Style And Substance ~ Section I

By A. Leah Marie

Section I, Next Section

Posted on Friday, 27 October 2000

It wasn't a car. It was a work of art. The tiny, sleek Jaguar roadster sat in the parking space like the Hope diamond. The fluorescent lights above caught and bounced at every angle. It gleamed like a gem to firelight. The platinum paint job was smooth, flawless.

But, while the car was a beauty to behold, it did not change the fact that it was parked in William Darcy's spot. What good was running an empire if it could not guarantee him a parking spot in his own company garage? He grumbled to himself while he trucked along searching for a space that could accommodate his massive, custom Land Rover. Glancing at the dashboard clock he saw that it was 8:27am.

He was officially very late for his meeting.

At 8:39, his car sat cockeyed in two spots that were at least five minutes from the lift. Ten minutes after that, William burst into the reception area of his office. His secretary, Laurelen, gave him a mock-stern look.

"Good morning, sir," she said as she stood. She approached him with her eyes narrowed. Reaching out, Laurelen straightened his tie. "Honestly, you'd think Clara never looked at you before you left the house."

William pursed his lips and raised an eyebrow. "If she knew you were my secretary, she might not let me come to work."

Laurelen, a tall, leggy blonde who should've been making movies instead of being an executive assistant, pushed a grey ceramic mug into William's hand. "Hmmmm, pity then. Perhaps I should call her. I could get so much more done around here if you never showed up."

He took a sip of his coffee as Laurelen informed him that Georgie had canceled their lunch date, but Richard had called him to ask him for lunch.

"So what am I doing for lunch?"

"Richard at the Hedgehog."

William groaned. "I hate that place."

"I know. That's why I suggested it," Laurelen grinned.

He narrowed his eyes. "You know, one of these days I'm going to fire you."

"Promises, promises. Now, get in your office. Your eight o'clock has been waiting since 7:50."

Glancing at the clock behind Laurelen's desk, William cursed himself. An hour. He was an hour late for his meeting. What an impression to make on that poor girl! He let himself into his office, apologizing as he entered. He rushed to his desk to set down his coffee and briefcase.

"Please, forgive me, Miss...ah, Bennet. Had a bit of trouble in the garage this morning."

"You realize my time is very valuable?"

"Again, Miss Bennet-" Will stopped himself as he looked at her for the first time. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting but the woman who sat before him was absolutely not what he'd had in mind. He noticed her legs first. They were long and shapely. She had them crossed elegantly, sitting in the chair as if it were a throne. She was svelte in her light blue suit. Her hair was a most unusual shade of auburn, not seeming to settle on one color. Her eyes were the color of dark chocolate and they stared at him impatiently.

"Mr. Darcy? Are you listening to me?"

"Oh, yes. I'm sorry. It's just that, you know, when one thing goes wrong everything else seems to follow. I think I'm having a day like that." He gave her a grin that should have been charming, but her face didn't soften, her body didn't relax. She almost looked like a cardboard cutout.

"Can we talk business now?"

"Right," William, seeing that he would not be allowed an inch, decided against any further pleasantries. If she was going to be unfriendly there was nothing he could do about it. "Let's get down to business."

"Finally."

William ignored the comment. "Let me introduce myself properly. I'm William Darcy. My friends, however, call me Will."

He'd tried one more time to extend the olive branch. It was her turn now.

No deal. "Elizabeth Bennet. You may call me Miss Bennet."

William nodded. For all her beauty, she had a very ugly demeanor. He switched gears into "business mode" and sat down at his desk. She leaned back in her chair. He noticed that she did so elegantly.

"Miss Bennet, I am looking for a designer who can take on a massive job that may last months. As you know, there is a manor house in Derbyshire that has been in my family for generations.

"My sister and I have never lived at Pemberley but we would eventually like to put it to use. Many of the rooms have fallen into disrepair. We want to keep everything as original as possible while updating here and there."

"Is there anybody there now? Is it inhabitable?"

"We employ a caretaker."

She nodded slowly as if considering something. "It won't be as much of a challenge as Ballycraighead, but I suppose it would be an interesting job."

William sat back in his chair, aghast by her snobbery. She was smug and confident. He nearly ordered her out of his office.

"If you don't want the job, Miss Bennet, I have heard that Madeleine Avery has expressed and interest."

"That bloody hack! I have more taste in my finger than that Princess Diana plate hanging troll has in her whole body."

William remained silent, not convinced.

Elizabeth stood, bending forward on his desk. "I am not the most likable person you will ever meet. But I am the best. I have the qualifications and the talent. I will make Pemberley so grand the Queen herself will envy you. If you want second-rate by all means hire Madeleine Avery. You will have more plastic flowers that smell real than you know what to do with."

"You make a good case for yourself, Miss Bennet."

"And?"

Slowly, he took another sip of his coffee. She was the best interior designer in all of England. She had turned Charles' droll flat into a palace. He wouldn't have to endure her for more than a week after all. She would work at Pemberley. He would be in London.

"Miss Bennet, I believe you have yourself a job."

Chapter 2

Posted on Wednesday, 1 November 2000

Elizabeth slipped into the comforting leather seat of her vintage platinum Jaguar convertible roadster. It had been her father's car and sometimes she thought she could still catch a trace of him in it. She turned the key in the ignition as she read the sign posted before her on the wall.

'This space reserved for William Darcy, CEO.'

She was the reason she had been so completely rude this morning! Elizabeth could've kicked herself. She'd never been good at holding her tongue and, obviously, this morning's meeting with William Darcy had been no exception. There had been that moment when she knew she was in danger of losing the job that could make her a force to be reckoned with in the field.

Fortunately, Elizabeth Bennet thought quickly on her feet. She'd won the job back from Maddy before Maddy even knew it was available to steal. Because Madeleine Avery was a hack. Because someplace with a history like Pemberley should belong to Elizabeth. In her heart of hearts, Elizabeth knew she was destined to bring Pemberley, the grandest estate in Derbyshire, back to life.

She, however, knew that she'd have to make amends with Pemberley's master. She'd never been good at being social with anybody but her sisters and parents. Even then, sometimes, that was difficult. Some of her more distant relations even found her aloof and condescending. She just preferred inanimate objects of beauty to making attempts at being social. Though she was loathe to admit it, she was painfully shy.

Strangers brought out the worst in her. She tried to stay quiet when she was among people she didn't know. If she could, in most situations, Elizabeth would just observe, doing her best in shrinking into the wallpaper. The only time she truly came alive was when she was asked about her passions: architecture, antiques, design. When broached about preferring Gothic over Georgian, Elizabeth flared to life. She lived for the numbers and angles and fabrics and sixteenth century bric-a-brac.

She'd been so nervous about meeting the famous William Darcy that she'd barely slept the night before. She had seen photos of him in Lydia's magazines, but the photos did not come remotely close to the real thing.

Dark curls, dark eyes, confident stride. Will Darcy coulda, woulda, shoulda been a movie star. He'd had an easy grace and a light in his eyes that seemed to know everything she was thinking. He took her by surprise and threw her off her game.

It was not what she expected of a man worth millions, possibly billions, of pounds. She'd expected a shark and got a guy.

So shocked by him that she'd almost thrown the most sought-after job she'd ever been offered. Pemberley was a job that every interior designer in England wanted as soon as the rumour mill started. It was one of the grand old houses of England, built in the middle of the seventeenth century by Liam Darcy. Gossip about the renovation of the manor had begun when talk of Will Darcy marrying his longtime girlfriend, Clara Ludlow, arose. Decorators were chomping at the bit to get to Darcy. Any designer who tackled Pemberley and got the Darcy seal of approval would have buckets of money thrown at them if they even thought of offering to redo a home.

And Elizabeth had one weapon in her arsenal that many other designers did not. Before she'd gotten her design accreditation, Elizabeth had studied and received a degree, with highest honors, in architecture. She didn't just know about molding and marble. She knew how to build them into the work. On a project like Pemberley the degree was her most valuable asset.

So she got the job. Elizabeth returned to her office, grinning from ear to ear. She sat down at her desk to continue working from the blueprints of Pemberley that she already had.

Chapter 3

Posted on Saturday, 4 November 2000

"A bloody ice queen! I couldn't have been closer to freezing to death if I had camped out naked at the North Pole!" Will exclaimed as he pierced a sprig of asparagus. "I wonder if Charles found her as abrasive."

"Not likely," Richard replied. "He thinks Jack the bloody Ripper destroyed tags on mattresses. Not that the old boy is dim mind you. Just...optimistic."

"Too say the least." Will choked as he laughed. He was glad he'd not stood Richard up because he'd chosen to eat at this dreary hovel. Richard could always make him laugh.

The Hanging Hedgehog was one of London's many ancient pubs. Richard had discovered it sometime during college after leaving the flat of a particularly amorous encounter with a girl he'd just met. To this day, Richard couldn't remember the girl's name, but he never forgot the wonderful fried fish that the Hedgehog served. Of course, many of Richard's friends refused to be seen in such a place, but Will couldn't refuse; he was family.

"Why did George desert you today?" Richard asked, taking a swallow of Guinness. Will gave him a look of disgust.

"Really, a man of your wealth and position. You think you could drink something more sensible."

Richard ignored him. "Where's George?"

"She told Laurelen that she and Jeremy had to meet with a florist. She's running around like she's insane. I may be forced to commit her."

"That wouldn't prevent the wedding. In fact, I think your dear sister would marry anybody to get away from you," Richard said, grinning.

"Not funny, Richard."

The cousin looked at his plate as he chuckled. Will was overly sensitive about his sister. When the wedding finally did happen, it was likely to kill William Darcy to have to part with his beloved Georgiana. He'd fought to give her the kind of home he thought his parents would have given her. A home filled with love and laughter and happiness.

Georgiana Darcy had grown up into a beautiful young woman. She was poised on the verge of a brilliant career as a photographer and she was engaged to the boy she'd been dating since she was sixteen. George and Jeremy were as much in love as any two people could be and you could feel the devotion, the connection they had just by standing near them. Will wouldn't have given her up for anybody less.

"I'm sorry, Will. I know you're happy for her."

"I am."

"Will Pemberley be done by the wedding?"

"Most of it will be. I was thinking of suggesting that Georgie get married at Pemberley. What do you think she'd say?"

"Let's see, if I were a girl in my early twenties who had an older brother offer the family's obscenely fabulous ancestral home as the sight of my blessed nuptials I think I would say 'I dig it.'"

Will looked at him archly. "Thank God you aren't a twenty year old girl."

"I'll drink to that!" Richard said, raising his glass. "How's Clara?"

"Busy. She's working on a new book. Something about Viking history and the discovery of the New World."

"Sounds droll. I assume that you she hasn't ventured into the light of day for weeks?"

"She's fine, Richard. We're fine. We understand each other. This isn't supposed to be serious."

"Sounds charming."

"You should talk, Henry Higgins."

At that Richard slammed his fork down and pushed his nearly empty plate away. "I don't know what to be more appalled by, Will. The fact that you called me a character out of "My Fair Lady" or that I know it was a character from "My Fair Lady."

Will shook his head, laughing again. His bad day now seemed so much better.

"Lizzy, didn't you have that meeting with William Darcy today?" Lydia asked as Elizabeth shrugged out of her jacket. She'd changed from the ice blue suit of this morning to a tee-shirt, jeans, and tennis shoes; her usual attire.

She eyed Lydia suspiciously. "How did you know that?"

Lydia bit her lips, suddenly realizing that she was trapped. She cursed herself momentarily for not choosing to live with Jane. The truth was likely to get her a lecture and no phone privileges, but no good lie would come to her. Lizzy had no secretary, just an office answerphone and she never changed the message to indicate where she was. That was why she carried a cell phone.

"Uh, I may have sneaked a very small peek at your engagement book."

"Lyddy!" Elizabeth closed her eyes, grumbling. "What am I to do with you?"

"It isn't like I stole a nuclear secret. Besides, I knew something was odd when you looked so nice this morning," Lydia pushed her little bow of a mouth into a pout while trying to look sincere with the compliment she'd paid to her elder sister.

"You're impossible."

The younger Bennet smiled as she saw Elizabeth relax and the familiar twinkle spark her eyes to life. She cursed herself for her earlier curse. She'd chosen wisely and, while Elizabeth was often frustrated by her, she knew it was only out of love. She was aware just how special her elder sisters were for taking on their younger sisters when they were still so young themselves. Jane had just started teaching when Thom and Franny Bennet were lost in a plane crash. Elizabeth had still had a year to go on her studies.

There had never been any question, however. The Bennet girls would not be split up. They all lived nicely from their parents' estate, although they by no means rivaled the Queen or Richard Branson. But they did well enough for all the girls to go on to college. Kate, who lived with Jane, and Lydia weren't in college yet, but Mary, who lived with Aunt Maeve, was studying something that only Mary would study.

"Was he handsome?" Lydia asked, following Elizabeth into the kitchen. She pulled down teacups from the cupboard while Elizabeth put on the water.

"Devastatingly," was Elizabeth's miserable reply.

"What happened? You don't sound happy." She nibbled at a tea biscuit as she awaited Elizabeth's reply.

"I'm afraid Madame Impervious reared her ugly head again."

A deep groan floated up from Lydia's throat. "Oh, Lizzy. You didn't."

"I did."

Lydia had nicknamed Elizabeth's demanding and snobbish defense mechanism years ago when she'd learned the word during a vocabulary test. The entire family, impressed with her, adopted the name on a permanent basis.

"Did William Darcy throw you our on your ear like he should have?"

"No. Incredibly, I got the job."

For a moment, Lydia sat there. She'd heard Lizzy talk about Pemberley incessantly since the rumours began. She knew how much the Darcy job meant, what it meant.

"This is grand!" Lydia threw her arms around her sister.

Elizabeth extracted her body from her younger sister's grasp. Her face was calm, a cool smile spread over her lips.

"I think Madame Impervious got the job, not Elizabeth Bennet."

Lydia playfully punched Elizabeth's arm. "Rubbish. You got the job because your Elizabeth Bennet of Bennet Building and Design and you're fabulous. Now, you're going to let me have a holiday from classes to come see this house, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't count the chickens just yet, Lyddy," Elizabeth replied. "Mr. Darcy has yet to see any of my ideas for Pemberley."

The younger girl looked smug. "What day would be best for me to take off classes?"

Chapter 4

Posted on Tuesday, 7 November 2000

The next meeting that Will Darcy scheduled with Elizabeth Bennet took place in the afternoon. He wasn't taking anymore chances. He ate lunch in his office that day and prayed that she just wasn't a morning person. He wanted to believe that somebody that gorgeous, that elegant had a soul. More than anything he wanted to believe that she was capable of being civil. It would be so much easier if she were.

He stood in the door frame of the conference room just off his office. She was already there, arranging numerous blueprints and sketches and looking incredible in a dark grey a-line dress with a scoop neck. She wore a simple stand of pearls at her neck. Her chameleon like hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail that hung at the nape of her slim neck. Again, he noticed her legs. The thought occurred that a man wouldn't be truly alive unless he noticed Miss Elizabeth Bennet's legs.

She looked up, catching him staring. He didn't even bother to blush or look away sheepishly. He just strolled into the room like a king entering his court. And she was a loyal subject. Elizabeth quickly looked back down to the table.

"I was early," she said. Her voice hung in the air coolly like a crisp autumn night. "I thought I'd go ahead and set up."

"Thank you." He was casually graceful, as though it took no effort for him to move. He just merely swept along.

Elizabeth rose from her seat as he chose the leather covered chair next to hers. She did it unconsciously. She reached over to pick up the sketch she wanted to show him.

"Miss Bennet, I don't bite," he said when she stood.

She pushed the drawing in his direction. He was he punishment. Punishment for all those family gatherings that she'd spoiled by her refusal to talk, for not participating in class discussions thereby alienating her classmates, for all the dates that Jane had sent her way that went badly. William Darcy was put on earth simply to punish Elizabeth for being herself. She swallowed hard while she stared at the shoes she borrowed from Lydia.

By force she would learn about his tastes, his moods, his humor. She had to remember quirks and oddities. Indeed, by the time this would be over, Elizabeth was afraid she would know Will Darcy better than she would've liked. Designer's Rule Number One: Know your client and you know your house. If she were going to return Pemberley to its former splendor, she would have to know Will Darcy. For a moment, Elizabeth wondered if even the prestige and recognition that Pemberley would bring her was worth the trials and tribulations of its master.

"I would not presume to think that you do, sir," she replied. Her voice was surprisingly even since her throat suddenly felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. She slowly moved to a water pitcher and the clear liquid sloshed into the glass, splashing her a little. "D__n!"

"Miss Bennet, let me get you a towel."

"I'll be fine. It's only water," she muttered. She caught him looking at her, bemused.

"This is funny, is it?" She demanded. Her tone bordered somewhere between anger and embarrassment.

"I'm not laughing."

Elizabeth shook her head. Let him laugh. Who was he anyway? Just a client.

William stood then retrieved a towel for her from the bar. Carefully, he handed it to her. She looked down.

"It's my younger sister's dress," she said softly. "She saved her allowance for a month to buy it."

"I understand. I have a younger sister too, but I don't wear her clothes."

She glanced at him, saw the twinkle in his eyes. Elizabeth couldn't help but give him a shy smile while she blotted the water from her borrowed dress.

"You know, sir, you really are an incorrigible flirt."

William looked about himself as though somebody had just pointed out that his Brooks Brothers suit was on backward and inside out. The wonder in his brown eyes looked as real as the massive cherrywood table they stood beside.

"So I am! I am an incorrigible flirt. To think all this time and I never knew."

She rolled her eyes. Her eyebrow traveled up into a perfect arch almost reflexively. She turned back to the table. "I don't suppose we could get down to business. Pemberley is big and there is a lot of work to be done."

He moved up next to her, his gaze suddenly serious and concentrated. William surveyed the mass of paper on the table before him, not quite sure what to make of it all.

"It is all preliminary, sir. Obviously nothing is set in stone."

"Stop calling me that," he told her, pulling a drawing of the library toward him. He studied it for a moment. It was finely detailed, down to the very last leaf on a potted lemon tree. The single window in the library had been expanded almost double its original size. With that one simple step, the whole room was transformed from the stuffy library he remembered as a child going to Pemberley on daytrips with his father to a lighter, more airy and inviting room. She had removed the dark oak coloring and replaced it with a blonder version of the wood. The room was magnificent.

"The library?" She asked, peering over his arm. "I also toyed with the blueprint so I can show you where the climate control and security systems are going to be. I hear that some of the Pemberley collection is quite priceless."

He stared at her, amazed. "When did you get to Pemberley?"

She was confused and it played over her round face. "I've not been to Pemberley, sir."

"Stop calling me that. How did you capture it so wholly if you've never been?"

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders slightly, almost imperceptibly. She had studied Pemberley for years. She knew every nook and cranny of the place, every room. She could tell you every detail of the place, but she had never actually managed to get there. Pemberley was like a dream to her. Something that didn't seem quite real, but thrived in the recesses of her mind. Pemberley had always been in Elizabeth's heart.

"I've always been a fan of the house," she simply replied.

"You've never been? Unbelievable!"

Her cheeks flushed a dark shade of scarlet. Shy and unassuming, Elizabeth had always blushed easily. It was something she hated.

"What are you doing the rest of the day?" He asked suddenly.

Her brow crinkled when she looked at him. "I was just going to go back to my office and continue working on the sketches you liked most. Maybe pick up some swatches of material. Why?"

"We're going to Derbyshire."

With her arms crossed over her chest, Elizabeth just stared at him. "You aren't serious."

"Very. Miss Bennet, you have an incredible eye. I want you to see Pemberley now. I can clear my schedule. I own the company, after all," he grinned. "Please, Miss Bennet. Come see Pemberley."

Dizzy, Elizabeth slipped into the closest chair. She could see Pemberley. His house. Her house, the one she'd dreamt of all her life. The house that had made her become an architect. It was her inspiration. How could she say no?

"Yes, sir."

"Stop calling me that," he said again.

Elizabeth called Lydia as William went to clear his appointments with Laurelen.

She raised an eyebrow. "You and a pretty brunette that put you in your place alone at your decrepit country manor house. I'll make a note, sir."

"Someday-"

"It won't be soon enough, sir, I assure you," Laurelen replied dryly. "And what if Clara calls?"

"Tell her where I am."

"Sometimes you make being bad no fun."

William gave her a winning smile and returned to the conference room. Elizabeth had finished gathering her sketches and blueprints. She carefully placed them in a large leather portfolio. They walked to the lift that took them to the parking garage.

"What level are you on? I'm afraid I rode in the limo this morning and the driver won't be back until I call. I'll pay for petrol."

Her stomach lurched. It was inevitable that he would find out what type of vehicle she drove but she had wanted it to be much later in the job. When she was entrenched.

"Well, I- level four."

He punched the number. When the doors opened he followed her toward the same beautiful Jaguar convertible that he'd seen the day he met her. She opened the trunk, deposited the portfolio then stood at the driver's side door. He remained a few feet away from the passenger's side.

"It was me," she said plainly.

William only nodded. He didn't move.

"If it makes you feel any better I didn't see your name on the spot until I left."

He gave her a funny little smirk. "Then I guess I need a bigger sign."

Chapter 5

Posted on Thursday, 23 November 2000

Richard let himself into the Darcy townhouse with the familiar ease of one who had spent enough hours there to have laid claim to the most comfortable guest bedroom. Enough hours that the most comfortable guest bedroom had simply become "Richard's bedroom." He had long since had his own key, given to his as a birthday present from Will and Georgie, using it to come and go as he wished. And he had. Until recently.

His own home, a "bloody drafty old thing," was forty-five minutes outside London. He had inherited it from his paternal grandmother upon her death. "Why buy a bloody drafty old thing when I can get one for free?" He reasoned. But he didn't care for the place and spent many evenings with his cousins. The truth was Richard was home when he was at Will and Georgie's place.

