent years he had grown to be such a reserved and serious young man that she had rather begun to fear that he would demonstrate a romantic inclination towards anyone at all. Richard, on the other hand, played his role in this charade all too perfectly for her taste. The letters she received from her Aunt Margaret were riddled with speculations about her youngest son's flirtations and the attention he paid to some eligible young lady or another. She had become so very determined in her quest for a daughter-in-law that her most recent correspondence to her son had even included a detailed description of the fine eyes and lively manners of some young lady of unknown quantity rescued from a carriage wreck. Of all the ridiculous notions.

It had been Richard's amusement in the recitation of this letter that had inspired the present… discourse between them. Unfortunately, his conciliatory efforts were interrupted after a short time by the unmistakable tones of feigned humility, “…for the chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds.”

They managed to separate to opposite ends of the chaise just as the door opened to reveal the odious orator and his audience, a young lady whose look might be called pleasant if it had not, at that moment, borne such a strong resemblance to that of an animal Richard had once seen caught in a trap. The lady was escorted by an older gentleman, who smiled blithely as he proclaimed, “Ah, yes, of course! Chimneys! Capital, capital.”

Upon catching sight of his esteemed patroness' precious jewel of a daughter and her most excellent nephew, Mr. Collins was beside himself. He was torn between his duty to pay his humblest respects to Miss DeBourgh and the desire to inform his companions as to the most honored company they were presently keeping, so that they too might be appropriately deferential. The unfortunate result was a series of bobbing motions that served to punctuate his awkward addresses:

“Oh, you must forgive… Sir William and my dearest Charlotte! You could not possibly imagine… I do most humbly, you see, apologize for the inconvenience… I had hoped that her health might allow… I had expected that you would be at tea… oh, to grant you the honor of an introduction… I should not have dreamt of interrupting your rest…”

Anne, sensing that this might continue for an indeterminate amount of time, interrupted him to request that she might be introduced to his friends.

“It would be my greatest honor, Miss DeBourgh. I am certain that they will be most grateful for the generous condescension. Please, allow me to present Sir William Lucas and his remarkably practical daughter, Miss Charlotte Lucas. I am, myself, quite gratified in the belief that you shall be as pleased as your mother to learn that this sensible creature has lately consented to become my wife.”

Richard smiled at the thought that any creature who would accept the proposal of this man might be called sensible. It was difficult to discern from whence Mr. Collins' pride emanated more, the title of father or the consent of daughter. Anne frowned at the look of horror that passed over Miss Lucas' face as she grasped more tightly to the arm of her father, and absently wondered which was the greater insult, finding oneself betrothed to a ninny or being called “sensible” by your ninny betrothed.

The ninny continued, oblivious to both, “Sir William, Charlotte, this delicate flower is Miss Anne DeBourgh, daughter to the great Lady Catherine DeBourgh.”

Sir William drew breath and appeared ready to ask a question, but Mr. Collins anticipated his inquiry about the court at St. James and moved to avoid causing her any discomfort. With a hand over his heart, he continued, “Miss DeBourgh's indifferent health unhappily prevents her from being in town, and by that means, as I told Lady Catherine myself one day, has deprived the British court of its brightest ornament. I have more than once observed to Lady Catherine that her charming daughter seemed born to be a duchess, and that the most elevated rank, instead of giving her consequence, would be adorned by her. She is, of course, herself betrothed to her cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy. He is not a duke, however…”

Anne brought her hand to her forehead to mask the uncontrollable rolling of her eyes.

At her gesture, Mr. Collins fought to find the appropriate words to amend his previous statement, which may have, if taken in the wrong light, given Miss DeBourgh the impression that he did not approve of the match where nothing could be further from the truth. He cursed his lack of foresight. He had not anticipated meeting with her, and as a result, had not properly prepared himself with arranging those elegant little compliments that he might deliver with an unstudied air as possible.

While this internal battle was waged, Charlotte ventured a polite curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Miss DeBourgh. My congratulations and best wishes to you both.”

Anne's cheek blazed with color at the same time a smile threatened Richard's countenance.

“NOOO!” Mr. Collins took hold of Charlotte's elbow and roughly pulled her a few steps away and made a show of chastising her impertinence for speaking out of turn. “My dear, you have made a terrible error. That gentleman is not her betrothed, Mr. Darcy. That is her cousin Fitzwilliam, the son of the Earl of Matlock, but a mere second son who finds employment as a Colonel in service of the King. I suggest that, in the future, you do not speak unless directly addressed so that you might avoid giving further offense!”

Richard, now unable to contain his wry smile, interrupted, “Mr. Collins, I assure you that Miss Lucas has absolutely no cause for regret in this instance. Sir William, Miss Lucas, it is a pleasure.”

Charlotte blushed and nearly swooned in admiration as the handsome man masterfully displayed his strategic prowess, executing a maneuver that began with an elegant bow over her hand and ended with the return of that trembling hand to her father's arm.

“I am Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” came her breathless reply.

Collins' eyes narrowed at the red-coated gentleman. Charlotte was of no concern; he would find an opportunity to speak to her in a later, private moment about his expectations for deportment. However, the interference and apparent disregard of that man for the delicate feelings of his cousin, who was, even at this moment, scowling at him in a gloriously perfect imitation of her mother, only added to his already poor opinion of the Colonel, which had been informed by Lady Catherine's frequent observation of his disrespectful and impertinent manners. She would be most seriously displeased to learn that he had been imposing on her daughter's precious rest and solitude.

In fact, Collins was not at all convinced that it was proper for the two to engage in private conference behind closed doors. Certainly Miss DeBourgh was, as in all things, the very model of modest propriety, but her condition was such that she had been sheltered from the unsavory aspects of human nature. The Colonel, whose livelihood was derived from near constant association with poor and course bred men must be well aware of the risk he was taking with her virtue. It was his duty as a clergyman, to make Anne and her mother aware of the potentially dire consequences of his recklessness in keeping of her company unchaperoned.

“Yes, well then... Colonel Fitzwilliam, that you should be so constantly at leisure to devote yourself so completely to your cousin must be a great comfort to Mr. Darcy. Sir William and Charlotte, you see, have had the honor of becoming acquainted with Miss DeBourgh's fiancée when he visited his friend's estate in Hertfordshire. They can have some inclination, then, of that great man's selfless devotion to duty and honor. The master of such a great estate has many responsibilities that must command his attention even above his own heart's desire.”

Coldness crept in to the hearts of nearly every member of the party as, in their minds, the well-intended ninny was transformed into a dangerous and vindictive man by the expression of contempt so plainly written on his face.

“I am certain that your aunt would wish to know of your own selfless devotion. I shall be certain to acquaint your aunt with my observations at her first convenience.”

Only Sir William was unaffected by the change, as he had returned to his inspection of the stonework chimney. “Yes, indeed! This is capital, capital!”

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