At least, it had been home until Miss Personality, and he used that term loosely, arrived. Richard had known Clara Ludlow for years, having met her during a project they were assigned to at University. And William, despite Richard's staunch objections, had pursued the attractive if somewhat unkempt looking Clara. And they had been an item ever since, though it was only recently that she had taken up residence in the luscious abode.

The moment she'd finished unpacking, Clara had disappeared from view to write her new book. It occurred to Richard that if Clara applied herself and wrote scandalous romance novels that he might like her more, but as it was she didn't and, therefore, he didn't. He suspected that there was something more than William caring for her that forced Clara to finally accept his offer to live with him. Clara Ludlow was highborn, but her father, a man who was old and thought old, did not give much consequence to his daughter. Thereby making Clara poor.

And she was an academic who wrote academic books that only academics read. It was common knowledge that the pursuit of knowledge quite often failed to also pursue money. That's why, Richard thought, intellectuals wore so much tweed. They couldn't afford much else.

Richard tossed his light jacket, which wasn't tweed but a fine navy blue silk, on one of the chairs that sat in the foyer. It would bring upon him the wrath of the Almighty herself, Mrs. Reynolds, but Richard didn't care. He lived for rows with the old girl.

"Georgiana Darcy-soon-to-be-Blake! Where are you?" Richard called, adding fuel to the fire. Mrs. Reynolds hated hearing people yell in the house. Or anywhere for that matter. Except when Richard was present, Mrs. Reynolds rarely raised her voice above a commanding conversational level.

A few moments later, Georgiana Darcy-soon-to-be-Blake appeared in the doorway of the study. Her lithe form belied the years she'd spent studying ballet. She always reminded Richard of a goddess stepping down from on high. Whether she had just come from a ten kilometer run or an evening at the opera, she was always beautiful with her blonde hair and saucer-huge grey-blue eyes.

"Mrs. Reynolds will have your hide, cousin," Georgie smiled as she hugged him. "Let me sneak you into the game room. Perhaps we can get you in under the radar."

They turned to make their retreat when they heard: "Master Richard, I suggest that, before you run off with Miss Georgiana, you hang up your jacket and quit yelling loud enough to raise the dead in Scotland."

"Evening, Mrs. R." Richard gave her a grin as she bestowed him with a scolding look. But the light in her eyes revealed that she held as true an affection for him as she did for his cousins.

"Master Richard, have you eaten? Would you like some supper? Miss Georgiana and Master Jeremy have already eaten."

Richard politely asked if there was any soup as he retrieved his jacket to put it in the hall closet. He followed Georgie as Mrs. Reynolds went to heat it for him.

Jeremy Blake, a young man who could've been a smaller version of William with green eyes, stood agonizing over the billiard table. The poor chap didn't have a single shot save for a perfect beeline in a corner pocket. Of course, it was the eight ball, which would have cost him the game.

"I've beat him at fussball tonight," Georgie said, grinning wickedly. "I keep distracting him."

"I don't even want to pretend how you are going about doing that," Richard replied. "Where's Will?"

Georgie shrugged. " I haven't seen him. Laurelen apparently called about him going to Pemberley with that decorator he hired. I expected him back for supper, but you can see he isn't here."

"Maybe he's avoiding Miss Personality," Richard suggested.

Jeremy chuckled then backed away as Georgie went to elbow him in the ribs. He expertly moved to the table, sunk the eight ball, letting Georgie have the game. She glared at him.

"Richard's here now. He's infinitely more interesting to talk to than you are."

Richard laughed as Georgiana feigned anger and disbelief. Jeremy strolled over to the leather couch opposite the identical one Richard sat on. He patted the seat beside him, chuckling again. Georgie snorted in disgust and chose to sit next to Richard.

"Well, you've been doing a good job of that yourself, Richard," Jeremy said. "We very rarely see her, though."

The cousin sighed. It wasn't as if he really hated Clara. There was just something about her that he didn't like. Something about her and William that didn't sit well with him in the least.

"I know, but I would rather avoid even rarely."

A pout played over Georgie's perfect lips. "I think you should try harder, Richard. Will misses you dreadfully. I miss you dreadfully. And Mrs. Reynolds, well, she's very happy that you aren't around."

"I heard that, Miss Georgiana," the housekeeper said, bringing in Richard's soup on a tray. "And that is quite false."

"I know, Mrs. R." Georgie giggled.

Mrs. Reynolds disappeared again and Richard ate his soup and bread. They passed the evening with idle chats about soccer, of which they were all rabid fans, and wedding plans. It was nearly eight o'clock when they heard the front door open. A few moments later, William appeared. He was covered in mud from head to toe and his suit hung in tatters around his body.

"Let me tell you about my day," he said as his family burst into laughter.

Chapter 6, Part 1

Posted on Thursday, 30 November 2000

Once on the open road, away from the congestion of London's crowded streets, Elizabeth Bennet drove the platinum Jaguar convertible like it was meant to be driven. Hard and fast. The top was down and the early spring sun rode beside them, keeping pace with them.

She'd stopped by her office before heading out of the City. There was no way that she was going to Pemberley dressed like a princess. She would see the house the way she would work on the house. Her Cambridge sweatshirt was old and faded, but she'd had it since her first year of school, as were her jeans. Her gym shoes were a thousand times more comfortable and practical than the heels she'd worn.

William watched her as she expertly moved the speeding machine around sharp curves and over the hills. The car obeyed every slight movement of the hands upon its steering wheel. It was obvious that she loved the care and knew its every nuance. Elizabeth and the Jaguar looked like a matched set. Even dressed plainly, she was elegant and graceful. Her hair, a loose mass of shimmering fire-tinted curls, flew back as the wind rushed them both.

He felt overdressed now that she had changed into more comfortable clothes. He had not known that she was going to change or he would have followed suit. Instead he was trapped in his Saville Row purchase, envying the carefree spirit beside him.

"Where did you get this beautiful car?" William asked.

Even though the sun was bouncing off of her rosy cheeks, there was no mistaking the shadow that suddenly played over her features. He was beginning to regret asking when she replied: "Addie belonged to my father."

He nodded, unwilling to pursue the subject any further. She was hard to talk to, hard to read. There wasn't any way for him to gauge how she might react to something because he didn't know her. And she didn't seem to want him to try. But, an outgoing person by nature, he couldn't stay quiet.

"It handles well," he replied softly.

"Like a dream. Did you see how she cornered in the City?" She seemed to light up as she spoke about the car.

"You called it Addie," he ventured.

Elizabeth cast a glance at him, a small, sheepish smile spread over her lips. "Yes, I did. And don't let her hear you call her an 'it.' Addie is very sensitive."

William chuckled and his brow wrinkled. Elizabeth's stomach lurched at the charming confusion that showed on his features.

"Papa called her Addie from the moment he met her. He used to tease Mama that Addie was his one true love. Of course, Mama played along, but the she bought Adam. Adam is Mama's Astin Martin that she bought in retaliation."

He laughed. "Your family must love their cars a great deal. What does your father drive now?"

Her eyes returned to the road and he saw her swallow. He'd said something wrong. Again.

"My parents died a few years back. Papa left Addie to me and Mama left Adam to my sister, Jane."

"I'm sorry," he said, softly.

"It's fine, sir. You couldn't have known."

He let the 'sir' slide this time. It wouldn't be good to reprimand her after broaching a painful subject. He didn't need years of boarding school to tell him that.

Suddenly, Elizabeth began to brake. The car slipped to the shoulder of the road and she gently guided the gearshift into 'park.' Her head turned toward him so that he couldn't see her eyes behind her sunglasses. There was a crooked grin on her face.

"Do you want to drive her?" She asked. Somewhere in the back of her mind Madame Impervious was clucking her tongue in dismay, but Elizabeth couldn't help herself. She couldn't concentrate one more moment on driving if she had to continue inhaling his scent. She could no longer deny that she had an attraction to this man.

"Are you serious?" William asked her. "Of course, I want to drive her."

Madame Impervious had been praying that William would say no while Elizabeth silently longed to hear him say yes. If he drove the car perhaps she could get off the hook for her faux pas from the other morning. That and she wanted to see him drive. She wanted to see the man in the finely tailored suit drive an automobile that suited him.

She didn't doubt that he had exquisite cars of his own. In her experience, wealthy men usually had amazing collections of incredible cars. The men who had hired her for the talents of Bennet Building and Design had always been impressed when they saw what she drove. She'd been in some of the finest garages in England, Scotland, and Wales. The master of Pike Park had had a 1932 Dusenberg stored away while Mr. Graham's London townhouse garage hid away a custom built cherry red Alfa Romeo.

They traded places and William felt the warmth her body left behind through his suit. The seat seemed perfectly matched to her lithe form. He adjusted the seat minutely then turned the key. Addie's engine purred to life. The slight vibration that the car gave off shuddered through his body. In his eagerness, William slammed the car into first gear a bit harder than he meant to. She jerked her unhappy reaction.

"Relax. She knows," Elizabeth smiled. "I learned to drive in this car. She was very kind and tolerant then."

William, who normally would have thought somebody who kept referring to her car as a female as crazy, found Elizabeth's habit charming. He made another attempt, grinning like a loon, as the car rewarded him with first gear. The Jaguar sped to life down the open country road.

Turning slightly in her seat, Elizabeth examined him while he enjoyed the sensation of driving Addie. Sunglasses covered his dark eyes, but she could see behind one lens. His brown curls were toussled by the wind. He had taken off his jacket and tie, exposing his neck. A neck that Elizabeth found herself wanting to nuzzle.

"Miss Bennet? Did you hear me?"

She shook the lusty thought from her head, hoping that it didn't spill into an embarrassed blush on her pale cheeks.

"I'm sorry, sir. What did you say?"

William gave her a sidelong glance. "Stop calling me that. I asked if you enjoyed working with Charles Bingley."

"He was very pleasant. There wasn't a suggestion I made that he didn't agree with. Of course, sometimes that in itself can be frustrating."

He laughed. "How was Charles frustrating?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I suppose we shouldn't talk about this. He's your friend."

"Stop calling me that," he repeated. "Let me guess then."

A skeptical look played over her porcelain features.

"Charles can't make a decision to save his life. Which plays h__l with an interior designer's ambition, I'm sure."

She bit her lip to suppress a laugh and tried with all her might not to confirm his suspicion.

"Ah, so I am right." William smiled. He pulled the car into a parking spot in front of a pub. "Come on. I'll buy."

Inside the pub, the air smelled of polished wood and hops. There was a small fire in a fireplace that seemed big enough to house a small family, but the fire gave the room a cozy, intimate feel. The walls had once been a creamy plaster, but was now covered with soot and smoke. The bar curved around the right side of the room and few tables dusted the smooth wooden floor.

Elizabeth and William took the table nearest the large bay window that looked onto the small hamlet's main street. He noticed that she took the chair that allowed her to keep her eyes on the car every moment.

A short, square barkeep with a flat, red nose that suggested he partook a bit too much of his own stock, waddled over to their table. He gazed at them expectantly.

"I'll have a brandy please. And the lady will have-"

"I'll have a pint of Guiness," Elizabeth finished. She ignored the face he made. "And I'll have whatever the soup is for today."

When the barkeep waddled away again, William looked at her archly. He feigned distaste. "My cousin, Richard, drinks that swill."

"Your cousin, Richard, has good taste," she replied, her eyes sparkling in defiance.

A smirk sent his lips into a funny little angle. He had realized that first day that he would never be allowed an inch, but he couldn't help himself from trying. She was a puzzle and for every moment he spent with her, he was more willing to solve her. One moment she was nasty, the next charming. She threw him and he didn't like it.

A few minutes later, when the drinks and food had been placed before them, the employer and employee ate quietly as if they had known each other for years. The silence was comfortable and easy. The meal disappeared quickly, neither of them realizing how hungry they'd been. William ordered another round of drinks and, when Elizabeth looked at him nervously, he smiled at her.

"This is Lambton. We're not five miles from Pemberley." He took a quick swallow of brandy and watched, amazed, as Elizabeth threw back what was left, which was nearly a half pint, of her first beer.

She caught him looking at her. Her cheeks colored.

"I rarely run into a woman who can knock back a half-pint of Guiness without batting an eyelash."

"Practice," she replied. She didn't appear to need to offer any more of an explanation.

"Really?" He prodded.

"In school, my best friend, Annabel, and I would go out to the pubs on the weekends. She always got us involved in drinking games over billiards. I'm very good a snooker after a few pints."

He laughed as he pictured her getting boiled with her friends. It seemed very unelizabeth to him, but, he recalled, he didn't know enough about her to make that assumption.

"Would you please finish the drive? I'm afraid it has been a very long time since Annabel and I played billiards." She took a gulp of the fresh pint.

Another silence followed while they finished their drinks and when they rose to leave, William helped Elizabeth into the cardigan sweater she'd brought in with her.

"Thank you, sir."

He gently grabbed her shoulders, turning her to face him. Brown eyes locked on brown eyes. His forehead wrinkled and his eyes narrowed.

"For the last time, Miss Bennet, stop calling me that. Will is my name. Even William shall do. Anything but sir or Mr. Darcy."

Elizabeth's bottom lip caught between her teeth. He was still holding onto her shoulders, staring into her eyes. She tried to catch her breath as she tugged away. Her insides were shaking like electrical wires before a storm. Suddenly, all her nerve endings were raw.

"Fine," she whispered. "I'll stop calling you sir." She tore her eyes from his then and headed for the door.

Chapter 6, Part 2

Posted on Thursday, 30 November 2000

She walked away so quickly that he was nearly jogging to keep up with her. Elizabeth was out the door and in the car when William remembered he had to pay for the meal. He returned to the table, tossed a few quid down, and noticed the perplexing Miss Bennet through the glass.

The woman sat in the passenger's seat, sunglasses on, tucking stray tendrils of auburn hair under a newly acquired head-scarf. For a moment, colors seemed brighter to William. It was like he was looking at Hollywood starlet on the movie screen.

William strolled back to the car but stood, waiting, at the car door until she finally looked up at him. He couldn't see her eyes, couldn't read her at all. He felt like he was flying blind.

"Did I do something wrong, Miss Bennet?"

She gave him a small, tinkling laugh that resembled silver tapping crystal. It seemed brittle, almost begrudging "No, you didn't. And I suppose if I am to call you William then you should call me by my name."

"Gladly, Elizabeth."

The way he said her name, how it rolled off his tongue and down her spine sent butterflies spinning in her stomach. Her toes curled involuntarily. Elizabeth shuddered as he got into the car.

"Are you cold?" He asked, turning as if he were going to reach for her.

She would have leaned away, but in the car's small cockpit there was no place to go. However, he did not touch her. He moved back as if he sensed that she couldn't bear for him to touch her. Desperately, she wished that she could fall into a hole. She must have appeared, by every count, insane.

The engine came to life. Addie hummed along like she had before, but something in the air had changed. William felt it. Elizabeth had allowed him something personal, her name, as if she had just sold her soul to the devil. Now she was acting peculiar. He felt her eyes on him, but couldn't look at her. She was unnerving him.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I'm just socially inept," Elizabeth muttered. "I've never been good at being around people."

"No kidding." It came out sounding much harsher than he had meant for it to be. There was instant regret on his part. "Apparently, it rubs off." He added, trying to apologize.

"That isn't fair," she whispered. It sounded as if she might cry.

"Listen, neither of us seem very good at making the other comfortable. Why don't we stick to topics like the weather. That's nice and neutral."

She bowed her head. "I dislike weather greatly."

There was no winning. He looked over at her to find her looking back at him. She had taken her sunglasses off and was staring at him.

"Sir, I mean, William, we can't walk on eggshells. Otherwise, this will never work out. We have to be good to each other. How will I make your house a home if I don't allow you to be who you are?"

At that moment, Addie carried them through the main gate of Pemberley's seven mile driveway. Elizabeth realized immediately what was about to occur. She was about to face her inspiration.

"Point taken, Elizabeth," William said. He looked at her again and realized that he'd lost her attention to Pemberley's park. She was surveying everything, her eyes wide with excitement like a child on Christmas. He felt a twinge of pride.

They snaked through the park and, just before the last turn, William brought the car to a halt. The sun was behind the house in the sky, which meant Pemberley would be backlit. She was nearly glaring at him.

"I want you to see it the way I saw it for the first time," he told her softly. "My father brought me here on a day like this. I knew I couldn't present it to you any other way."

Her stomach clenched. What he had told he seemed so very intimate. But she had just given him permission to do as much. The only thing Elizabeth could think of was to repay him with a smile.

"I'm honored."

Very slowly, the Jaguar inched forward and the grand house began to slid into view. The pond could also be seen from this vantage point, making the house appear twice the size it was. Light seemed to glow around it like a halo. Indeed, Elizabeth felt it was every inch of heaven on earth. It great stone walls were still clean, the angles still perfect. Every line meant something to her; every window was another equation she did in her head. Pemberley was her manifest destiny. It was only right that she should be here.

"How do you like it?"

"I love it," she whispered. She couldn't find her voice to talk. "I want to go inside."

Several minutes later, William and Elizabeth were following Tate, which didn't seem to be a first name or a last name, just a name, around the interior of the great house. He was the caretaker, who lived with his wife, Chloe, about a mile and a half back from the house. William had rebuilt the caretakers house when after his father died. Tate and Chloe had been caretakers for decades though.

"I think we can take it from here, Tate." William said. He could tell Elizabeth could have done without the history. She was practically buzzing with energy. "I'll come by before we leave."

"Very well, sir."

The caretaker disappeared, leaving Elizabeth and William to their own devices. She was studying a corner, her brow furrowed when he caught up with her.

"What's wrong?"

"That moulding is wrong. See how it doesn't flow? And it doesn't match that mould over there." Her hand waved absently toward the direction she meant. "Somebody did a shoddy repair job."

"Then you'll have to fix it."

She grinned at him. "I will."

Elizabeth bounced through the rooms she had longed to look at for years. She pointed everything out that she wanted to do; the added library window, a refurbished hearth in the dining room, a different inlay in the parquet design of the ballroom's floor. It was as if somebody had taken a key and opened a treasure trove of joy. The woman before him had finally come to life and it was a fantastic event to witness.

"The sun is setting," she said, gazing out the window of a bedroom. "Is there a place to watch it in the park?"

"I know the perfect spot," William replied, giving her a lopsided grin. He took he hand, leading her out of the room.

In her excitement, Elizabeth didn't bother to let go of him. This had turned out to be a perfect day. She had seen Pemberley, realized a dream in a way. And now she was going to watch the sunset with William. Their destination was a rickety little bridge that crossed over a creek that was more mud than water. It was a scenic little spot, but Elizabeth looked at him doubtfully.

"There's a bench across the bridge," he told her. "You cross first. I don't think the bridge will hold both of us."

Again, the unsure look played over her face. "That bridge, William, doesn't look like it will hold air."

"Trust me."

Slowly, carefully, Elizabeth stepped onto the creaking boards. They moaned and groaned beneath her feet. The thought that she was walking on the bony backs of tiny old women fluttered into her mind. She was nearly halfway across when she saw movement in the corner of her eye. She focused on where the movement came from and froze.

On the worn boards before her was a huge snake. The scream escaped from her throat before she could stop it. When they were children Mary's pet snake had escaped and crawled into Elizabeth's bed while she was sleeping. She had awakened with the monster tangled in her hair. It had had to be cut out.

"Elizabeth! What's wrong?"

"Snake. There's a very large snake staring at me."

"Back up. Slowly," William added.

"I...I can't. I can't move," she whimpered. She swallowed another scream.

"I'm coming for you," he said gently.

"Hurry."

Gingerly, William stepped onto the bridge. It bowed under their combined weight, but seemed steady enough for him to retrieve her. He heard the snake hiss. He didn't know anything about the creatures. He hoped that it wasn't poisonous.

The hiss made her jump slightly. The bridge shuddered.

"Elizabeth, don't move. Not a muscle. Stay still."

She could only whimper.

"I'm right behind you. I'm going to put my hand on your shoulder. Don't be startled."

Just as William touched her the long, black snake began to uncoil and move. She shrieked and jumped and the bridge splintered into thousands, millions of pieces. The three of them, Elizabeth, William, and the snake, tumbled into the mud below while wood bits scratched at them as they too fell. Elizabeth panicked now that she couldn't see the snake, but the mud prevented her from gaining ground. She clambered to get up, but kept slipping back into the oozing mess.

"Elizabeth! Miss Bennet!" He bellowed. From her seat in the mud, she looked at him, tears streaking her mud-stained face. "Elizabeth. Stay there so that I may get us both out of this pit."

He managed to get to his feet, pull her up and get them to the bank. She looked in vain through the dark for more slithering reptiles, terrified that there might be more.

"Let's get back to the house before we're lost out here in the dark," he said. He took her hand, this time out of necessity.

Another soft whimper, the prospect of being in the park with snakes in the dark to horrible for words. The last embers of the day were quickly fading away. She let him lead her toward the house.

"William?" She asked as they stood outside the courtyard doorway.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry about the bridge." A sob broke on the last word.

He turned to her and saw her in the light from the house. New tear streaks marked her dirty face. She looked utterly pathetic.

He laughed heartily until she too started laughing. When he finally caught his breath he said: "Don't worry, Elizabeth. I hired you to build me a new one."

Chapter 6, Part 3

Posted on Wednesday, 17 January 2001

The large, fluffy white towel felt like heaven in Elizabeth's hands. William had put them in the dryer for a few moments before he handed them out so that they could wipe the filth from their bodies. They stood in the aptly named mudroom just off of the great kitchen trying to remove the grime. But, however heavenly the towels felt, they did little more than spread the muck around.

"Perhaps this would work better if we just stood on the lawn and waited for the lawn sprinklers," William suggested wryly.

"I doubt that would contribute anything useful. Instead of just being dirty we'd be dirty and sodding wet," Elizabeth muttered, dragging the towel over her cheek. A tiny bit of mud came away from it. "What is this bloody stuff made of? Super glue?"

"Feels like it, doesn't it?"

A few minutes later they stood staring at each other. The towels were an unmitigated failure. Each mud-covered person, both looking like a chocolate Easter candy, gave a resigned sigh as they took the four remaining towels out to Addie. The clean cloths were spread out over her upholstery in an attempt to keep her unsoiled.

"We're still a bit too damp to sit on the leather," Elizabeth pointed out.

He gave her a quick nod of agreement and suggested that they return to the house. The early spring evening was beginning to turn chill. It would do neither of them any good to get ill. They made an uncomfortable retreat in their stiff clothes back to the kitchen where William discovered a well-stocked cabinet, including coffee and real canned soup; homemade soup in mason jars.

"Hungry?" He asked.

"Not really, but if you make that coffee I'll marry you."

"Gah! A threat!" Alarm seeped into his voice, but the grin on his face belied the humor in his taunt. "I don't know if there's cream or sugar."

"I take it black." She looked for someplace to sit down then disappeared into the mudroom. She returned almost immediately with two not so soiled towels. She placed them on two of the chairs that surrounded a blonde oak table snuggled into a corner.

The coffee's strong, warm aroma filled her nose and brought back flashes of Annabel. The coffee-fueled late night study sessions that Elizabeth and Annabel partook of had been legendary on campus. Annabel was infamous in so many ways, but the test prep nights were tall tales told like rites of passage. Even those who didn't like Elizabeth because of her aloof manner stood in awe of "coffee crams" with Annabel.

The most brutal coffee cram was the last final before graduation. Annabel had needed to pass a structural design course or she would not get her degree. She packed so much information into her head in the space of six hours that not only did she pass the course, her grade actually boosted her up to high honors.

When Annabel accepted her diploma, she thanked "Lizzy and coffee, who taught me more than some boring old professor." Annabel always did enjoy causing a scene.

William brought over a small bowl of soup and a crust of fresh bread. She looked at him with a question in her eyes.

"I think Tate hides up here sometimes. Chloe has been known to nag him a bit."

Elizabeth gave him a laugh while he back to the counter. He returned a few moments later with her coffee. She wrapped her small hands around the pale grey ceramic mug, taking in warmth through her stiff, mud-caked fingers. For a moment she wondered if the dirt would ever come out from under her fingernails.

"Eat your soup, Elizabeth. I won't have you getting sick because of your first trip to Pemberley and our impromptu spa treatment." He flashed her a stunning grin that made Elizabeth's stomach roll.

For the second time that day, William and Elizabeth passed a meal in comfortable silence. He watched her as she absently sipped soup from her spoon. She had her eye on the walls and a door across the room that seemed particularly troubling to her. Every time she glanced at it, her brow furrowed a bit and she looked cross. He stifled a chuckle the fifth time the bothersome door made the mistake of falling into her line of sight.

When the soup and bread were gone they cleared away the dishes, giving them a quick wash. Elizabeth drank her fill of the coffee with two more rich, steaming mugs.

"You'll never sleep tonight," he informed her.

"I don't sleep anyway."

Something in her tone told him he was better off not pursuing her reply even if she was the one who brought it up.

See, folks! He can be taught, William thought.

"What do you say I just give Tate and Chloe a quick call and we get back to town. I'll bet my family is ready to send the bobbies after me."

She nodded and went to rinse her mug as he made the telephone call. He gave a good natured if not flirty apology to, Elizabeth hoped, Chloe for not making a stop before their departure. He cradled the receiver and picked up his ruined jacket. Looking helplessly at it, his body pushed out a forlorn moan.

Elizabeth laughed.

"Funny, eh? My tailor will never see me again after I tell him what happened to this suit."

"I dare say, Mr. Darcy, that Saville Row shall manage without you."

He chuckled. "Ah, yes, Miss Bennet, but my tailor isn't on Saville Row. My tailor is in a little shop far away from Saville Row. He dressed my father and his father dressed my grandfather. In my family, we're a loyal bunch."

There was a thoughtful nod from Elizabeth then came an elegantly arched brow. "Not on Saville Row? Who would ever have pegged William Darcy as a cheapskate?"

He shook his head, getting the point that her barbs could go on all evening if her kept fanning the flames. It would be easier just to let her win.

"Care to drive?" She asked him, not letting herself think about Madame Impervious' unhappy reaction at the suggestion. She wanted to like William; indeed she did like him. Determined to put former behaviours behind her, she worked hard at playing nice. She only hoped it would be enough though she didn't allow herself to think enough for what. Tossing the keys in his direction, she slid smoothly onto the towels that they'd put down.

"That mud is dry enough that it's just going to flake off in here," William pointed out as he flicked the switch that brought Addie's top back up into place.

"She's detailed once a week," she replied, shrugging.

The engine hummed to life when the key clicked in the ignition. The vibration of the motor whispered through their bodies, giving each their own distinct pleasure. For Elizabeth, Addie's soft rumble swept every seed memory of Thom Bennet she'd ever had across her mind; William suffered acutely from testosterone and the pure delight of a fine automobile and a beautiful woman. In that sense he was like every other rich man Elizabeth encountered.

Night had been at full bloom by then, settling into its role like an actor who'd performed the same part a thousand times. Early spring stilled chilled the air but a few crickets chose to defy Mother Nautre and start their season-long serenade. The scent of hesitant flowers attempted to perfume the air, but seemed to think better of it, it was so faint. The moon began her ascent in the velvet blue sky while stars peeked around grey tufts of cloud like children playing hide and seek.

Elizabeth could not recall ever seeing a night more beautiful in her life. A mud-dried curl fell against her cheek, but she was too tired to reach for it so it remained at rest on her smooth cheek. Her whole body was murmuring that it would begin to ache because of the struggle that ensued after happening upon That Vile Creature.

"I'd like to apologize again," she said, her voice heavy with approaching sleep.

"For?"

"Reacting so violently to That Vile Creature." The capital letters seemed to fall into place when she spoke and it made him smile.

"Oh," was all he said.

I had one get tangled in my hair as a child. It bit my cheeks and ears. Mama had to cut it out and all the while I was afraid I was being poisoned."

"Terrible."

William glanced at her and, in the dim light the instrument panel cast into the cockpit, saw that her eyes were closed. He switched on the radio and loud rock music burst into the air like a geyser. He fumbled for the volume. Another look at Elizabeth proved she was sound asleep.

The Jaguar came to a stop in front of the house in London. When he cut the engine, William waited a moment, telling himself that he wanted Elizabeth to awaken on her own. Somewhere, in place that William wasn't quite aware of, he knew he just wanted to watch her sleep.

Today the cool exterior had melted away and he was able to see her at her most brilliant, at her most passionate. And she'd been glorious to behold. So vital, so raw with energy and excitement that William had honestly forgotten to dislike her. He would have been infinitely wealthy if he could have bottled her enthusiasm. He was glad of the chance to see her in her element. It gave him the chance to respect and admire her.

The dirty curl was still resting on her smudged cheek, but it didn't mar her appearance in the least. She looked like a little girl sleeping after a big day out; innocent and peaceful.

"Elizabeth? We're home," he whispered when it was obvious that she wouldn't wake on her own. He said it softly, hoping that she wouldn't hear him.

She stirred. "Home? That quickly?"

Her voice was thick like syrup running down his spine. It caused his vision to blur and his head to spin. It started in his toes and rumbled up through him until it hit like a cyclone in his mind.

"Well, my home anyway. I don't know if you should drive. It's getting late, you know."

Her sleep was shattered at that moment. "Oh, dear! No. I'm perfectly fine. Lyddy is probably still awake waiting for me. Oh, and she has school in the morning. I have to get home."

She didn't bother to get out of the car when he did. She just scooted across the towel-covered seat. Peering up at him through the open window, she allowed him a final, blinding smile.

"Thank you for today, William."

"You're very welcome, Elizabeth."

"Have a goodnight," she said, no trace of sleep remaining.

Her voice hung in the air as Addie carried Elizabeth away. He watched the street in the direction she'd disappeared for a very long time then sighed. Indeed, he had wholly forgotten to dislike her...or her car.

Chapter 6, Part 4

Posted on Wednesday, 24 January 2001

Lydia snorted. Every giggle, every chuckle, every guffaw that Lydia Bennet had ever emitted from her petite body in the whole of her life had been punctuated with a short but loud snort that was the bane of her existence. She had tried hard for years to curb the obnoxious and embarrassing noise, but her body would not have it. It seemed to think the laugh was amusing, but Lydia cursed it. She made it a point not to laugh in front of people meeting her for the first time. Her friends knew better than to say anything about it, although most of them were amused by it and many times when Lydia laughed it got the whole group going.

Thom Bennet had called her "Little Piglet" when Lydia was a child, but he was the only one who had ever been allowed to use the epithet. She had once given Kate a black eye because she dared use the nickname.

She looked again at Elizabeth. Her sister was still filthy, but Lydia had demanded the whole story before Elizabeth would be allowed to take her leave to chisel mud from her body.

"A snake!? Oh, Lizzy, you really must get over that," Lydia said, trying desperately and failing to stifle a particularly loud chortle. "But you landed in William Darcy's arms. How romantic!"

"It wasn't romantic," Elizabeth muttered, ignoring the tiny thought in the back of her head that it was, indeed, romantic. "It was embarrassing. And, Lyddy, I am begging you. Please, do not mention this to Kate or Jane or Mary. Telling you is a special enough kind of torture, I assure you."

The younger girl with chestnut colored curls avoided looking directly into her sister's eyes. It was an absolutely delicious story. How could she deprive her sisters of something so delightful? Finally, she let her gaze fall on Elizabeth, who stared solemnly at the floor.

"Oh, Jeez, Lizzy! Fine, I won't tell anybody," she whined. "Though I'm sorely tempted. So what happened after you returned to that fabulous house?"

"He found some towels, made some soup, then we came home."

Lydia's face twisted in disbelief. Elizabeth choked back a laugh at her sour-lemon look.

"That ending, dear sister, desperately needs some work. Why don't we say that you toweled him off then asked him to return the favor. After that, he swept you up in his arms and you made love on the kitchen floor." Lydia smiled thoughtfully as she imagined how dirty handsome William Darcy must have been.

"Lydia! Where do you get such ideas?" Elizabeth exclaimed. She knew better than to think Lydia was sweet and innocent. For seventeen years old, she was very grown up, sometimes more grown up than Elizabeth would have liked.

"I read novels."

"You read smut. It's those books by that Diamond person. She's so vulgar," Elizabeth muttered.

"She puts the "z" in romanzzzzzze!" Lydia yelped the battlecry of her favorite author then grinned. She looked past Elizabeth to the clock on the wall. It was well after midnight and she did have school in the morning. "I had better get to bed. Why couldn't you have gotten dirty with a wealthy bachelor on the weekend?"

Elizabeth laughed, turned off the kitchen light, and followed her sister upstairs. She watched Lydia until she closed her bedroom door then went into the bathroom to begin the long process of dirt removal.

William stood under the hot stream of water that fell over his body. The water ran over his skin and dropped to the pale grey marble beneath his feet. It resembled syrup; thick and brown. He braced his hands on the wall, bending his head into the stream. The dry mud loosened and fell out of his hair in clumps. But, William paid very little attention to the grime that was flowing off his body. His thoughts kept going back to the redhead that he'd spent the day with and how lovely her smile had been once he was finally able to coax it from her.

A rather large bit of mud slipped from the top of his head onto his forehead then down his nose. It shook him out of his thoughts as it plopped to the slick surface below. He smirked again at the laughs his story had given Georgiana, Jeremy, and Richard. But he also recalled the strange look that Richard gave him when he finished the tale. William left out the part about watching Elizabeth sleep. That was his and his alone.

He finished up in the shower, toweled his body off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He entered his bedroom to find his bed empty and large. Clara was still working. He could hear the faint clicking of the keyboard in the room that they had set up as Clara's office.

Hesitating for only a moment, William tossed a pair of flannel pajama bottoms on and went in search of her. He opened the door of the office, which was down the hall from the bedroom. The room was smaller than the other rooms on the floor, which was why she had chosen it as her office.

"Clara?"

He heard an exasperated sigh escape from her body. She hated to be interrupted when she was working. She had asked him to put a lock on the door, but he refused. He didn't like the request, but not for any particular reason. He'd just thought it rude.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I was just wondering when you were going to come to bed. It's very late," he added.

"I work best late at night," she replied without turning to face him.

"You haven't slept in my bed with me since you moved in, Clara," William said, quietly. He walked into the room and didn't like the feeling that there was a room in his own house where he felt like an intruder. "You come to bed when I go to work and you're in this office when I come home. I haven't seen you in ages."

Clara stood up, stretching her long body in a swift, graceful movement. Her bobbed, blonde hair swung against her ears in an untidy manner. There were always flyaway hairs on her head no matter what she did. Her body was wrapped in a frumpy nightshirt that had a caricature of Edgar Allen Poe on it that said "Neversnore."

"Darling, you know I've been working. I'm on a deadline."

William's face bunched up in an incredulous glare. "Your bloody deadline is in November!"

"There's a lot of research to be put into this project, William," she replied, her voice turning cool.

"Fine. I'll be out of bed by six. You can come in then." He turned to go.

"William!" She tried to whisper, her voice breaking.

He stood, his back to her, his hand on the doorknob. He felt her hands on his bare shoulders. They were cool like porcelain and just as smooth. Her lips brushed a shoulder blade.

"I'm sorry. You're right, we've not spent any time together since I moved in. Let me shut down my machine and I'll be to bed in a moment. All right?"

There was no answer for a few minutes and Clara thought he would refuse her. She hadn't meant to make him angry. She just got so wrapped up in her research that it consumed her and when she was consumed she fell into her old patterns of day-sleeping and night-writing. It was old hat for her, but she'd never lived with anybody while she was writing before. She'd forgotten that what she was used to was new to other people.

"Fine. I'll wait for you."

Clara watched him leave. She returned to the computer and began closing up programs. When everything was done, Clara scrawled a couple of things that she wanted to remember to research on a piece of notepaper. A few moments later, she padded into the master bedroom of the townhouse that she had only recently come to occupy. Quietly, she slipped into the bed and placed a soft kiss on William's chest.

She gazed up at him expectantly, surprised when she saw that he was asleep. A few minutes later, Clara was again sitting in front of her computer and William was again sleeping alone in his bed.

Chapter 7

Posted on Monday, 16 April 2001

The east morning room was easily Elizabeth's favorite room at Pemberley. She had decided that it should be immersed in shades of dusty moss green and creamy butter yellow to make it seem like a bit of the outdoors captured inside. The walnut trimmed Elizabethan furniture, many of the pieces heirlooms of the Darcy family, had been reupholstered in yellow damask.

A settee, which had been a gift to a distant Darcy aunt from Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire, was Elizabeth's favorite piece in the room. It was so beautiful and unique that Elizabeth took it up as a personal crusade to keep it in its original condition. The covering was done in a pale, foamy green silk that was so light it was nearly white. The silk had been embroidered (by hand no less!) with tiny darker green fish that looked like flower bouquets lying sideways from a distance. The wood trim was just as intricate as the embroidery. The single arm of the settee was trimmed in walnut with the top curving into an open mouthed trout. The foot beneath the trout was carved into a fishtail. Three more carved fishtails served as the rest of the feet.

She had loved the piece as soon as she saw it in the attic where massive amounts of antique furniture had been stored over generations of Darcys. Some of the furniture was beyond repair and some of it was hideous. But this piece was an incredible find. William had begged to differ, but Elizabeth had none of it and insisted that it would be perfect in the east morning room.

And perfect it was as she lie there in the filmy white negligee that William had brought her from Paris. It was early evening and the fire in the white marble fireplace was filling the lovely room with layer upon layer of cozy warmth as Elizabeth tried to read the novel in her lap. She could hardly concentrate though. Her mind kept going elsewhere. To William.

She had never been happier in her life, knowing that William loved her. His love was warmer than a thousand fires in a thousand white stone hearths. She had never felt so needed or wanted. Certainly not by somebody she so desperately loved in return.

It had only been a few weeks that the affair had been going on, but Elizabeth felt every bit the Mistress of Pemberley. She had been born for the role, after all. London was so very far away when she was here. Her life at Pemberley was the stuff of dreams. Days sipping tea and playing the dutiful society matron and evenings wrapped in William's powerful embrace.

"You're staring so diligently into that fire, darling, I fear that your eyes may melt."

His voice sent trembles through her, making her realize not for the first time, that he was the only thing that kept her real. She felt her eyes pull away from the orange flames that licked at the carved marble dragons to settle her gaze upon him. He had already changed out of his suit and into her favorite look for him: sweatpants and a plain tee shirt, which pulled tight across his chest, against the muscles.

She sighed.

"Really, Lizzy, you could play hard to get every once in a while," he laughed and graced her with a crooked grin.

"But you'd know I was lying and where's the fun in that?"

He gave her a thoughtful nod as he crossed the room and scooped her into his arms. He took her place on the settee and brought her down onto his lap. She felt a shudder run through her as his lips brushed the back of her neck. Her body leaned in closer to his as his kisses increased.

She twisted around in his arms until she was facing him and their lips repeatedly searched and destroyed each other's resistance to passion. Her heart threatened to shoot out of her chest and smash into the wall. Her hands ran up his abdomen, pushing his shirt up as she went.

"Lizzy!" Kate's voice yelped from the doorway.

They froze in their compromising position. Slowly, William peeked around Elizabeth's body. When she saw the look on his face, she slowly turned around.

William's Irish wolfhound, Gustav, known to all as Gus, was sitting in the doorway, his tail thumping expectantly. He opened his mouth and Kate's voice rolled from his throat. "Lizzy!"

Elizabeth's face was smashed against the drafting table, her arms stretched above her on the incline, and an ever-so-slightly disgusting bit of drool pooling by the crook of her elbow as she opened her eyes. They blinked her back to a reality where dogs didn't talk and, most importantly, architects didn't snog in front of roaring fires with handsome, wealthy clients. The inevitable blush fired over her cheeks.

"Good Lord, Lizzy, are you all right?" Kate asked, setting her purse and keys down on one of the office's cluttered tables.

The elder Bennet wiped the corner of her mouth then retrieved a tissue to remove the puddle from her workspace. As luck would have it, no blueprints had been spread out before her, but a single sheet of graph paper had caught some of the saliva. A sheet of paper that read, to her abject horror, the words 'William Darcy' what must have been no less than a million times. That, however, wasn't the worst of it. Indeed, the worst was 'Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy' or any number of embarrassing variations of madness.

More quickly than she should have, Elizabeth snatched up the paper and darted for the paper shredder. Kate had nearly reached her when the document started its journey toward life as confetti.

Kate's bottom lip popped out in a pout. "Lizzy, that's just mean. What was on it?"

"Nothing that concerns you." Or me.

Elizabeth liked to think of Kate as a younger version of their mother. She wasn't beautiful but she was very pretty. Her hair was a light brown that was streaked with gold. Her eyes were the color of the sky right before a storm and were set in a face that was a tad too square with a nose that was just a millimeter too short.

Desperate to change the subject, she looked over her sister and asked: "Is this another one of your creations then?"

Kate gave herself a once over, held out her arms, and spun around to model the outfit. She wore a full, tea-length blue and white gingham skirt. Her top was a dark blue jean jacket with bright orange stitching. It was a size too small and unbuttoned just enough to give a peek at Kate's cleavage. She had slipped her small feet into a pair of white satin ballerina slippers.

"Very you, darling," Elizabeth said. She passed her and gave Kate a quick kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you," Kate replied, beaming. She took great pride in being herself. It was something that Mary scorned and Jane couldn't appreciate.

"So, what are you doing here?"

Kate's face fell instantly. Her long silence made Elizabeth look up from a batch of cloth swatches to ask the question again. Kate stared at her, her eyes trying to prompt Elizabeth's memory.

"Lizzy, please tell me that you didn't forget."

Nothing seemed to be pressing in her mind until she started to shake her head no. The appointment rattled from loose from whatever shelf her brain had stored it on and plopped down into her immediate memory.

"The exhibit at the gallery. Oh, Katey, I'm sorry."

"We're still going?" The tremble of disappointment that laced Kate's voice made Elizabeth cringe.

"Of course, but I have to change." Elizabeth replied, showing Kate the jeans and sweatshirt ensemble the same way Kate had modeled her outfit.

"Okay, but hurry. Cocktails start at 7:30 and traffic is very heavy. And, Lizzy, something funky."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and disappeared into the spare room of the office. She was here so much that she had converted it into a closet/bedroom. Most of her wardrobe was here...what Lydia hadn't managed to steal anyway. She emerged a few minutes later in a long, black empire-waisted dress and black heels. She had a light blue cardigan sweater tied around her waist.

"This, dearest sister, is as funky as it gets."

Kate laughed and led the way out to the car. Elizabeth managed to get herself into the car, but her feet were a different story. The floorboard was buried in a mound of clothes.

"Katey, you need to clean out your car."

"I drive a car that is as old as I am and it barely starts in the morning. Clothes on the floorboard works like an insulation when the heater doesn't work."

Kate turned up the radio when a song she liked came on and the sisters passed through the heavy London traffic singing along with pop music and laughing at the absurdity of some of the pop stars who thought they were very important. They had always had an easy relationship. With the exception of Mary, the Bennet girls got on exceedingly well with one another. And they even believed that Mary would eventually come around.

The gallery was packed. Kate's best friend, Amie, was the new curator and this was her first major show. Amie was incredibly nervous and, therefore, ecstatic when she saw Kate and Elizabeth enter the gallery.

"Katey, tell me again why I am doing this?" Amie pleaded. "Hi, Elizabeth."

"Because you love this stuff."

Amie shook her head, her perfect sky blue hair shimmering under the lights of the gallery. As long as Elizabeth had known her, Amie O'Connor had never had a haircolor that people would consider normal. It had never detracted from her beauty, it had only added to it.

"Come on, there are some people I want you to meet."

Kate grabbed for Elizabeth's hand but she pulled it back. "I'm going to go around and look at the exhibit. I'll find you later."

She waited for Kate to leave the room and got a glass of wine from a passing waiter. Elizabeth had been to this gallery before and knew the layout. She immediately followed the path of least resistance to escape the crowd and find peace on a balcony. She was sociable enough to enjoy large crowds of people she didn't know. She would look at a few paintings to discuss with Kate and then see the rest later when there weren't as many people around.

Elizabeth gazed out over London at night. From her vantage point she could see the Thames flowing agelessly beneath the lights of the city. For a moment, she wondered how many people throughout the passage of time had taken in this same view of the city (or one similar to it) and thought about how lucky they were to live in a city such as London.

London was timeless. For Elizabeth, it had always been there as there had always been breath in her lungs or a thought in her brain. The city was ancient, constant, and she understood it. Others took for granted the ceilings above their heads and the floors beneath their feet, but Elizabeth appreciated that, once, somebody had thought long and hard about just who would walk on those floors under those ceilings. Somebody had to erect those ancient buildings and she'd studied nearly every single one of those who'd left their a piece of their soul behind in mortar, boards, and bricks. No other city on earth held Elizabeth's heart like London.

"This a private party?"

She started, nearly losing her wine glass over the balcony's thick stone railing. Quickly, she turned around and saw William Darcy's solid, real form back-lit from the room beyond. Her dream came rushing back to her and she swallowed the rest of her wine.

Chapter 7, Part 2

Posted on Tuesday, 24 April 2001

"What are you doing here?" She asked, feeling each word lodge in her throat like a bitter pill before the dropped out of her mouth into the night. The dream she'd had about him came rushing back and she wondered what his hands would feel like on the small of her back.

"All work and no play would make me a very dull boy indeed, Miss Bennet," he replied, taking a nonchalant sip of Scotch neat.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, feeling a bit of Madame Impervious' cool demeanor slip in. Her eyebrow slipped up in a perfect arch, silently demanding that he tell her the truth of his sudden appearance. In return, a lopsided grin spread over his face while his brown eyes glittered mischievously in the moonlight.

It was the same grin from the dream. She felt her heart skip a beat. For a moment, she wanted to pitch herself into his arms and taste his lips. Her mind searched for viable excuses of mistaken identity that she could use and came up with none. She bit the inside of her lip, letting the pain keep her focused.

"My sister, Georgiana, has photos in the show."

"Small world," Elizabeth replied. "My sister's best friend runs this gallery."

"Ah, yes. She of the Blue Hair. Miss O'Connor has quite an eye for the unusual."

Elizabeth shrugged and turned to look back over the city. She couldn't look at him much longer. If she did, she would either have to resign the job because of sexually harassing the boss or go mad. Neither option looked pleasant.

"Lovely up here, isn't it?" He leaned over the railing to gaze along side her. "When I see the city like this I'm reminded of how very old she is and how much has happened here."

"Me too. I love this city," she added quietly. "She never tires. She never fails to surprise me."

"I wouldn't have thought you would be one to enjoy surprises, Elizabeth."

"I don't. Not normally."

"You are such a puzzle. Just when I think I'm getting to know a bit of you, I find out something about you that I never would have figured."

"I hope you don't expect me to apologize for that," she said, her voice crisp like an autumn leaf. "I don't pretend to be simple or complex. I don't pretend at all. I would wager a guess that neither of us perform to strangers."

He chuckled. "Quite right, madame. I see people tip-toeing around me day after day because they want something from me. Money, time, fame. It's all the same. I came to the conclusion a long time ago that if people couldn't show me their real faces they wouldn't get a false one from me. I don't have the time or inclination to play games."

Elizabeth looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they stood leaning on the high balcony. She was just as surprised as he was by the giggle that escaped from her and peeled off into the night.

"What?" He asked.

"Well, I expected to see bizarre art, have a couple glasses of wine, and maybe chat with somebody who never quite got over the loss of Sid Vicious, but never did I expect to hear heartfelt confessions of a billionaire on the balcony tonight."

They stared at each other for a moment, some quiet understanding passing between them, then laughed again.

"You know, you're right. Why is it there are some people you can just meet and feel comfortable with right away?"

"I don't know, William." She titled her head back to take in the last of the wine and stumbled as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

In less than a second, she felt his arms wrap around her to steady her as she leaned against his chest. Quickly, she gained her bearings and pulled away from him. He held out his hand, shadowing her until he was sure.

"Elizabeth, are you all right?" He touched her shoulder again, feeling how small it was beneath his hand. He watched as her cheeks fired to a bright red and, without thinking, his put the back of his other hand against her forehead. Heat seemed to radiate from her as if she were burning from the inside out. He pulled the hands away slowly like he wasn't sure if she'd burned him of not.

She leaned against the balcony and closed her eyes. For a moment, he was bewildered. Why did he feel so protective of this woman when just over a month ago he disliked her? Why did he think about her when she wasn't around? Something about her tugged at the corners of his mind.

"Too much wine," she whispered. It was a lie. Annabel had always accused her of being a terrible liar. She hoped that this one time she could manage it gracefully.

"Perhaps I should take you home," William suggested. "It would be my pleasure and a legitimate excuse to escape the ashes."

She blinked at him quizzically. "The what?"

"Artists of SoHo. ASH's. I've never been a big fan of modern art and these people are ripe with it."

"I don't mind it, but I really am only here for Katey. She couldn't find a date and didn't want to walk in alone. If you want to make an escape, I'm ready now," she added, pushing away from the railing slowly and taking a couple of steps. She wondered fibbing could be a talent that grew as one aged because she was pulling it off nicely.

They found Kate and after a quick introduction, Elizabeth informed her that she was leaving with William. The look on Kate's face indicated that Lydia had not bothered to keep her promise and told Kate everything Elizabeth had made her swear not to tell. Elizabeth made a mental note to never confide in Lydia again for any reason.

When they stepped outside, William helped her with her sweater as a valet brought a custom built BMW Z3 roadster to a stop before them. In the moonlight it gleamed a sharp gun-metal grey. The engine hummed as if it were happy to be alive.

The valet got out of the car and looked at it like a man in love then started around the car to open the door for Elizabeth. William waved him away, handed him a generous tip, and handed her into the car himself.

She inhaled the scent of the leather on the inside as he walked around and slid inside.

"What happened to the Humvee?" She asked. On their third trip to Pemberley, he had finally driven. She had gasped in horror at the huge "sport utility semi" and the way he drove it in the city. She had said that if it were allowed, he simply would have driven over anything in his path including infants, old ladies, and kittens.

"You never drive like this when you drive Addie," she had remarked.

"Addie wouldn't let me drive over infants, old ladies, or kittens. I don't feel aggressive when I drive Addie."

She had snorted. "Well, don't think, sir, that I shall ever part with her."

Now he stared at over across the small space. "You said you'd never let me have Addie and I'm very good friends with the CEO of BMW. I ordered this after that first ride."

Elizabeth's jaw fell open as she gazed around the interior. The material beneath her fingers was the softest kid leather she'd ever felt in her life and the dash was trimmed with real cherry wood. He put his index finger under her chin and pushed her mouth closed. He leaned into her so that he was close to her ear.

"Wanna drive?"

Her mouth and lips were suddenly very dry. She tried to swallow, but there was nothing to swallow.

"This car must have cost a fortune," she whispered.

"I'll never tell."

He looked at her expectantly and she shook her head. She would be too afraid to wreck a car like this.

"What if we take her out of the city?" William asked. He could feel her excitement. This was something they shared, this love of freedom brought on by speed. He wanted to return the favor of driving Addie those many times they'd gone to Pemberley since that first day. He suspected (correctly) that nobody else was allowed to drive her. "Please, Elizabeth."

Inhaling slowly, she shook her head. "But I've had too much wine."

"You're a bloody liar. You were playing coy to get out of that party." he scoffed. "Elizabeth, drive her and then help me name her."

She looked at him. He never took his eyes of the road. With a quick glance at her surroundings, she could tell they were headed out of London anyway. Elizabeth leaned into the plush seat and nodded.

"Since you're kidnapping me, I suppose I don't really have much of a choice," she muttered, "But only after we get out of the city."

William gave her a smile and his heart yelped in victory.

Chapter 7, Part 3

Posted on Wednesday, 25 April 2001

Her red hair whipped around her face like frothy bits of flame. She didn't have a scarf or ribbon to tie her hair back from her face. The moment they had hit the open road, William had taken the top down against Elizabeth's vehement protests. After a while, she just gave up the fight of trying to hold her mass of curls and let the wind snap away.

William marveled at the way she faced the road head-on. He was sure that the top would have gone up when she took the wheel, but it had stayed down. She had one had lazily on the wheel, the other on the gear shift, which was very close to his knee.

She stared straight ahead, taking a curve at fifty, expertly guiding the car to hug the pavement. "She drives like a dream."

"Yes," William replied. He couldn't take his eyes off her.

Neither of them noticed that they were driving toward Pemberley. It was a route they had taken so often that to go anyplace else seemed unnatural. In the month that they'd been working together, William had made every effort to go to Pemberley whenever Elizabeth had deemed it necessary to go. On one of the first Pemberley excursions, they had found the hideous settee that she adored and insisted belonged in the east morning room. He had started to argue with her, but when he saw the look on her dust-smudged face, he couldn't say no.

In the subsequent trips, he had made excuses to go with her and ignored the ever-present sarcasm in Laurelen's voice with each "clear my calendar" order he gave her. Elizabeth didn't treat him like she wanted something from him. In fact, he got absolutely no special treatment from her at all. She would scold him for being short at a restaurant where they stopped for lunch without thinking he would fire her. She didn't let him have his way in everything, like the settee. Mostly, he was happy because he felt Elizabeth genuinely enjoyed his company.

When thinking how easy things were with Elizabeth, though, his thought inevitably turned to Clara. Things were definitely not easy with Clara. Since that night in her office, he'd said no more than a few sentences to her. They had continued to pass each other like strangers, though they shared a bed. She kept to her habit of writing at night and sleeping during the day, something that he'd been only vaguely aware of when she'd lived in her flat.

Richard had been right in guessing that Clara's move was financial. He last book had not done nearly as well as she'd hoped and the advance that her publisher gave her was paltry compared to the one she'd received previously. Her father, never very impressed with her, had kept her allowance the same as it had been when she'd been at school, apparently thinking that what had covered dates with girlfriends and outings to the movies was sufficient for an adult living on her own.

It had taken major convincing on William's part to get Clara to see that living with him and Georgiana would be the most plausible course of action, but now, with all the distance between them, William was beginning to think that his begging had been a mistake.

He loved her. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he hadn't. She'd had her endearments back when they were in school, but things were different now. She didn't make his pulse race or his heart pound. The thought of her didn't inspire him anymore.

And when he thought of inspiration, he thought more and more about Elizabeth Bennet. She was lively where Clara was dull. She was brash where Clara was sensible. She was there when Clara wasn't. And, he'd found recently, that more often than not, Clara wasn't there at all.

"Guinivere?" Elizabeth asked.

"Pardon?" William shook his head clear.

"It helps, William, in a conversation if you pay attention," she smirked. "I suggested Guinivere."

"Doesn't seem quite right."

She rounded another curve and sped up to take a fifteen mile straight-away. They'd only seen one other car out on the road and that had been ages ago. The speedometer needle tickled eighty. William's tie fell victim to the speed and thrashed about his neck. He loosened it and slipped it off, shoving it into the glove compartment.

Suddenly, Elizabeth hit the break and veered off the side of the road onto a grassy patch. The roadster slid along the grass, stopping after a few seconds.

"What the bloody he*l?" William demanded, twisting to see if there was anything in the road.

Elizabeth jerked the car into park and fumbled out of the car.

"Oh, sweet Jesus," she cried and rushed back to the road. "I thought I missed it."

William pulled himself out and saw the deer lying mangled on the road. He hadn't felt any kind of impact with the vehicle so he returned to the car and inspected it.

"You didn't hit it," he called to her after looking over the front of the car. There wasn't even a scratch on it. He joined her at the side of the road. "It must have already been injured."

Her bottom lip trembled. "I can't tell if it's dead or not."

"I don't see it breathing."

"We can't leave it out there in the road like that."

William could tell by the sound of her voice that she was crying. He glanced at her and her tears glittered as they rolled down her cheeks. Even in her sorrow for an animal that she didn't harm, she amazed him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and she buried her face while she sniffled.

After a few minutes, they checked the deer again and found that, indeed, it was dead. It had been hit much earlier in the evening, but the injuries had been internal. There was no blood other than a tiny bit on its nose.

"The people who hit it must have damaged their car," Elizabeth said. She had tried to help William pull the carcass to the side of the road, but he wouldn't hear of it. Not when she whimpered every time she looked at it.

Several minutes later, William returned to her side, sweaty and smelling of the animal. They both looked at the car and thought the same thing.

"Wouldn't do to replace new car scent with dead deer," William muttered. He opened the trunk and pulled out a blanket. Elizabeth followed him as he walked in the opposite direction of the corpse and the car. He spread the blanket down on the ground then sat down. "Perhaps I can air out."

They settled onto the blanket, with Elizabeth upwind. The car was in view, but the deer, thankfully, was not.

"I'm sorry about that. I just didn't want to hurt it."

"Elizabeth, it's fine. We're okay, and I heard you say a prayer for the deer."

"Silly, isn't it?"

"Not silly. Sweet."

She looked away from him. "It's just ever since my parents died, death bothers me a lot more than it used to. I'm overly sensitive about death."

"I wouldn't say that," William said, hoping his voice sounded comforting.

"Advertisements on the telly bother me. I can cry at the drop of a hat, William." Her tone was bitter and unhappy.

"That doesn't make you a bad person, Elizabeth. It just makes you human. My mother died when Georgie was three. She doesn't have many memories of Mum, but she feels her absence acutely. When Father died, our lives stopped for awhile. We both shut down.

"It's bizarre how things change when you realize that you're an orphan," he concluded.

She didn't say anything for a long time. As William lie back on the blanket he watched the stars while trying to ignore the shuddering in her shoulders that suggested she was crying again.

"I hate that word. That bloody word is horrible," she spat finally.

Tentatively, he put his hand on her back, rubbing it, to comfort her. To his surprise, she let him. Moments later, she turned to look at him.

The moon was getting lower in the sky and the stars were dim. He had a hard time making out anything on her face but the tear stains against her white cheeks. He brought his hand down to his stomach and stared up at her. Without a thought, he put his hand behind her neck and pulled her down.

Their lips met softly, not quite sure that what was happening was real or right then any care about that seemed to slip quickly out the back door so as not to blamed later for any fallout which might occur. His grip on the nape of her neck tighten and crushed her mouth to his.

She tasted sweet, like milk and honey, and he filled his lungs with the scent of her. She was a dream that he'd be willing to stay asleep for the rest of his life. This was what he was missing in his life. This passion that was awakening inside him because of her nearness. This raw need for adventure that only seemed real when Elizabeth was there.

He could feel her pulse pound like mad beneath her skin as she nibbled at his lip. This kiss was real. There was something happening between them that couldn't be denied.

Gasping, Elizabeth pulled away.

"What?" William asked, suddenly concerned that he'd crossed a line that shouldn't have been crossed.

"We can't. I can't. You have Clara at home and I'm working for you. There are so many reasons why we can't and very few reasons why we could."

She stared at him, her eyes close enough to his to see the longing she held behind them. She touched his cheek softly and stood.

"I think we should probably get back to town. And it would probably be wise if you called Maddy Avery in the morning," she whispered and started for the car.

Chapter 7, Part 4

Posted on Monday, 7 May 2001

"Elizabeth, wait."

The tall, dry meadow grass seemed to part before her, trying to avoid the crush of each rapid step she took away from him. She didn't stop at the sound of his voice, but kept walking, perhaps even a little more quickly. It was like she was trying to walk to another world where the beautiful, passionate moment they shared could be erased, forgotten with a wave of her elegant hand.

He couldn't bear the thought of that.

"Elizabeth!" He called again, not caring that desperation seeped into his voice.

Her stride never even faltered.

William snatched up the blanket that they had been lying on not so very long ago. Suddenly, he felt anger boil up inside. Couldn't she have the common courtesy to listen to him? Couldn't she swallow her wounded pride just long enough to let him tell her what he wanted? He ran, catching up with her just as she made it to the car. Before she could open the door, he was standing in front of it, blocking her way.

"William," she whispered, her voice shaking. Then she repeated his name. Her voice was stronger and decidedly cooler than the kiss they had just shared. "Please get out of my way."

"Never."

She broke eye contact with him and seemed to stare at his ear for a very long time. She closed her eyes and sucked in a slow, shaking breath. This couldn't be happening. Elizabeth Bennet was more professional than this, more refined. How could she have allowed herself such a lapse in judgment? When she opened her eyes again, the answer, with his dark, piercing eyes and rich, chocolate curls, was standing before her. His arms hung at his sides, giving the impression that he was relaxed, but she could nearly smell the tension wafting from him. (Or was that deer?)

Elizabeth sniggered at the little joke, but quickly stopped when she saw that her companion was not amused.

"How can you walk away from me like that?" He demanded. "In case you didn't notice, I kissed you."

"Yes, you did. That doesn't matter, though, William. In fact, it makes it worse."

The confusion swept over his face like wind over dusty ground. She choked down the lump that seemed lodged in her throat. She didn't want to hurt him. God, that was the last thing she wanted to do. It didn't matter that she wanted to press her lips against his until they bruised, or feel the stubble beneath her fingertips as she held his face. It didn't matter that she wanted to know what it was like to wake up in his arms. It didn't matter, because she couldn't have it.

"William," she whispered as she felt tears moisten her eyes. "Clara."

He looked sick, like somebody had delivered a sharp blow to his stomach. He had forgotten Clara. Not just disregarded her or acted out of selfishness because of the way Elizabeth made him feel, but he had forgotten her like she was a ghost from a life that he'd lived ages ago instead of just that morning.

"Jesus, what you must think of me," he muttered, the self-disgust evident on his face. "I'm a scoundrel."

"No, you're not. People make mistakes. That's what this was. A momentary lapse in judgment."

It didn't feel like a mistake or lapse in judgment to either of them, though. It felt natural and right and good. It felt like it was meant to be. Something meant to be that couldn't be.

He put his hands on her shoulders and something flared between them again. She tried to squirm away, but he held firm.

"This job is too big for you to quit. I won't let you walk away from this, Elizabeth," he said, the tone of his voice ardent and determined. "I know what Pemberley means to you, professionally and personally. You love it. I want somebody who loves it to do the job."

"Sir-"

"No. You are not allowed to revert to that. Nothing has changed."

But it had, she wanted to protest. Everything had changed now.

"William, how-"

He cut her off again with a finger to the lips. He pulled away quickly as if touching her mouth burned him and let the hand return to her shoulder. Perhaps it had. William shook his head, partially to clear away the thoughts that were invading it and partially to keep her silent.

"Please. Elizabeth, I am begging you. Stay on. Not for my sake, but for Pemberley and yourself. Tongues will wag because people will want to know why you left me- I mean- the job." He cursed himself for the slip he made and continued quickly trying to recover. "It will damage your reputation as an architect and designer if you just hand the project over to Madeleine Avery or anybody else.

"I can't let that happen. Not when I have the power to stop it," he finished. He let go of her shoulders and took a step back.

"How do you propose to finish this project then? We can't work together now." She looked at the ground as she said the last bit, trying to blink back tears.

He noticed the sadness in her voice. This was all his fault. If he were more noble, more dedicated to the woman at home who loved him, this mess would never have happened. But, part of him was glad he had kissed her, glad he had tasted what her bow of a mouth was like beneath his own lips.

"Georgie. My sister can supervise you."

"Isn't she planning a wedding? Won't she be busy?" Elizabeth asked, her voice tiny.

"I trust your judgment. Georgie will just be a go-between. If there are any major things you need, go to George and she'll take care of it. Okay?"

Elizabeth nodded silently. Inside her chest her heart hurt, ached with all that could never be. All she wanted now was to go home and cry. Cry for all the pain in her heart and the way her lips held on to the memory of how his felt. Cry for being stupid enough to fall in love with a man whose heart belonged to another. Cry for allowing him to know her in a way that nobody had known her since- well, since a long time ago. And she didn't want to think of that right then. She had to digest this new hurt before she relived the old pain again.

They stared at each other another moment and got into the beautiful car which now housed their grief and their dirty, little secret.

When he finally pulled into the garage of the townhouse, William Darcy sat in the stuffy, inky blackness for a long time after he'd turned the car off. He didn't want to go into the house and hear the distant click, click, click of computer keys as Clara worked through another night away from him.

He had forgotten her and he had almost completely lost Elizabeth from his life. He knew which was worse, but to admit that it was losing Elizabeth made him feel even more like a cad. He had to admit to himself, then, that Elizabeth, or pursuing what might be with her, had come to mean more to him than extolling the great effort of loving Clara.

"I shouldn't have to work so damn hard at loving somebody," he muttered into his audience of shadows. "It shouldn't be so bloody one-sided, right?"

The shadows didn't answer him. He fancied that they thought him crazy (he felt mad for talking to shadows, anyway) so he didn't deserve their council. He banged his hand against the steering wheel hard enough to make him flinch in pain.

He recalled the pinched looked on Elizabeth's face during their long, silent, torturous drive back to London. She fought tears all the way to her curb. When she looked at him, they were shining bright in her eyes.

"Good-bye, William," she had whispered. It felt like she was saying good-bye forever.

The bitterness rose in his throat. He barely made it out of the garage and into the small bathroom off the kitchen when he vomitted. There wasn't even time to turn on a light.

After he was through, William stood before the sink. He flipped on the light and saw his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were tired and red, his hair was considerably mussed. He looked like a man who had been out catting around. He looked guilty.

And there was a faint stain of Elizabeth's dark rose colored lipstick on his mouth. He touched the trace of color and wanted her so badly his whole body shuddered at the thought. He felt guilty.

She was a grand idea, a vast sweeping dream. William wanted to throw his loyalty to Clara aside and pursue the future he suspected was there with Elizabeth, but he had to make sure that this was more than just desire. More than just wanting to touch her and look at her. More than him just being a man with an itch to scratch while his lover neglected him. He wasn't sure how he was going to do it, but William Darcy determined to find out if he was in love with Elizabeth Bennet.

And, if he was, just what was he prepared to do about it?

Chapter 8

Posted on Sunday, 13 May 2001

"She's been so sad lately. I have no idea what's bothering her," Lydia said to Jane as the elder Miss Bennet worked on her needlepoint. "She goes to work in the morning like a zombie and comes home looking as if she's sobbed all day long. Not to mention she reeks of cabernet."

"Perhaps she's trying to become Bridget Jones," Jane suggested, pulling a stitch through the cloth.

"Janey, that isn't funny. I'm serious," Lydia placed the book she'd been reading in her lap and stared into the small flames that licked the firebox. They held her gaze for a long time as she thought about all the moments she'd spent in this room throughout her short life.

This chair had been Thom Bennet's chair. The blue and green plaid cloth on it was worn and beginning to fade. Jane had thought about reupholstering it, but Lydia had begged her not to. Sometimes, she imagined, she could still catch a bit of her father's scent from the chair; the way the aroma of his pipe hung in the air or the smell of his after-shave. It was the place he sat every evening, asking his five girls how their days had gone. Inevitably, she and Elizabeth would end up sitting at his feet.

Jane had gotten the house after the accident. Elizabeth had had no objections as she'd wanted to be as far away from those memories as possible. At first, she'd even been hard-pressed to accept Addie. And, while Elizabeth now drove Addie as a way to honor her father, she very rarely visited the home she'd known as a child. In fact, Lydia had literally dragged her to the last Christmas dinner the sisters had gathered for. She'd not been back since.

Lydia, on the other hand, was always happy to spend time at Longbourn. Visits with Jane and Kate were always happy for her. She took delight in learning the goings-on of the neighbourhood, and was glad, deep in her heart, to know that there was a place she could always call home. And home was a place where her mother and father's memory still thrived.

Jane set aside her needlework to give her full attention to Lydia. She missed Elizabeth, sometimes desperately, but she was over the "trying to help her mend" phase. She was a firm believer in the old adage that you can only help one who is willing to help herself. Since Thom and Franny's death, Jane and Elizabeth had led separate lives. There was no animosity, at least none on Jane's behalf, but the sisters were not nearly as close as they had once been.

In a way, Jane was jealous of Lydia's relationship with Elizabeth. She also envied Elizabeth's life in the city, which seemed glamorous compared to her own life as a teacher in the country. But, Jane mused, these were the lives the Bennet girls had chosen, if only with a little help from fate, and it was too late to trade up now.

"What would you have me do, Lyddy?"

"I don't know. Talk to her? You used to talk all the time...before."

Jane bit her lip. "I know."

"She'd just tell me not to worry, but I can't help it. When she does manage to fall asleep, she wakes up screaming. However, she sleeps less and less. How can I not worry, Jane?"

"Lizzy hasn't really slept well since Mum and Dad's accident."

"And since school," Lydia added.

"A lesser person might have chucked it all and given up," Jane said. She'd always been astounded by the quiet inner strength her younger sister had had. When the events at school occurred right after their parents' death, Jane had watched Elizabeth closely.

"Not Lizzy," Lydia replied, rubbing her eyes with one hand. She felt much too young to be having such a serious discussion. She wished, not for the first time, that her parents were around and that she could be a normal teenager who was crazy about boys and dreaming about the future. Not that she would have, but she still would have liked the option to be open.

"I'll talk to her Sunday then when I drop you home."

Lydia smiled at Jane. "Thank you. You're the best Janey ever."

The note the Elizabeth had left on the counter for Lydia told her not to wait up for her, she would be at her office late. Jane knew that Elizabeth spent more hours there than she did at home and she worried about how it affected Lydia. Lydia seemed fine and happy and she maintained excellent marks in school, but Jane sometimes wondered if Lydia needed more.

She held her tongue, though. There was no need to start arguing over the situation. Yet.

"You'll still talk to her, won't you?" Lydia asked, her voice worried. Jane was reminded of how very young her baby sister still was.

"Yes, I'll go to the office."

Lydia returned the favor with a hug. She just wanted things to be normal again. She'd heard the sobs coming from Elizabeth's room late at night and decided that she couldn't not do anything. If she had the power to help, then she would. Regardless, of how angry Elizabeth, independent, proud Elizabeth, would get.

The atmosphere in the flat that she shared with her sister was as sorrow-filled and black as it had been at Longbourn just after the accident. Not only was that bad for Elizabeth, it was bad for Lydia. She didn't want to walk around like she was on eggshells anymore. She couldn't. And she didn't want to leave Elizabeth alone in her present state, but if she couldn't be talked to, Lydia would return to Longbourn in a heartbeat.

The Bennet girls had each dealt with their grief in their own way. Jane had kept her head about her to take care of the business of putting her parents to rest, but had raged violently in private. Elizabeth, by far being the most contained yet most passionate of the five girls, raged openly, spending several weeks nursing a bottle of brandy.

Mary, on the other hand, gave Elizabeth reproach for her vile and irresponsible ways while delivering mind-boggling theological rants, much to the dismay of her sober sisters. Kate immersed herself in her art and churned out several paintings, all depressing.

The most desperate grief, however, belonged to Lydia, who watched her family shatter from afar and was powerless to stop it. She observed the bond between Jane and Elizabeth evaporate like a rain on pavement after the sun returns. She saw Mary, who was never very close to begin with, drift ever-further away. She witnessed Kate, newly minted as an individual after testing so many identities, trying to find
her new place in a new world. She was a quiet witness to her personal apocalypse and there was nothing to be done about it.

Now she saw the signs of grief in Elizabeth again. Elizabeth, whose torment had been the toughest to watch, was teetering on the edge yet again, but, this time, Lydia had no idea why.

She walked Jane to the door and saw her out. As her sister drove away, she offered up a prayer knowing that Jane was going to need all the help she could get.

Elizabeth's office was dim. Jane peered into the room, looking for any sign of her sister. She saw stacks of paper, fuzzy and grey in the dark, piled on the worktables and patches of cloth lying about here and there. Knowing very little about the massive job that Lydia had excitedly told her about ages ago, Jane had to admit she was impressed by Elizabeth's undertaking.

"Lizzy!" She called.

There was no answer. She stepped further in, trying to adjust to the nearly non-existent light. She blinked.

"What are you doing here, Jane?" Elizabeth asked. Her speech ran together in a rapid mumble.

Jane jumped at the sound of the voice that barely sounded like that of Elizabeth. She walked in the direction of the question and finally saw Elizabeth. She was sprawled in a dark, overstuffed chair with a wine glass in one hand and a huge bottle in the other. Cabernet indeed.

Her skin shimmered a grim white in the darkness. She was dressed in a dark tank top and loose khaki pants and her feet were bare. Even without light, Jane could see that Elizabeth was staring at her with the same disturbing, empty look she'd had after the accident and after Annabel left, a look that whispered to the world that she had died inside and was waiting for her body to follow suit.

"What are you doing here?" She repeated. Her voice sounded like a snarl. "I'm in no mood for Jane Bennet heroics."

Jane felt tears sting at her eyes. Even at her worst, Elizabeth had never been like this. She had never been mean for the sake of being mean.

"Lyddy was worried about you. She asked me to talk to you because you've been moping about for a couple of weeks."

"Oh, really?" Elizabeth drawled.

"Lizzy, you look terrible. What's wrong?"

"Why should anything be wrong, dear sister? Because things have certainly always gone right for me? Is that it? Because Lizzy Bennet, daughter of Thom and Franny, who were inconsiderate enough to die on me, leads a charmed life, free of worry?"

"Lizzy, I didn't mean-"

"What didn't you mean, Jane?" The bottle slipped from her hand and landed on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. Nothing splashed out. The bottle was dry.

"Stop it! This isn't you, Lizzy!" Jane cried.

"How the hell would you know? You're not around anymore. You've better things to do than call on Lyddy and me. You're mistress of the manor now." There was such bitterness, such venom in her voice that Jane took a step back. "You're off living like a princess in Mummy and Daddy's house. It doesn't even feel like home anymore."

"Liz-Elizabeth. I-I'm sorry. I didn't know you felt that way."

"For God's sake, Jane, we all feel that way!"

Jane felt something swell inside her. Anger, sorrow, confusion. It was all there. She knew she had to leave before she said something she would regret, something that could never be taken back. She couldn't fall back on drinking as an excuse to behave abominably like Elizabeth could. It would be best to hold her tongue. Throwing a glance at Elizabeth, Jane turned to leave. She hadn't gotten more than two steps when Elizabeth's voice, no longer vehement but full of grief, stopped her.

"I kissed my boss. I'm in love with him, but he has a lover. She lives with him."

Jane faced her again. "And that's what's so bad? That's the reason you've turned into death on a stick?"

Elizabeth shuddered and started crying, which gave Jane cause to feel like a complete and utter heel. At first, it was just soft whimpering but it gained momentum quickly and, then, her whole body was wracked with gut-wrenching sobs. Jane led her to the bathroom and wiped her face as Elizabeth keened for some lost soul.

When she finally began to calm, Jane took her face in her hands and looked into her puffy, red eyes.

"Lizzy, what's all this about?"

"The day after I kissed William I got a phone call from George."

"Wickham? George Wickham?" Jane asked, incredulous. Nobody, even Mary, had spoken George's name in Elizabeth's presence since Annabel had left.

"Yes, Jane," she whispered, her voice trembling as the tears began to well again. "She's dead. Annabel's dead."

"Oh, God," Jane breathed.

"All those times I meant to call her, to tell her that I truly wanted them to be happy. I'll never get that chance now."

Jane gathered her sagging sister in her arms as a whole new wave a tears splashed forth. Annabel Wickham was dead and all Jane could do now was wait.

Chapter 9

Posted on Monday, 14 May 2001

George Wickham had become a zombie. He felt like the skin he was wearing was not his own. Surely, smart, confident George Wickham didn't belong in this husk that seemed to fit very ill. His mind spun with the nonsense of it all then stopped quickly when it understood that it wasn't nonsense but fact. It was worse when he looked at Elie, a small but exact replica of Annabel with her ink black hair and sharp blue eyes. He knew that he should be strong for her, take care of her, because he was all she had left in the world.

How could he do that, though, when the mere sight of her felt like a tidal wave breaking right over his head to drown him in a fresh wave of pain and grief? How could he continue when she looked at him through her mother's eyes?

She was too young to understand why her mother wasn't going to ever come home or why her father's heart broke with every word she uttered. Elizabeth Lee Wickham only knew that suddenly Mummy was gone and Daddy was very sad and that she couldn't fix it because he looked hurt when he looked at her.

George's best friend, Neil, had taken care of everything in the last two weeks. From funeral arrangements to travel arrangements, Neil and his wife, Ivy, had put their lives on hold for George Wickham's family. They planned to attend the funeral, but had to catch a later flight. So now, George and Elie were on their way to London from Upstate New York.

He had never thought his daughter's first trip to his homeland would be to bury her mother.

She slept in the seat beside him, oblivious to how dire her father's state was. She looked peaceful and it sent shards of ice through George's heart when he thought that his wife would have the same expression on her lovely countenance for the rest of eternity.

"Jesus, George, get a grip," he snapped to himself, trying to put himself in his daughter's place. "She doesn't realize that this is how it's going to be for the rest of her life."

He had to forget about Annabel for a moment. He had to forget that he'd never hear her tinkling laugh again or see the way her pixie nose would crinkle when he cooked bratwurst or a million other things that he loved about her. Instead, George tried to focus on what it would be like to be home.

Home. Such a strange word now that England wasn't really home anymore. They'd been happy in the States. George owned his own construction company and Annabel had chucked her degree in favor of starting a catering business. She'd loved it and worked until Elie had been born. That was when Annabel discovered her true calling in life was motherhood.

They were living the American dream complete with dog (Snyder) and cat (Boots) in their own home in a quiet neighbourhood. There were pretty flowerbeds that dusted the lawn like bright squares of silk and two cars in the garage. They had a family room full of photos and VHS movies and a kitchen with matching canisters. They had two bathrooms and a sign that said "The Wickhams" on the front door. Life was as near to perfect as two people could get.

They had Neil and Ivy, who were like family and dozens of friends that they loved.

But for all that they had, something was missing from their lives as surely as it was a given that the paperboy would inevitably throw the paper beneath the rosebush. George and Annabel didn't speak of it often, perhaps not even at all, but it was always there.

Elizabeth was missing from the equation.

In school, the three of them had been inseparable. Where there was one, the other two would eventually appear. It never occurred to anybody, especially George and Annabel, that it would ever be any different. They had assumed that after college they would move to a suburb of London and Elizabeth would marry and live on the same block and they would spend evenings going to dinner and when they got older they would play bridge.

Then Elizabeth's parents were killed in a plane crash and things quickly went to hell in a handbasket. Elizabeth, in her grief, suddenly realized how short life was and that George had no idea that she was in love with him. The problem with that, though, was Annabel and George had recently discovered their mutual admiration to one another. They had been one precisely one real date and Elizabeth, in her grief and anger, sulked away like a beat dog.

She seemed to avoid them as best she could after that even when they tried to help her with what they thought were emotions brought about her parents' deaths. She wouldn't talk to them or hang out with them. Except for the last "coffee cram" before graduation, Elizabeth Bennet had become a rare sight for her two best friends.

Right after graduation and Annabel's rash acceptance speech, Elizabeth disappeared altogether. For three weeks they heard nary a word. It was as if she'd fallen off the face of the planet. Jane wouldn't tell them where she was. She didn't answer when they called the new flat that she'd just moved into. Elizabeth was gone.

George caught her in pub one night as he happened by it. It was a rather seedy pub in a less than reputable neighbourhood. There was a record shop that George liked there though and the pub was not four doors away from it.

Through the window, he saw a large, burly man talking to her. He watched her repeated attempts to ignore him. Out of loyalty and love for his friend, George stalked inside to help Elizabeth.

"Liz!" He called. "Darling, I've looked all about for you!"

He noticed the visible cringe Elizabeth gave when her called her 'darling,' but didn't think much of it until later.

"Go away, George," she muttered. She downed a swallow of her Scotch neat.

Burly-man took this as his cue to act gallant. He stood up from his stool, his massive frame towering over George.

In the mirror behind the bar, George noticed that his normally radiant friend was a shadow of her former self. He couldn't believe he'd not noticed her appearance before, but then he reminded himself that he'd not really seen her in weeks. Dark circles had staked claim beneath her formerly sparkling eyes and her normally luminous skin had become dull and pasty.

"Lizzy, let me take you home. You shouldn't be here," George pleaded. He took a step closer and put a hand on her shoulder.

The concern in his voice made her look up from her drink. She began to cry then and started to remove herself from her own stool when Burly-man intervened on her behalf. At least, that's what he told the police later.

Even if now the scar above George's eye where the lout had struck him made for an interesting story at cocktail parties, the end result wasn't worth it. There had been no happy ending in the story.

That night, in the emergency room where George received seven stitches, Elizabeth confessed her love for George just as Annabel entered the room. An ugly fight ensued where orderlies were called and three friends' bond was undeniably damaged.

Elizabeth pretended to give them her blessing, but sat in the back pew of the church to make a quick escape instead of being Annabel's maid of honor. When the Wickhams left England for the States, Elizabeth was the only person who didn't call or come to see them off.

Despite her assurances that she wanted them to be happy, it became apparent to George and Annabel that she just didn't want them to be happy around her. So, after awhile Annabel stopped trying, but never stopped hoping.

Now it was too late.

"Daddy?" The single word snapped George from his thoughts.

"Yes, Spot?" George asked, using his pet name for his daughter.

"I think we're supposta get offta plane now," she stage whispered.

George looked around and saw that people were indeed leaving the aircraft. He undid Elie's seatbelt and gathered up his tiny doppleganger into his arms to begin the dreadful walk through the corridor to the terminal.

"Where are we going, Daddy?"

"We're in England now, Spot. Remember what I told you about England?"

"Princesses and villages and it's where your mummy and daddy live."

"Very good, my dear," he said, kissing her forehead. "And where Mummy's mummy and daddy live."

"Will they like me, Daddy?"

"They'd be fools if they didn't love you, Spot."

The little girl gave her father a smile and he felt his heart warm for the first time in weeks. He could see the gate coming up quickly and a few steps later, George Wickham and his daughter were officially home for a funeral.

His eyes scanned the terminal, wondering if his parents would meet him here. However, his eyes fell on the most unexpected sight. Elizabeth.

The moment he saw her he began walking, not even thinking about his parents or his luggage or the coffin being unloaded from the plane. He just wanted to be near somebody who understood his suffering.

Within moments, they were standing before one another and then they hugged, crushing Elie between them.

"Hey!" The girl wailed.

Elizabeth pulled back, staring at the child. It was uncanny how much she looked like her mother. They even had the same dimple. She took a moment to pity George for the paradoxical hell he would live taking care of a living portrait of the wife he'd loved so dearly.

"What are you doing here?"

"I called your parents to ask if there was anything I could do to help." She looked down at her shoes. George looked nearly the same as he had the last time she saw him. Maybe a little more grey and a few more lines, but his hair was still the rich brown-black and his eyes were still a clear (if a bit tear-stained) green. It was the face of her first love, a face she would always cherish.

"Thank you, Lizzy."

"George." It was all she could think to say. It was at that moment that every memory of Annabel chose to stampede through her brain. When the slideshow was over, she gave the remaining Wickhams a brief smile. She focused her gaze on the girl. "So, my dear, why don't you tell me your name."

"Lizardbreathly," the child replied promptly.

George shook his head, trying to stifle a smile. "What did your mother tell you about introducing yourself, miss?"

The young girl had the grace to look guilty. Then, in seconds, the confidence that was obviously a trait from Annabel surged forth. "Lizbiflee. That's my name."

"How funny," she managed, choking on the swell of a sob that formed in her throat. "Elizabeth is my name too."

She looked at George. She hadn't know they had named their daughter after her. Shame showed plainly on her face. The Wickhams' daughter was named for a friend they weren't even sure they had. Elizabeth knew that 'Lee' was for Annabel, who had been named after the poem by Poe. Two friends, separated by stupid, childish mistakes, were forever bound together in one's daughter. She drew a deep breath and managed to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Thank you, George."

They went for the bags and Elie gladly went to Elizabeth when George spotted their luggage. While he went to meet a bag coming off the belt, Elie studied Elizabeth.

"Are you going to be my mummy?"

Elizabeth shook off the shock when she remembered how very young Elie still was. "Heavens, no. I'm a friend. Nobody could ever replace your mummy."

"Good," Elie replied. "Any mummy of mine will have black hair."

Elizabeth didn't know what to say to that so she remained quiet. George returned with a baggage cart and they went directly to the lot. Elizabeth had asked Georgiana if she could borrow a company car to pick a friend up from the airport. She pointed out that their was hardly enough room in Addie for two people. With a smile, Georgiana asked if Elizabeth was sure she didn't need a bus.

The company car turned out to be a black Mercedes sedan. When George saw it he chuckled.

"You've done quite well, Lizzy."

"It's borrowed. I still drive Addie."

George nodded. They loaded the luggage and Elie into the car and didn't speak except to answer Elie's constant flow of questions from the back seat. As they drove to Wickham's parents' home, Elie seemed to require an explanation as to the breed of every cow they passed or the type of every blade of grass. By the time they reached Adam and Sydney Wickham's front door, Elizabeth's head was pounding.

Despite the family's grief, or perhaps, in part, of it, because of it, little Elie was swept away by her grandparents from the moment she entered the house. George retrieved aspirin for Elizabeth then fetched his bags.

After they were brought in, he found Elizabeth in the kitchen, sipping tea that Sydney had made. She wasn't sure how George's parents would react at seeing her again. They knew the reasons she hadn't been around and, she was sure, they thought that she saw Annabel's death as a convenient way to finally win their son's heart. They had been pleasant enough to her, but Elizabeth could tell they were wary of her.

"I want to thank you again."

"I needed to do it, George. For Belle. I was so horrid and I don't deserve to even be here right now."

"She always loved you, Lizzy. We both did."

"I couldn't see that then. There was so much going on inside me. I was drowning then and I couldn't save myself. How could I expect anybody else to?"

"She never gave up on you."

Elizabeth looked into her cup. "But I gave up on her. And you. And now she'll never know that I really did love her."

"She knew. Don't fool yourself for a moment. Annabel knew that you loved her, even if you couldn't show it."

Elizabeth smiled at him gratefully and stood. She walked over to him, standing before him, then put her hands on his face. "If you need anything, I'm here. Call me anytime. The number for my mobile is in your coat pocket. I can't make up the past, George, but I can do something about the present." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I'm truly sorry that she's gone."

"I know." He hugged her quickly in return then stood.

"I should get back. Lydia had a test today. I want to see how it went."

George walked her to the door. As her car drove away, he felt the tears sting his eyes again. Suffering his wife's death was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but lying to Elizabeth came a very close second.

Chapter 10

Posted on Monday, 21 May 2001

Richard stared at William over the vast mahogany desk that separated them. William had been staring at the marketing report Richard had given him for nearly an hour without saying anything. Richard was glad to have the time to read through his newspaper and drink two cups of coffee, but now he was getting bored. Staring at William, he suddenly deduced, wasn't as much fun as it had been when they had been children. It had irritated William a lot more then.

However, Richard now had time to notice that the line's on his cousin's brow had deepened of late and his mouth seemed to have been specially fit with a rather uncomplimentary scowl. For some reason, out of the blue, pleasant, jovial William Darcy had become full of sour grapes.

"May I-" Richard began, removing his newspaper from his lap and placing it on the desk.

"No," William snapped, not breaking his gaze from the report he clutched in his hand.

"What? I was going to offer to get you some coffee. Might put some pep into that lethargic bum of yours."

"No. No coffee. No sandwiches. I'm perfectly content with my big glass of," he paused, looking at the glass on his desk, which was empty. "My big glass of nothing."

"Uh-huh. I see. Well, since you seem to have plenty of nothing, why don't you tell me why you've been skulking about like death on a stick for the last couple of weeks."

William rolled his eyes.

"Not getting any action, eh?" Richard asked, winking. A lopsided, lecherous grin broke out over face.

"You're impossible," William muttered. He threw down the report and the pen he'd held in the other hand. He took off his reading glasses to toss them down. They thumped down to the desk pad dully.

"Not impossible. I just hate seeing you walk around in this stupid manner. God, it's almost as if you weren't rich enough to just go out and buy happiness. Have you seen the cars you own? The property? Why Pemberley alone is fit for a king, assuming we the present monarch ever kicks the bucket and a male ascends the throne."

Richard picked up on the tension that spilled out of his cousin the moment he mentioned Pemberley. It was now or never and, Richard decided, there was no time like the present.

"That decorator still giving you fits?"

"Her name is Elizabeth, Richard."

"I knew you were a leg man!"

"You've not even met her!" William exclaimed, a little too loudly. He ignored the smirk that suddenly appeared on Richard's face.

"Bingley said that even a dead man would look at Miss Bennet's legs."

William stood, turned his back on Richard and went for the window behind his desk. London was going about its business; shoppers shopped, students studied, men and women played out office politics, bedroom politics, and, sometimes, both on the stage the city had set for them. Travelers were departing and arriving. That was where his thoughts lie. With the travelers.

Somewhere out there, Elizabeth Bennet was driving a company car to pick up a friend at the airport. William thought about this friend a lot. She hadn't given Georgiana any particulars and he couldn't exactly fish for information if she had, but, at some point, the pronoun 'he' had been used.

Was He (as the friend had become in William's mind) an old friend or a new friend? Did that even matter? Was He tall? Handsome? Was He fun? Had He ever held her or kissed her or smelled her hair when it glittered in the sunshine? Had He ever noticed how talking about patina got her heart racing?

The questions about He piled into his head like schoolboys in a callbox. Every time (all right, all the time since thoughts of Elizabeth rarely stopped) he allowed himself the luxury of recalling the taste of her lips beneath his, he inevitably imagined He also being allowed the same privilege. William was mad with jealousy and the freight trains running through his head only made things worse.

"It isn't just her legs, Richard," William said. Somewhere in the midst of all the tortured scenarios his brain gave daily matinees to he realized that his suspicions regarding his feelings for Elizabeth had been confirmed. "I've fallen in love with the whole package."

From his seat, Richard clapped his hands and rubbed them together excitedly. "Can I tell Clara?"

William spun around. The look on his face, a combination of rage and panic, was enough to instantly wipe the glee from Richard's person. It was at that moment that Richard realized the situation wasn't good.

"What's the matter, Will?"

"I can't kick Clara to the curb. She's nearly penniless."

"You're too noble for your own good," Richard muttered. "Her father won't take care of her because he knows you will. I've half a mind to go and lay it all out for Mr. Horatio Ludlow."

"That would be Lord Boyer to you," William said dryly. "It wouldn't matter. He barely acknowledges that Clara exists."

"Sort of how it is at home. With her not seeing that you exist."

William rubbed his eyes. Four nights earlier, Richard had stayed to sup with his cousins and Jeremy. It was one of the few times that Clara had decided to join them. She'd gotten up early enough (5pm) to make the evening meal that had been prepared.

There had been tension in the room from the moment Clara had sat down. Georgiana and Jeremy had strived to keep the conversation going, but when she mentioned Elizabeth and the reason she wanted to borrow the company car things became immediately quiet. William had pushed his plate away and Clara quickly finished her meal and vanished, presumably to her office.

"Does Clara know about your feelings for the architect?"

William shook his head and gave a half-smile. "Her name is Elizabeth."

"I know. I just think it's cute that you turn all pink when you say her name."

"I could still throttle you, you know."

Richard shrugged as if the whole conversation suddenly bored him. He could see that his cousin was being good and noble for Clara's sake and he admired him for that. Really. But when good and noble left you without the one thing you wanted (and deserved) most in the world then they had to be thrown out the door. Or, in William's antiquated state of nobility, politely shown the nearest exit. If William wasn't going to take charge, then Richard would.

"You didn't answer me, by the way."

"No, Clara doesn't know about Elizabeth."

"Is this why Georgie is now your liaison on the Pemberley restoration? Because you're fighting your feelings, rather poorly, I might add, for Miss Bennet?"

William thought for a moment. He was being honest with himself for the first time in weeks. Could he be that honest with Richard too? Could he tell him about the million little things that had caused all this to happen? Or the one really huge thing that had driven Elizabeth away?

"It was quite unexpected really. I certainly didn't intend for this to happen. But, Richard, that first trip we took out to Pemberley was amazing. I truly saw her for the first time that day. She looked so...at home.

"She doesn't coddle me. She doesn't want anything from me. She just wants to make Pemberley beautiful. I think she'd do it for free if I let her."

"Easy way to save a pound or two," Richard interjected cheekily.

William shook his head. "You can mock me all you want, but it doesn't change the fact that Elizabeth, or rather the absence of her, has made me realize how very much in love with her I am."

"Well, then, mate, I'd say you're in a bit of a pickle. How do you pursue a lady without getting rid of the first one? Any suggestions?"

"You're so bloody crass."

Richard rolled his eyes. It wasn't the first time that William had said that. He suspected that it wouldn't be the last. Over the years, Richard had assumed the roll of William's conscience and that had led William to make some of the most important decisions of his life. With Richard's help, he'd decided between business moves that were wise or foolish, which property purchases would be ideal, which designer in England would be the best for Pemberley. Richard had been there through it all.

The only time Richard couldn't act in good faith was when it came to Clara. It had become a moot point between them. Richard always knew that somebody better was out there for William and he always knew that Clara Ludlow wasn't good enough.

The recent dinner at the Darcy's had made that blindingly clear to him. So, even if William wasn't prepared to put the wheels in motion to win Elizabeth's heart, Richard Fitzwilliam was.

He stood, throwing a glance at his cousin. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "You, cousin, with your dull, petty problems, bore me. I am quite ashamed of you. I expect people of my blood to be more interesting, but never more interesting than me."

William rolled his eyes. "You can dismiss me all you want, Richard, but it is still my office. By the way, your impression of Aunt Catherine is coming along nicely."

Richard grinned his best schoolboy grin. "Aw, shucks," he beamed with a perfect American accent. "You say the nicest things!"

With William's confession still hanging heavy in the air, Richard left to start on the list he'd made in his head; enlist Georgiana and put in a call to Bennet Building and Design.

Chapter 11

Posted on Sunday, 27 May 2001

For the first time since that terrible year when Elizabeth's life fell apart, she asked Jane to stay with her in London. Realizing that it could be the last chance she had to reclaim her place in her sister's heart, Jane canceled her classes and took some personal time. There came a point when you either sacrificed for what was right or you walked away. Retreat wasn't and option for her and, in her heart, Jane Bennet knew what was right.

Her sister's broken, tender heart needed mending and, this time, Jane would be there for her and take care of her.

Jane was minding the office in Elizabeth's absence. She had never pretended to understand Elizabeth's fascination with everything old or her obsession with lines and angles. It was strictly something that drove Elizabeth, who never understood what drove Jane to teach children who would go out to become idiots regardless of whatever Jane did. The sisters' choice of profession often led to an agreement to disagree.

She glanced through books and sketches and got an idea of the scale of the job that Pemberley was. She saw photos of the house that caught her sister's fancy. Try as she might, though, all Jane saw was an old house. Elizabeth had talked of magic and presence, but Jane saw a worn facade and dirty windows and nothing of magic.

"Hello, there!" A man's voice rolled up the stairs and caused a tiny bit of thunder in the spacious office of Bennet Building and Design.

Elizabeth's office was the second floor of what had formerly been a dance school. She had left the bars and mirrors up and not bothered to touch the hardwood floor, but she had knocked out a couple of the walls to make the area larger.

The shop downstairs sold showpiece furniture and was run by an old gay couple, Albie and Clayton. Elizabeth tried not to frequent the place because she thought that the furniture was "grotesque and seriously lacking in style," but every once in a while she got a client with the "taste of a lump of coal."

Elizabeth had told Jane that Albie and Clayton were worse that mother hens and always asked her about the state of her love life. They offered many times to set her up with men, but, she asked Jane, how do you trust to old queens to pick your Mr. Right? Elizabeth suspected that they merely wanted to set her up with a man they wanted to spend a lot of time looking at.

"Up here!" Jane called. She went to the top of the stairs to meet her guest and was caught off guard by a handsome man with a boyish smile.

"Miss Bennet?"

"Yes," Jane replied automatically.

"Richard Fitzwilliam. I believe that you're in my cousin William Darcy's employ?"

Jane blinked in confusion for a moment, distracted by the thick wave of blonde hair that flopped over the man's forehead and the bright blue-green of his eyes.

"Miss Bennet?" He asked again and, Jane noticed, looked at her legs.

"You must mean Lizzy," she said, quickly.

"Pardon?"

"Elizabeth Bennet. She's my sister. I'm Jane."

He stopped looking at her legs, which were incredible whichever Bennet she happened to be, and met her eyes. They were as wonderful as her legs as they were like two pieces of sky chipped from the heavens. She was staring at him with a bemused smirk. He felt himself grin sheepishly.

"My friend, Charles, has also hired your sister. Raved about her attributes," he added, stealing another shameless glance at her legs. Her skirt was just short enough to cause traffic accidents, he surmised. "Ahem. Is she here?"

Jane, who felt she should be offended but found that she was too charmed to be, shook her head. "Lizzy's out on personal business. Would you care to leave her a message?"

Richard took a step forward and then passed Jane to walk around the office of Bennet Building and Design. Enlisting Georgiana could wait, but he couldn't. He'd wanted to see the woman who had so captured his cousin's fancy. Examining the space, he made a snap judgment about Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Whatever other qualities she possessed, she had absolutely nailed style and grace. The air in the office seemed to glow with feeling and knowledge. She was in the office even when she wasn't.

"Does Miss Bennet work here alone?"

Jane stepped back a bit and narrowed her eyes as she inspected Richard. She felt herself slipping into older sister mode and wanting to protect Elizabeth from this man who was fascinated by her, though he had obviously never met her.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Jane asked, purposely evading his question.

He didn't seem to care or notice. "Actually, there is," he replied, turning back to face her once his inspection of the office was over. "What do you know of Miss Bennet's relationship with my cousin?"

Jane bit her lip (in a way the Richard found most disarming). She had never seen this man before in her life. Why should she tell him anything? It didn't matter that he was more than handsome or that merely asking the question that he'd asked implied that he had prior knowledge of something which had happened between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth.

"I understand your hesitation, Miss Bennet," Richard said, smiling his most devastating smile. "I come barging in on a sleepy afternoon to see your sister about relieving my cousin's misery and I, instead, hurl questions that you couldn't possibly answer in your general direction. My most sincere apologies."

"She kissed him," Jane blurted, stupidly. Before she even finished the sentence, she was mentally kicking herself in her own backside. Elizabeth would show no remorse as she killed her, she was sure.

"I see," Richard thoughtfully replied.

He had clearly flustered the pretty blonde before him. Sometimes, he thought wickedly, being so charming was bloody unfair to those around him. He watched as she drew herself up and took a deep breath while she regained her composure. She went to a table, picked up a pad of note paper and a pen, and handed them over to him.

"Would you care to leave her a note?"

Richard took the pad from her and quickly scrawled something. He handed it back to her, graced her with another incredible smile, and let himself out. Once he was gone, Jane couldn't help herself from reading the note. When she looked at the paper, her mouth fell open.

It read:

"Miss Jane Bennet:
We have much to discuss
regarding the future happiness
of certain parties. Please
join me for dinner.

R."

His telephone number was scratched along the bottom of the note.

"Sly old devil," Jane muttered. She pretended that she was throwing it away as she shoved it into the pocket of her sweater.

Elizabeth didn't go home. She went to Pemberley.

It seemed like the one place on earth where she could think. It was ridiculous, she knew, to go to someplace that was filled with memories of him to think about how she couldn't think about him anymore. However, she'd spent a great deal of time there recently, trying not only to not think of him, but to absorb Annabel's death and everything it had made her feel.

Mostly though, Pemberley was about William. They had shared so many little moments there, moments that had led her to fall in love with him so hard and so fast that she was still trying to catch her breath.

After seeing George that morning, Elizabeth came to understand how very big her past mistakes truly were. She had loved George, that wasn't an issue, but he had never made the ember of passion flare into a white hot flame the way William had. The realization that she could love a man other than George and love him more made Elizabeth feel even more guilty than she already did.

"Evening, ma'am," Tate said as Elizabeth entered the kitchen. "'e's in the east morning room."

"Pardon?" She asked.

"Mr. Darcy, ma'am, is in the east morning room."

Her feet were moving before she could tell them what to do. She hadn't seen him since the night they'd kissed, not physically anyway. He was a permanent resident in her thought, much to her chagrin. They carried her through rooms and corridors and up a staircase to where he was, lying on the settee and facing the fire, looking as if he'd never had a friend in the world.

To see that much pain on his face made her heart ache, but she just wanted to look at him. After a few moments, Elizabeth realized that he was asleep. She felt sick at the thought that his dreams were torturing him. He so deserved to have happy dreams.

Without thinking, Elizabeth entered the room to stand near him. She watched his face twitch and twist at the visions that were playing in his head.

"I would hope that your dreams are sweeter than mine, my darling William. Mine have become visions of hell," she whispered.

A lock of dark hair slipped forward and Elizabeth put her hand down to push it back. She gasped when William suddenly grabbed her wrist.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded. "Why can't you just stay away?"

Elizabeth bit her lip as tears stung her eyes. She tried to wrest away from him, but it was as if he had a death grip on her. She kept trying until his eyes opened and his gaze settled on her.

"Clara!" He called out. Then his voice dropped lower and he growled, "What have you done?"

When she realized that he was still asleep, she choked back another sob. She finally managed to free her wrist and her shoulders shook in relief. Elizabeth looked down at him again and saw that tears had stained his cheeks, but his eyes were again closed.

His dream seemed to confirm her worst fears. He was panicked at the thought of something happening to Clara. He really did love her and Elizabeth would again suffer love from afar.

Drained and on the brink of despair once again, Elizabeth's emotions swelled into a giant wave and came crashing down on her. She bent forward and kissed his forehead, knowing that it would be the last time she would ever kiss him.

"I love you, William," she said gently, caressing him with the admission as she tried to hold back another shudder from her body. With that, Elizabeth turned and quickly left Pemberley, wondering how in the hell she was ever going to survive this.

Chapter 12

Posted on Tuesday, 5 June 2001

His dream had been beautiful for awhile.

Elizabeth had been his, no questions, no doubts. There had been no Clara. There had been no He. There were no complications, just Elizabeth held tightly within the strong circle of his arms.

It was like she was there with him. He could smell her soap-and-water scent on the air and feel her energy crackle through him, but it wasn't real. Elizabeth wasn't his.

Thinking about that hurt. Even here, in his own mind, he couldn't be happy with the woman who made him feel alive, who sent his heart racing.

Out of nowhere appeared Clara. She stood next to him, holding his hand as if she still had some right to touch him. She smiled up at him, oblivious to the fact that William was beginning to hate her because he loved her.

"What are you doing here?" He asked her. "Why can't you just stay away?"

She looked at him angrily and spat Elizabeth's name, bemoaning the loss of her hold on William's heart. She walked toward Elizabeth and began screaming and yelling at her. For a brief moment, she stood there, taking it, and the look of hurt and shock on her face seemed so very real.

Finally, William could no longer take the pain being inflicted by his current lover. She was being mean and spiteful, something that just could not be tolerated when it gave Elizabeth such heartache.

"Clara," he growled.

After that, they both disappeared from sight. He stood alone in the dark, surrounded by echoes of things he should have done. The sounds slowly died away save one. Somewhere in the distance, Elizabeth was telling him that she loved him.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that funerals were absolutely no damn fun. Funerals were nice, respectful, and classy, but nobody ever described them as fun or exciting. Because they weren't and, if people ever decided to be honest, they might have eventually chosen to use "depressing," "unhappy," or "bloody terrible."

George begged for Elizabeth to come and save him from the hours before the funeral. He was beginning to panic and he didn't want to scare Elie, who was increasingly more upset as she began to absorb the fact that her mother was really never coming back. George's parents had insisted that he go and that they would bring the girl with them to the funeral parlor.

He babbled over cup after cup of coffee as they sat in a coffee shop not to far from the funeral home. After the seventh time George told Elizabeth that she would meet Neil and Ivy there, she gently smiled at him.

"George, it's time to get a hold of yourself," she said firmly. "You have a little girl who needs you and you can't fall apart. For her sake."

He looked at her, then down at the hand she'd put over his. He was thankful that she had chosen to be there for him, even if it was in such a horrible situation. George had always loved Elizabeth, but he'd loved Annabel more. It had never been a struggle to choose his wife. Elizabeth was his best friend, though, and it had hurt to lose her. Until that moment, he never realized how much it had hurt him to give her up.

"Lizzy, I have to tell you something," he said, softly.

Elizabeth felt her jaw tighten. Tension suddenly bubbled up through her. Nothing good had ever come of those seven words.

"I thought I could make you feel better by lying to you. We both know that Belle would never have assumed that a lie would soothe you. However, I was never as smart as her.

"I've felt guilty for telling you that Belle understood. She didn't understand, Lizzy. She was angry with you for a long time, but not because of your feelings for me. She angry that you took it upon yourself to make a decision that she felt should have been hers. You left us and gave her no choice in whether or not she still wanted you. She was upset about that for a long time," George added. He gave her a weak smile. "She hoped that you would come around, but she doubted that it would ever happened. She had no faith in you."

Elizabeth took an unsteady sip of her coffee. "Not exactly what I wanted to hear, but it could have been worse. You're right though. Belle, given the chance to really talk to me, would have told me exactly how she felt. She would have made sure that I knew she was disappointed me."

"I didn't want to lie to you, Lizzy."

"I know, George."

Looking at her watch, Elizabeth gently pointed out that it was time to go. She watched his body stiffen for a moment then George Wickham shook off his ghosts to stand and go meet a new one.

"This makes it real. She's really dead. I keep telling myself that, but I haven't believed it until this moment. I want her to walk through that door and kiss me like she's just come back from the grocery, but she won't, Lizzy, because she's dead."

Elizabeth stood and put her hand on his arm. "Just remember that she loved you, and that you'll always have that moment you spent together. She also gave you a beautiful little girl to remember her by."

George just shook his head. No words, however pretty, would ever make him feel better. "Let's go," he muttered and turned for the door.

Four Bennet sisters awaited the arrival of the fifth at the Milne & Hunt Mortuary. Jane, Mary, Kate, and Lydia had all loved Annabel Hawthorne Wickham like one of their own. It had made a mark on them when things had gone sour between Elizabeth and Annabel for she was what Thom had called the "lost Bennet" because she never seemed to go to a home of her own.

Mourners had begun to gather outside, giving their condolences to the Robert and Nathalie Hawthorne, her parents, and the Wickhams that were present. So far, there was no sign of the widower or Elizabeth. People gushed over the beauty of Annabel's daughter, but none mentioned that she could've been her mother at the age of three.

A hush fell over the crowd as George Wickham appeared on the walk, followed a few feet behind by Elizabeth Bennet. He walked with his head down and his fists shoved into the pockets of his slacks. The scowl on his face was black with simmering rage and hopeless agony.

He approached his parents and Elie spied her father. She ran from the clutches of Nathalie Hawthorne to George. She buried her face in George's shoulder.

"Daddy," she whispered. "Wanna go home now. People are crying for Mummy. Wanna go."

George held his daughter close to him. "Be brave, Spot. We'll be brave together. Okay? We'll get through this and then we'll go home."

"On the plane?"

"Very soon."

Elizabeth watched as a couple appeared and Elie gave the woman a warm smile and went directly to her. The man put his arm around George's shoulder. Neil and Ivy. The family, along with Neil and Ivy, went inside and mourners gave them their privacy to see Annabel alone one last time.

The Bennet sisters met Elizabeth and silently stood, waiting for perhaps yet another explosion of sobbing from their sister. Instead, Elizabeth, looking around at people she recognized from college and people that she knew Annabel had never liked and vice versa, was struck funny. An inappropriate, nervous giggle bubbled up and into the sullen air. All the red, puffy eyes turned toward her and had their connection with Annabel before them. Suddenly, people swarmed her a spirited her away from her sisters.

Thousands of questions flew at her from every angle. They all wanted to know what happened. They all wanted to disbelieve Annabel's death to deny their own mortality. It was a symptom of the death of somebody young.

Finally, the Bennets reached Elizabeth once again and encircled her, this time forming a tight wall around her. They were the first people inside the lobby of the funeral parlor. A few moments later, as other people spilled inside, the doors to the visitation were opened and Annabel's last rites of passage began.

Elizabeth could see tears in the eyes of her party, but her tears were done. She was through crying. Maybe because she just didn't have any tears left, or because she knew that Annabel would never have wanted her to cry. In any case, there would be no more tears shed on this occasion.

Nathalie Hawthorne appeared before Elizabeth then as Jane and the rest of the Bennets took seats. For a moment, the two women just stared at each other. Then Nathalie wrapped her arms around Elizabeth.

"I thank you for coming," Nathalie whispered into her ear, "but please stay away from Annabel's husband. This isn't your chance to finally make him your own."

Nathalie pulled away and returned to the place where the family had been seated. Elizabeth, anger and indignation welling inside her, fought hard to swallow the denial that was lingering on the tip of her tongue. She slowly approached Annabel's coffin and waited her turn in line to say good-bye.

Annabel's injuries had all been internal and there wasn't a single mark on her face except scratches that had been covered by make-up. Her eyes were closed forever and, as with every corpse Elizabeth had ever seen, there was that moment when Annabel appeared to breathe.

Elizabeth stood next to her friend's coffin and stared down. She leaned close for a moment.

"You'll be pleased to know, Belle, that your mum is still a world class b___h. I love you. I can still say that so it must be true. In another life, Belle. In another life."

Elizabeth straightened and smiled at her friend warmly. She had come to say good-bye. With that done, Elizabeth walked out of the funeral parlor.

Chapter 13

Posted on Monday, 11 June 2001

Jane had never kept a secret before and was quite surprised to find out how good she was at it. It had been a week since Richard Fitzwilliam had stopped by the office of Bennet Building and Design; four days since Jane dialed the number scrawled across the bottom of the note he'd given her.

Richard had told her that she could have her pick of places to dine at, money was no object. She had nearly joked on the laugh that had swelled in her throat at the thought that a show of wealth would impress her.

"This is not a date, Fitzwilliam," she reminded him. "This is a meeting."

"I would never assume, Bennet," he replied, his tone slightly haughty.

"Good. You won't mind if I cook dinner then. You can drive out here to dine at Longbourn."

She's ignored his grumbles and planned the meal in her head as they arranged a time and date for the dinner to take place. With Richard coming to Meryton, Jane wouldn't have to lie to Elizabeth or Lydia about where she was off to during the evening. At Longbourn, Jane was on her own turf, so to speak, and Kate had been spending more and more time in London with Lydia and Elizabeth.

With one last look in the mirror, Jane glanced over the outfit she'd chosen. It was a very simple moss green dress with a puffy skirt that fell just below her knees. It reminded Jane of something that Audrey Hepburn might have worn. She chose a white sweater to cover her sleeveless arms and left her room.

Hill, Longbourn's housekeeper, had been given the night off. She and Jane had prepared the meal earlier that day and she'd readied everything before leaving for the evening. Jane always took the time to thank her lucky stars for Hill, who had been with the Bennet's since just after Jane had been born. She was as much a part of their family as sure as night turned to day.

Jane's other strategy in inviting Richard over for dinner was to avoid the inevitable bit of becoming a rich man's showpiece. Men like Richard, powerful and spoiled, were the kind of men who bought beautiful women just to have them walk into a room on their arm. It gave them pleasure to be the envy of all the other men. Taking away that part of Richard's fun might make him more docile and less deadly to her physical attraction to him. She doubted that his arrogance would be put off, but it was worth a shot.

She was coming downstairs when the doorbell chimed that Richard had probably standing at the door for three minutes just to ring the bell precisely at seven o'clock. Having no time to check particulars, Jane Bennet headed for the door.

Richard stood there, having the grace to look uncertain and somewhat nervous. His blonde waves had been scolded into place with just a touch too much mousse. His suit was crisply pressed and he smelled like the woods after a summer rain. His aqua eyes shone bright and clear.

Jane her palms begin to itch, a sure sign that she was nervous.

"Bennet." Richard smirked as he called her by her last name. His smile widened at the hint of one creeping over her lips.

"Fitzwilliam," she replied, standing aside. She gestured him inside. "Welcome to Longbourn. Would you care for a drink?"

"Martini, please."

"Shaken, not stirred?" Jane asked wryly, which gave Richard pause.

He chuckled. "Sure. This is a lovely home."

Jane walked over to the bar and began splashing ingredients about. "Thank you. It's been in my family for ages. Rumour has it that one or two great novels were written in what used to be Lizzy's bedroom. I can't imagine which ones though," she added, her voice hinting that if she could imagine, she wouldn't tell. She squeezed a slice of lemon for just a drop of juice and handed the drink to Richard.

Taking a sip of the martini, Richard paused, astounded, and exclaimed, "Bennet, this is the best bloody martini I've ever had!" He gave her a brilliant grin meant to impress.

Instead, Jane just rolled her eyes. "There ever been a woman who turned you out into the cold?"

Richard blinked, caught offguard. He was so accustomed to getting what he wanted through flirtation that he (almost) no longer realized that he did it. He'd come here tonight for Will, but a part of him thought that this charming woman before him might be good for a bit of fun as well. Now, however, it seemed he'd been caught.

"I can tell," Jane continued, "by your silence that the answer is no. How very droll for you. Always getting what you want and never actually working for it."

"I didn't come here to be insulted," Richard declared.

"I didn't invite you here to insult you, Fitzwilliam. It isn't my fault you make it so bloody easy."

Richard narrowed his eyes to say something, but a peel of laughter wafted into the air. Jane displayed a brilliant smile. Two could play at this game.

"Shall we eat dinner?" She asked.

She had been standing the entire time and Richard had completely let it slip his notice. Where were his manners? He should have waited for her to sit before taking his own seat. She must think me absolutely uncivilised, he thought.

"Fitzwilliam?"

He blinked at her.

"Would you care to eat now?"

"Oh, yes. Of course," he replied, quickly. Why was he so flustered?

He followed as she led the way into the dining room. Even beneath the rather large puff of skirt, he could still appreciate her fine legs. He suspected that the skirt was a bit of a defense tactic to remove her bottom from the equation, but he didn't care. She was stunning and he found himself wanting her.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, Richard reminded himself of his purpose in enlisting her in the first place. This wasn't another empty conquest. This woman had a mission, a goal to help him accomplish. He was here to secure the happiness of a most beloved cousin.

Richard knew he could never be as good or as noble as William was. that was just the nature of the beast. William was the boy scout; Richard was hoodlum. He was reckless and not a little bit unscrupulous. Where his cousin was dependable and loyal, Richard found himself, on more than one occasion, toying with hearts as it pleased him and never desiring to be saddled with affairs of the heart.

Jane slid back into the room, graceful as a cat, carrying a soup tureen and looking very much like the quintessential fifties American housewife, which Richard was surprised to find himself attracted to. She didn't seem to have a single bad-girl bone in her lovely body, which wasn't Richard's style. He loved women who were naughty just for the sake of being naughty.

She served the soup and sat down across the table from him, completely unaware of the jumble of nerves she was creating just over the maple expanse before her. She took a sip of the potato soup and smiled. It was her mother's recipe and nobody had ever made better potato soup in the history of the world.

"What do you do for a living, Bennet?" Richard asked.

"I'm a teacher."

Richard nodded thoughtfully, letting her describe her job and her favorite students while he focused on the soup and then the next course, which was roasted pork with gravy and sweet carrots.

"Lizzy is a complicated woman," Jane said suddenly. "She isn't easily manipulated."

Richard stopped thinking about the feel of her skin under his fingers and focused on the objective: Will and Elizabeth. "Then how would you propose we go about this? My cousin, Georgiana, Will's younger sister, is ready to help. She is their liaison now."

Poking at a carrot, Jane nibbled at it, considering the facts (and lovely mouth) before her. The only solution was trickery and deceit.

"First, we must get rid of Clara," Richard muttered. "That droll twit has got to go."

"You're right. Lizzy will never accept your cousin as long as he belongs to another."

"I could pay to have her shipped off to a deserted island," he suggested.

Jane chuckled. "She can't be as bad as all that."

"No, she's worse. Dull. Dry. Depressing. She's like Wednesday Addams without the wit. She has no style, no grace. I suspect she doesn't even have any real feeling for Will, but she's too afraid to let him go."

"You're very passionate about Clara, Fitzwilliam," Jane remarked, sipping her wine and arching her brow. "You sound like a jilted lover."

"Ha!" He spat.

"You've never been jilted in your life, have you?"

Suddenly, sheepish and somewhat ashamed, Richard pushed his plate away. He didn't like the way she kept calling him out and making him face little unhappy truths about his character. It was like she was intentionally belittling him and that had never happened to him before in his life. Richard Fitzwilliam was a man's man. He was the man that other men wanted to be and women wanted to be with.

"Bennet, have I done something to offend you?" He asked.

In that moment the mood in the room shifted. What had been a silly covert little meeting of conspiratorial matchmakers had instantly become something heavy and intense with something that crackled like the air before a storm. His aqua eyes were no longer bright, but ringed dark with a brew of emotion that Jane had never seen before.

"Of course not. I'm merely teasing," she whispered, fearing that anything louder might crack the delicate air around them. "I admire you for coming to me and asking my help for Elizabeth and your cousin. It shows how much you care for him."

He darted from his chair and around the table. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her into his embrace in what seemed like mere seconds. The kiss that fell on her lips was firm and his lips were soft and hot. His hands found their way under her sweater and Jane barely noticed that it drifted to the floor like a feather falling from a bird in flight.

Finally parting for a moment to breathe, they stood looking at one another. He took a step back, his hands falling to his sides and sorrow spilled onto his fine features.

"I apolo-" he began.

Her finger flew to his lips and she glared at him. "If you apologize for kissing me like that, I'll slap you all the way back to London."

They glared at each other a moment and, in seconds, their lips found their way back to one another. Jane pushed his suit jacket off his strong torso and tossed it into a corner that didn't even exist for her anymore.

When the kiss broke, Jane leaned against him breathlessly. "This was by no means an easy seduction, but I think the end result will be worth it," she whispered against his neck.

With that, Richard scooped her into his arms and begged directions to the nearest bedroom.

Chapter 14

Posted on Saturday, 7 July 2001

William scowled as Laurelen rattled off his list of afternoon appointments that he had in the clipped Rosalind Russell accent from "His Girl Friday" that she'd recently perfected. He wished he could blow off the meetings and take Georgiana's place at Pemberley, which was very near to completion. Or, more to the point, Georgiana's place with Elizabeth.

He hadn't been to Pemberley since the dream he'd had about her. Shortly after that vivid unreality, Elizabeth had invaded Pemberley like, according to Tate, a general with. She commanded her crew to hammer, mold, and smash things with the vigour of a man who thrived in battle. With such ferocity before him, William knew he couldn't step in. She was concentrating on her job and he would distract her, though he wasn't sure if the distraction was welcome.

So, instead of being underfoot at Pemberley, William tried desperately to bury himself in work that his heart wasn't into. He tried to use his work as a way to escape her, but it was useless, like ice cubes on the sun.

Still, she plagued his thoughts. The three months that separated them seemed at once like an eternity and only a moment ago. Her taste, once so vivid and fresh, seemed like a whisper that you weren't quite sure you heard in the first place. Her face had grown soft around the edges in his mind, but he fought to maintain the memory of the smell of her skin. However, while he struggled to keep her alive in his heart and head, Elizabeth seemed to have moved on.

William, who could now freely admit that he was deeply in love with Elizabeth, could not be sure of her because she had given Georgiana details about He. Although, He now seemed to have a name. George. Elizabeth seemed quite attached to him.

Through the stories related to him by his sister, William learned that George had been her best friend in college and he had just recently lost his wife in an automobile accident. George and his wife had a daughter who was Elizabeth's namesake and the little girl had become enamoured of Elizabeth (as people were prone to do, he mused). Auntie Lizzy had accompanied George and little Elizabeth to several family-type places, including the zoo and an amusement park.

He wanted to pretend that she really was the cold, unfeeling girl that had walked into his office on that first day. She seemed to have forgotten the moment they had beneath a moon that would keep their secret. He had to believe it to make himself feel better. How else could he explain to himself how she could move on so quickly?

He knew the answer to that also. William simply had not given her a single reason to think there was something worth waiting for. Clara was still in his house, sometimes even still in his bed. It was no longer loyalty that kept him bound to her. It was resignation. If he couldn't have the love he wanted, he could settle for the love he'd had. Not great reasoning to be sure, but it was all William had. Clara was his rebound lover and he'd never even broken up with her.

He shook his head as if he could jar all the unhappy thoughts loose and be done with it. Trying to focus on something cheerful, William forced his thoughts to turn to Georgiana and Jeremy's fast approaching nuptials.

His sister had, in the past few weeks, grown increasingly more insane. Between overseeing every wedding detail (because she refused to let somebody else plan the event regardless of how many times she threatened to chuck it all) and maintaining her budding photography career, Georgiana had barely been around.

Selfishly, William resented her happiness and wished that his little sister were still ten years old and sliding down the banister of the Darcy townhouse as their mother scolded her. It was too much to ask, he knew, to steal just a few more moments where he was still the most important man in her life, but William felt that he wasn't just losing his baby sister. He was losing his very best friend.

With a sudden burst of anger, William threw his pen down to his desk. He bolted from his chair and out to Laurelen's office. He paused for a moment at the end of her desk.

"Have fun at Pemberley," she said without looking up from her newspaper.

He gave an exasperated sigh and left the office for the day.

It was absolutely amazing the changes that had occurred at Pemberley. Somehow, it had become shining and gorgeous, as if veils that had been in place for years had suddenly been dropped to allow the reality to be seen. Old wood had been refinished, new marble had been set into ruined mantles and floors. The glass windows that hadn't been transparent for years were suddenly letting light flow into rooms that were appreciating their new lease on life.

Georgiana Darcy, heiress and fabulous dancer, took another turn around the ballroom. She pirouetted and settled her gaze upon Elizabeth, who stood nearby nervously awaiting her opinion.

"Oh, Lizzy, it's grand!" Georgiana gushed. "Do you realize how jealous my girlfriends will be when Jeremy and I have our first dance on this floor?"

Elizabeth smiled in relief. This was her second favorite room in the house. (The first being the east morning room.) She had desperately wanted Georgiana to like it. Her wedding was fast approaching. It was less than a month away at this point and the poor girl had been running mad for the last few weeks. Elizabeth knew Georgiana had more important things to do than inspect her work, but it couldn't be helped. She still couldn't breathe when she thought of William, let alone having to see him. It would have been unbearable.

Georgiana turned away, walking toward the balcony doors. Once out on the balcony, she faced Elizabeth. "This will be a perfect spot for a photo, don't you think, Lizzy? When the sun sets right there this balcony will be backlit and beautiful."

Elizabeth smiled in agreement.

Georgiana liked Elizabeth a great deal and wished that she could dump her off on William once and for all. She knew William loved her beyond a shadow of a doubt, and wanted what was best for him. There were no ill feelings toward Clara, except when she noticed the neglect her brother suffered at her hands.

Jane and Richard, however, were biding their time, waiting for the perfect moment to bring the two together. All Georgiana could do was wait, because she had a wedding to plan and couldn't let herself be dragged about by the soapy lives that surrounded her.

"There are a few rooms that won't be done by the wedding, but nobody should be going near there. The rooms are all in the south wing," Elizabeth added. She traced the inlay of the wood floor while she went down her mental check list and ticked things off.

"Lovely, Lizzy. It's all lovely. You've done a beautiful job. William will be pleased," Georgiana said, intentionally slipping her brother's name into the mix.

Elizabeth's face darkened as it usually did whenever Georgiana mentioned William. Wisely, she never reacted to the gesture so Elizabeth thought she was getting away with it. However, the look was duly noted and reported back to Jane or Richard in terrific detail. To the unaware observer, Elizabeth's broody demeanor might have indicated a severe dislike for William Darcy. To those who knew what had transpired between the two, the dark look was filled with pain and longing.

Every time she saw (but pretended not to see) the sorrow pass over Elizabeth's face Georgiana thanked her lucky stars that Jeremy had simply spilled a pint on her at a football match. She'd known at that moment that he'd been the one for her and things just fell into place after that.

She glanced at her watch. "Oh, dear, I do have to go."

Elizabeth followed suit with a look at her own watch and agreed.

"Oh, really, Lizzy?" Georgiana asked, teasing. "Hot date?"

"Not exactly. Neil and Ivy are back from the States and George and I are having dinner with them."

"Oh," Georgiana replied softly. Elizabeth and George had never gone out without his daughter before. Were they getting closer? Were the she and her coconspirators too late to make her brother happy? Instead of showing her emotions on her face, Georgiana gave Elizabeth a smile. "Well, have fun and don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

Her mind racing, she flew down the steps that she and her charge had come to. She raced through corridors to a back entry door and reached the garage with her chest aching. She got into her red BMW with every intent of tearing through the countryside at breakneck speed, hoping that it wouldn't take the usual hour and a half to get to Longbourn.

She knew Richard would already be there, but didn't concern herself worrying about the affair that they thought they hid so well. She suspected that part of the reason they were so cautiously lying in wait for William and Elizabeth was to continue telling themselves that it would be over when their "project" was done.

"The whole bloody world's gone mad!" She puffed and angrily snapped the volume up on the radio. Her anger quickly dissipated with the coincidence suddenly presented to her. A song called "Secret Lovers" poured out of the speakers, bring Georgiana Darcy, heiress and fabulous dancer, to uncontrollable laughter on the road.

There was no denying that Richard Fitzwilliam was the best lover Jane Bennet could recall, but there was no way she would ever confirm that fact to the arrogant, cocksure man who had taken to cooking brunch at Longbourn every Sunday morning. There was something charming about the way he brought her breakfast in bed and read the paper as she buttered her toast.

Jane sometimes pretended that this affair was more than just mutual attraction. She sometimes allowed herself to believe that after William and Elizabeth were a secured item, she and Richard would have one last moment together and, when he went to leave, he would stop at the door and tell her that he loved her and that he always had.

Then Jane would return to reality. She wasn't even sure she wanted that much from Richard. Really. She wasn't even sure why she liked being with him like this.

Richard held Jane as they lie together on the sofa. His meeting had run late and they were expecting Georgiana anytime. There was no way to be presentable to her if they went to bed now. He noticed lately, though, that he was as content to just be with her, to just spend time with her.

He heard her snore softly, her head tucked under his chin. He felt her chest rise against him in that slow and perfect rhythm that he knew meant that she felt safe. He wondered at the fact that she felt safe with him when they both knew that he could break her heart.

They had started out as coconspirators, but now they were something else. Not quite lovers, but no longer involved in something as base as just shagging.

She hadn't told anybody about them. The only sister still at Longbourn never seemed to be there and there was never any danger of being discovered at his house. They never went out, but it didn't bother him. He was willing to lock her away from the rest of the world as long as he could, allowing himself the pleasure of having the planet's most beautiful secret asleep in his arms.

He kissed the crown of her head, letting his lips linger in the golden silk that he'd come to relish. It wouldn't be long now before Georgiana arrived and they would have to return to being just man who didn't know that Jane liked to be held when she slept or that she had a birthmark on her hip. Richard wished that they could just remain the lovers that they were in this room that was bathed in the last embers of a lazy summer day and never have to discuss anything with anybody else.

She stirred and her hand ran up his chest to strum one of the dark blonde curls that had slipped over his collar. In her sleep, Jane murmured his name.

Richard's breath caught. He held her tighter as the feeling washed over him, ensnaring him helplessly like a blade of grass bending to the will of the wind. He buried his face in her hair.

"I love you," he said.

It was the truth.

Chapter 15

Posted on Monday, 16 July 2001

The light seemed different now. Brighter. It was as if Pemberley shone from the inside out, making the light of mid-afternoon glow more brilliantly, like a diamond in candlelight. The facade of the great house radiated warmly, like a fire lit inside a cozy country cottage.

William wondered if it was because Pemberley felt new or it was because it had grown to love Elizabeth too. Surely, when he dreamt of her, he shone like that. It was as if Elizabeth were the match and he and Pemberley were the wick, waiting for her spark to make them flare to life.

He parked the still unnamed gunmetal grey BMW in front of the house instead of the garage. William slipped up the stone steps slowly. He entered Pemberley with the reverence of an altar boy in church. Not because this was where Elizabeth had poured out her heart and soul into gallons of plaster and paint, but because this house had been the seat of generations of Darcys for hundreds of years. Darcys had been born here, had died here, had been laid to rest here, but, most importantly, Darcys had lived here.

For the first time in his life, William Darcy felt like he had come home. His family's long and illustrious, sometimes infamous, past enveloped him and filled him like it never had before.

As he looked around, steadying his breath to keep from crumbling in the embrace of history, he took in the grandeur that generations of his family must have breathed in. The foyer had been installed with mahogany; deep, rich, and fragrant with the heady aroma of fresh stain. It covered the three walls of the entry halfway up, where the stairway branched off before him. The higher walls were a rich, warm cream that reminded him of the way Georgiana took her coffee. The enormous Persian rug beneath his feet glimmered in the rich jeweled tones of ruby, sapphire, and emerald. There were a scattering of paintings on the wall, however one thing stood out. It was on the wall of the stairway landing. A large framed photograph of Pemberley taken at sunset, when the house was backlit, just as he'd first seen it. As Elizabeth had first seen it.

He took the steps two at a time and examined the photo more closely. It was the only modern thing in the entire foyer, but it seemed to fit with its brushed tones of gold, rose, and salmon. In the lower left corner, a small silver "G" lilted in his sister unmistakable manner. A smile touched William's lips.

He continued up the steps. There were subtle changes everywhere and only the occasional massive change that would make him look twice, but a second look is all he would allow himself for now. There was one room in particular that he needed to see. He took a deep breath as his hand touched the latch.

The east morning room had not changed at all. Except for the draperies and Elizabeth sitting on the hideous settee that she loved so dearly.

She looked up as he stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. For a moment, it seemed as if all the air slipped out of the room so that it could avoid whatever argument might ensue.

It had to be a dream, she thought. He couldn't be standing before her, like she'd wished a thousand times before when she'd sat in here. She must be exhausted. She had been working so hard lately and taking care of George and Elie just to not think about him.

"William," she whispered, still not quite sure if he was real.

"Elizabeth, I-"

"Oh," she breathed. He was real.

"I didn't expect to see you here," he said quickly. He struggled to keep his arms at his sides and not grab her. "It looks amazing."

She beamed in spite of the awkwardness. Her eyes fairly glowed with pride. "It does, doesn't it?"

William made the trip across the room in a few quick strides and took the place next to her on the settee. "I thought Georgie was supposed to be here today."

"She left just a bit ago. I had a few things left to do," she replied, picking at an invisible string on overalls that were smudged with paint, caked with plaster.

The silence between them stretched for little eternities, each trying to determine if they should stay or go and each finding a reason not to leave. The silence gave way to the crackling air that seemed inevitable whenever they were together for very long.

"I've missed you, Elizabeth," William said quietly, reverently. He slipped his hand over hers, feeling the warmth of her smooth skin and scolding himself for being such a bloody dolt. Just touching her felt right, in a way that he'd never felt when he touched Clara.

Suddenly, William realized that Pemberley felt like home not only because of the Darcy blood that had ran through the house, but because of Elizabeth's blood. And her sweat and tears. She had given this job her everything to make it perfect not because it was a job, but because she loved it. It return, Pemberley fell in love with her.

Elizabeth had become home to him.

She wasn't sure how, but Elizabeth found herself wrapped tightly in the embrace that she'd dreamt of for months. She didn't allow herself to think of Clara because she wanted this stolen moment with the man she loved. If Clara had him for the rest of her life, Elizabeth could beg him away for this one moment and live with it for the rest of her life. She didn't want to think about Clara or consequences or anything but William and the taste of him upon her mouth.

When the kiss broke, both of them panting and sweating, Elizabeth leaned her head forward to nuzzle William's neck. She was now convinced that this room held a special magic that only they could feel. She felt it in the dream she'd had a lifetime ago. She'd watched him sleep, his head full of darkness, in the spot where they now sat. She'd whispered those words to his dreaming self, words that she could not utter in the real world.

Elizabeth clung to him, never wanting to leave the east morning room for fear of the reality beyond the door. She loved feeling his breath in her hair, his hands on her back. She had fought him as best she could and lost her heart, but she couldn't find it in herself to be a sore loser.

"My God, Elizabeth, we've been such fools. Look at all the bloody time we've wasted," he muttered. "I can't be apart from you. Don't make me go through that again. I beg of you."

She pulled back far enough to look into his black, coffee-coloured eyes.

"It was torture," he continued, "We spent so much time together before that I'd forgotten that I'd ever lived my life without you. I lost my best friend."

"It was hell for me too," she replied, quietly. A wash of bitterness flowed over her face and was gone. "I wanted to hate you. I wanted to hate Clara, but I only hated myself for letting you go and not fighting for you."

She reached up, cupping his face in her hand. He turned his head and kissed her palm.

"To hell with Clara," she spat.

"To hell with George," he returned.

Elizabeth's brow knit in confusion. "George? George Wickham? How do you know about George?"

"You are working with my sister, Elizabeth. You may have become great friends, but she is still my blood."

She started to giggle. When it was his turn to be confused, that clever little giggle exploded into a great, huffing chortle. He let go of her and she fell back against the arm of the settee, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Elizabeth, what's so bloody funny?" William demanded.

"You," she replied between snorts that were very much, she noted, like Lydia's.

"Wha- Why am I funny?"

Elizabeth made every effort to catch her breath. She closed her eyes and took several short breaths to calm herself and when she was sure that she could look at his confused puss again, she opened her eyes. After another moment to make sure she was in control, Elizabeth graced his with a wide grin.

"I believe that you're jealous, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth began, "of my dear friend, George Wickham. William, George and I were at college together. He was my best friend and he married my other best friend, Annabel. I did fancy myself in love with him at some point, but after the infliction you have caused on my heart, I'm quite certain that I was confused terribly about George."

"So, you aren't seeing him?" William's voice was hopeful like a schoolboy's.

She shook her head, smiling at him. She held open her arms.

He embraced her gratefully. After all this time, William Darcy had finally come home.

Chapter 15

Posted on Sunday, 26 August 2001

Addie was elated. For the first time in nearly three months she was being driven as she was meant to be driven: with the top down and breaking every speed-related traffic law in England.

Dusk was giving a slow, glorious birth to what was sure to become an incredible summer night. Displaced air fell back viscously, snapping Elizabeth's flame-kissed ponytail into a frenzy. A grin seemed to be permanently tattooed onto her suddenly bright face.

Addie was elated, but Elizabeth was ecstatic.

He loved her! He had walked her to the car to see her off when she realized how very late she was going to be meeting George at his house. It was almost too much happiness to bear, but she was nearly positive that she would find a way to survive.

"Elizabeth," he'd said. William's lovely, sculpted mouth was very close to her ear while his cheek pressed against hers. "I could no sooner live without you than I could live without air. Don't make wait another three months to see you again."

"Never," she replied weakly.

"Then come back to Pemberley tonight. I'll wait for you."

Elizabeth began to pull back, foolishly thinking she should disagree, but he caught her, held her firmly against him.

"It's just us, Elizabeth," he'd growled. "Only us. I could care less if the rest of the world fell away."

His lips had assailed upon hers then; the soft, smooth flesh of his lips smashed into hers with a need that was so fierce she could scare draw breath. His hands tangled in her hair, slipped over her back, and stroked her face as if to reassure himself that she was really entangled in his arms.

When the had kiss broken, Elizabeth swayed as she tried to gain her bearings. She couldn't answer him. The best she could do was merely nod that she would come to him in the house that had brought them together.

"Go to George, Elizabeth, but come home to me." His voice had been low and gravelly as he opened the car door for her and his eyes never left hers as she sagged into Addie's waiting body.

"Yes," she replied and closed her eyes as he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

As she drove now, Elizabeth replayed the events of the last few hours again and again in her mind's eye. The way William's eyes had scorched whatever body part they happened to look at or the feel of his lips on her neck.

She was so caught up in the sensations her mind kept visiting that she was barely aware of the breakneck speed at which she was racing through the countryside. Addie took each obstacle smoothly by sheer habit. She flowed up and down each hill and around each curve like mercury tossed about in a test tube.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, her grin widening. She could still catch William's scent on her as it clung to her body like a talisman. It was strong and clean, an odd combination of brandy and cucumber. She wanted to wrap it around herself and soak it in.

Suddenly, she found herself at her destination. Pushing aside her complete happiness for a moment, she had the good sense to be unnerved by her lack of recollection regarding her journey to George's house.

Wouldn't be smart to find the love of your life then get killed, eh, Lizzy? She mused.

She was still a total mess from her workday at Pemberley, which was sure would only add to Sydney Wickham's dislike of her son's friend. It made her wish (not for the first time) that George would make a decision about his and Elie's future. Every time the subject of his return to the States was broached, he became pensive, sometimes angry. He wasn't ready to return to the house where he'd lived with his dead wife. He couldn't bear the memories. He didn't want to answer the questions that Elie would surely ask about the mother she'd lost. There were so many reasons to not go home that Elizabeth rightly suspected that George's next trip back would be to settle his affairs then end up someplace that wouldn't remind him of Annabel. The only thing was, though, George was apt to think of Annabel wherever he saw a blue sky, the exact shade of her laughing eyes.

Before she was even out of the car, Elie was streaking out of the house, wearing a prissy white blouse and pleated skirt. As a victim of a prestigious (pretentious, as she had called them) boarding school upbringing, Annabel would have disapproved. The child ran toward Elizabeth. They had become great friends and Elizabeth loved every moment she spent with the little girl.

"You're dirty!" Elie cried when Elizabeth picked her up. She wrinkled her tiny nose and stuck out her tongue in disgust. "Put me down! Girls aren't s'posed to be dirty."

"Who says?" Elizabeth asked, brushing her chalky cheek against the squirming child's face.

"Grandmama Nat."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. The last thing in the world Annabel would have wanted was Nathalie influencing her daughter. Annabel had once been convinced that Nathalie was the devil himself, but then realized that her mother had more balls than the devil ever could. Nathalie was once quoted in the press as saying that the Princess of Wales was a mousy little thing who would never be more than a footnote in history. After she had died. Elizabeth guessed that Nathalie Hawthorne was one of the deciding factors in the choice to move across the Pond.

"Girls can be dirty anytime they want," Elizabeth said, grinning. "Makes it easier to beat up boys."

Elie smiled at that and rubbed her nose to Elizabeth's. Her mummy had always called it an Eskimo kiss. The gesture reminded Elie of her mother. She knew her Aunt Lizzy was as special as her mother was. It gave her comfort to be able to keep the kiss alive.

"What's with the outfit?"

"Grandma took me to school today."

"A new preschool? Was it fun?"

Elie, now dusty from Elizabeth's embrace, shrugged indifferently. "It was just okay."

"Cheer up. I say tomorrow you should play in the sandbox and take over the playground."

Elie beamed.

"Are you teaching Spot bad habits?" George asked from the doorway, where he had been watching the exchange.

"As many as I can. Right, Spot?"

"Right!" Elie exclaimed.

Elizabeth noticed that he looked better than he had in ages. His handsome, chiseled face held colour instead of the whitish pallor of the previous weeks. His black hair flopped casually across his forehead, giving him a slightly boyish appearance. The green in his eyes was brighter today. George had somehow become his old, beautiful self.

George shook his head while Elizabeth returned Elie to the earth and retrieved a bag from the trunk. She walked toward the door, giving him a sheepish smile.

"Lizzy, you are very late," he scolded, his eyes narrowing. "I even got dressed up for you and you look like crap."

"I know. I'm sorry. Had a bit of a day at the office. I look a fright, I'm sure."

They watched Elie scamper off into the house and George took her hand. He kissed it then released it. If it hadn't have been for Elizabeth being there for him, George was sure that he would have joined Annabel in the ground. She had saved his life just by being herself with him and with Elie. He could never pay her back for all she had done and he was sure that she wasn't even aware that she'd done anything.

"Lizzy, you look as beautiful as always. In fact, I'd wager that you're glowing."

Elizabeth smirked at him. "I'll tell you everything on the way to the restaurant."

"Ooh," George said, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "News! I love news."

Elizabeth laughed and left him to go make herself presentable.

Dinner with George, Neil, and Ivy was pleasant enough, but Elizabeth couldn't focus. Her mind was more agreeably engaged by visions of the handsome man who was awaiting her. George, apprised of every sordid little detail of it, made happy excuses for his friend that might have proved embarrassing had she been attentive to the situation.

The food that was placed before her was barely touched; her wine was barely sipped. She kept drumming her fingers absently on the tabletop in her anticipation for the dinner to be over.

When the party finally finished off the last bite of dessert and sip of coffee (which, Elizabeth was sure, was a ploy to keep her away from Pemberley even longer) she all but pushed her friend out of the door and into the car. When she pulled to abrupt stop in front of George's house, she glared at him impatiently.

Instead of moving, however, George just sat there. He gazed back her, his expression bemused. He was irritating the hell out of her and relishing every moment. He let a beat pass, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.

"You look beautiful tonight. It isn't the slinky little dress or the amethysts twinkling with every movement. It's being in love, Lizzy. It suits you."

"Yes, yes," Elizabeth muttered impatiently, only half-joking. "Be sentimental on your own time!"

George snorted, but didn't move. "I want you to be happy."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and tried to shoo him out of the car.

"Liz, I'm serious. Will he make you happy?"

She stopped for a moment and looked at him. Really looked at him. He was looking at her like he had the night he'd fought for her in the pub. The night she'd told him that she loved him.

"Yes, George. William will make me deliriously happy."

"If he hurts you-"

She nodded, cutting him off. "Now, if you don't get out of my car, you'll be sleeping in the garage at Pemberley."

"It's a huge house, Lizzy! You wouldn't even allow me a room?"

"It's a huge house, George. I plan on using every room to my full advantage!"

He laughed and exited the vehicle. He barely had time to move his feet out of the way before she was peeling out of the drive and toward the lover who was waiting for her.

Chapter 16

Posted on Thursday, 30 August 2001

After deciding that the best way to throw William and Elizabeth together was to have a party for Georgiana and Jeremy, the Conspirators engaged in a lively conversation about soccer. When the debate between Richard and Georgiana (viscously defensive fans of bitterly rivaled teams) subsided, Jane, ever the perfect hostess, made an offer of tea.

"Oh, please tell me that you baked more of those incredible lime biscuits!" Georgiana pleaded. Then she added: "As if I should be eating them when I have a wedding dress to squeeze into."

Jane rolled her sky blue eyes at Georgiana Darcy's lithe form, but smiled while she did it. Jane genuinely like Georgiana and hoped that things went well for Elizabeth and William so that she would have an excuse to see Georgiana when their little plan was over. If things didn't work out, Jane was sure to never see Georgiana again because her connection with the family would be severed. No Georgiana, no Richard. No Richard.

She was almost sick with the thought of him never walking through her front door with a bottle of wine and a faggot of sticks for the fire. She didn't want to think about a Sunday morning where she wouldn't wake up lazily in his arms, seeing his grinning face and tousled hair. She couldn't begin to consider ever taking a bubble bath once he was gone. No Richard. How would her world exist without him?

To keep from bursting into tears, Jane stood, smoothing her grey plaid skirt down in the front. "Now, George, you know that I make those biscuits especially for you. A girl as skinny as you should at least have to have her wedding dress taken out once!"

While Georgiana scoffed, Jane started to hurry into the kitchen. She didn't count on Richard offering his help with the tea tray. Being too polite to refuse, she gave a weak smile of acceptance and they disappeared.

"They'll be exchanging more than lime biscuit recipes," Georgiana remarked to no one as she took a tour about the room.

The parlor was one of the coziest rooms she'd ever been in. There were obvious traces of Elizabeth scattered about like stray pieces of confetti after a party. A brass carriage clock with clean lines, a beaded chenille coverlet thrown casually over the back of an overstuffed floral armchair. On the mantle were smiling faces of Bennets past and present. A single family portrait sat in the center. A younger Jane and Elizabeth, neither barely out of their teens, flanked their parents while Kate and Lydia sat behind. The one Georgiana didn't know stood glumly in the back, her potentially pretty face dull and waxy.

"Ah, yes, there's always one that doesn't fit in," she said, thinking of her droll cousin, Anne.

Georgiana, by sheer coincidence, had met Kate and Lydia at the gallery where her photographs hung. Having been exposed to all but the one, Georgiana was excited by the prospect of having two Bennet sisters in the family (because she was sure Richard was in a fair way of falling madly in love with Jane) and, by default, gaining Kate and Lydia, who were utterly charming. They'd met for coffee on several occasions since that first encounter at the exhibit. Kate was brilliantly creative, though Georgiana could see that very few people, Kate herself included, realized it. Lydia, on the other hand, was just plain brilliant. In spite of her age, she could talk politics, religion, and current events like nobody's business. She joked that if it weren't for the Internet and all news channels, she'd be a flighty gossip. Georgiana could see Lydia becoming the political powerhouse she aspired to be.

By another token, aside from her fascinating family, Georgiana wanted Elizabeth as a sister. She had known Clara since she was small and had always liked her, but lately Georgiana had noticed a change in Clara's demeanor. She had closed up, cutting herself off from William. It seemed ungrateful to Georgiana, as if Clara had played hard to get by fighting William on moving, then, once she'd been "gotten," figured she didn't have to be thankful because she was a hard won prize.

It made Georgiana angry. William was so good. He didn't deserve to be used by some wench who wouldn't even join him for dinner. She realized that she could count the number of times she's seen Clara below stairs since she'd moved in on one hand.

No, indeed. William did not deserve to be treated like a roommate. He needed a lover, and Elizabeth was that woman. Georgiana knew; she'd seen it in Elizabeth's eyes.

Her fists clenched into tight balls, she grunted. Then she heard angry words ripple in from the kitchen. The thought of a lover's quarrel between people who weren't lovers (she chuckled at the thought) intrigued her. Her own anger quickly dissipated, she decided to see how the tea was coming along.

"I love my dear cousin," Richard said, "But I do wish she'd leave. I long to go to bed."

"That tired from your journey, Fitzwilliam?" Jane asked, arching her brow sarcastically.

"You know better than that," he replied, moving behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. He nuzzled her neck. "It's been ages since I touched you."

"You're touching me right now," she muttered. "Be a dear and get the teacups ready. The water's hot."

Richard sighed heavily, like a child who'd been told that he couldn't have a treat, and did as she asked. He pulled the cups down, preparing the tea tray with milk and sugar, spoons and the lime biscuits. From her cool demeanor, Richard could tell that Jane had woken from her nap in a foul temper.

"Have I done something wrong?" He asked, adding a small jar of apricot jam and some crackers to the tray. It was his favorite to go along with tea.

"Now, Fitzwilliam, whatever could you have done wrong?" Her voice sounded sweet, but her blue eyes flash a cold anger that sent a chill down his spine.

"Bennet," he began, trying to apologize for whatever had offended her. His mouth snapped shut when she glared at him.

"I'm tired of this," she spat. "I'm bored with your overproduced arrivals, your heated kisses, your perfect seductions. I'm exhausted, actually. I'm tired of being a prop in your dramas of romance."

Jane felt the shock of her words as they exited her mouth. Did she really mean that? Certainly not. However, she had executed them perfectly and, by the look on Richard's face, he certainly believed them.

Lately, whenever Jane had awaked in his arms, she couldn't help but think that the number of times she would get to was dwindling. Something broke inside of her, letting loose the realization that he was more than capable of leaving her. Richard was the quintessential billionaire playboy. He'd never had an emotional attachment in his life. Why in the world would Jane be any different? Why would Jane be the one to change him? She had sadly arrived at the realization that she wouldn't.

She could admit now that she was in love with him, but it didn't mean anything because he was Richard. After he walked out her door, what would she be left with? The memory of his touch, his kiss? It wasn't good enough. She found she didn't want to prepare for his inevitable departure. It was better to run first. If she destroyed him, ended their affair in anger then Jane could pretend a little that she hadn't lost a piece of her heart to him.

"What?" Richard asked, obviously confused.

"Have you never had a woman tire of you first? Or are you always the first one out the door?" Jane asked bitterly, not realizing the statement could have given her away completely had Richard not been in shock. She knew this wasn't the time or place with Georgiana in the parlor, but she had to do it while she had the chance, before her heart could forgive him any trespass.

"Where is this coming from?" He demanded. He crossed the space between them and stood before her. Richard didn't understand. The moment he'd walked through the door, he'd been in her waiting embrace. When he'd kissed her hello, he'd felt no animosity.

"From my need to be rid of you," she said simply. The words felt like a knife across her tongue and, seeing the horror in his eyes, Jane wished the blade had been plunged into her heart. And twisted a few times for good measure.

Never before in his life had a single sentence done so much to wound him. He felt the words sink into him like a million tiny shards of glass.

"You don't mean that," Richard stuttered, his voice a queasy whisper.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because there's...." He was too stunned, too hurt to speak. He hadn't thought her capable of being so cruel.

"Let's be honest, Fitzwilliam," she began, moving away from him, trying to focus on steeping the tea bag so that she didn't have to look at his eyes. Why did they look like she was killing him? "Neither of us were in this for the long haul." Again, the coolness of her own voice shocked her while she thought: Because I could have been. I have to leave now, though, because I'm in love with you.

He glared at the flaxen back of her head then, grabbing her by her arms and spinning her around. There was no in hell she would get away with this. She couldn't just cut him, bleed him, then walk away. He wasn't going to let her surrender, not without a fight.

"How the hell do you know?" He growled, an edge of danger in his words. "How do you know? Did you even bother to ask? You just assume that I'll leave because you're tired of me. It doesn't work like that, Bennet."

"Please, don't make a production out of this too." She tried to sound bored with the situation, but the brutal tone of his voice set her stomach rolling in panic.

"This isn't a game to me," Richard hissed. He leaned close to her face, close enough to kiss her. Her eyes filled his vision and made the core of him ache. "We aren't a game to me. Has it not become painfully obvious to you that there's something between us?"

"My sister's love life and great sex?" Jane asked, bitterly. She hadn't expected him to put up a fight. She'd expected relief and gratitude, and, no matter how much it would have hurt her to see those emotions, it was what she'd been prepared for. She wasn't prepared for him to fight back.

"Christ, Jane!" He exclaimed. "Are you bloody blind? I admit that I've been ignoring it for ages, but what about this intuition women are supposed to have?"

"You're babbling, Richard," she whispered, unsure of everything at the moment he'd spoken her name.

Their eyes met then. Everything fell into place like dominoes lined up in a row.

"Really?" Jane asked, tears trembling in her eyes.

He only nodded. Their emotions were spilling into the air. The words didn't need to be spoken. Richard pulled her into a tight embrace and kept her there until a final shuddering breath escaped from her. Not caring about anything but Jane, he tenderly kissed away the apology that she started to utter.

The kiss still held as Georgiana wandered in, pretending that she hadn't been eavesdropping since the start of the fight. Sensing that their privacy had been breached, the lovers broke the kiss, watching as she plucked two lime biscuits off the tea tray.

She threw them a nonchalant glance as she withdrew from the kitchen. "Oh, don't mind me. Carry on."

Moments later, Richard and Jane heard a peal of laughter drift back to them like new snow. The front door opened then closed, much louder than it normally would have. Their cover had been blown, but, as they gazed lovingly at one another, both of them found that they didn't really care.

Chapter 17

Posted on Monday, 10 September 2001

At some point during the long, sweaty night the velvet draperies on the massive bed had been pulled back and left open. Now, stray beams of light from the window on the southwest wall crept in like thieves and warmed Elizabeth's bare arms. Her eyes pulled open and she felt herself panic for a moment. The panic, however, passed quickly when she remembered where she was.

In our room.

She could feel heat radiate off his bare skin, warming her from behind. She pushed herself deeper under the scrumptious silk duvet. She wiggled a little, sliding her body over the heavy cotton sheets to come to rest so that their naked bodies were touching. A smile broke wide over her lips as his arm encircled her and came to rest on her belly.

The steady rise and fall of his chest against her back told her that he was still deeply asleep. She marveled how, just the day before, she'd been pining for him, desperately wishing that Clara would fall into a deep pit someplace, or, better yet, that she herself, would develop enough backbone to fight for her own happiness. Now, here she was wrapped in William's arms, lying flesh on flesh, refreshed and content.

It was the first good night of sleep Elizabeth had had since her parents' deaths.

Her conscience was nagging at her, trying to get her to feel bad for loving another woman's man, for stealing him away for her own pleasure, but Elizabeth refused to acknowledge it. She would not let the happiness she'd felt, the peace she'd felt in William's arms be diminished by her own morals. She wondered why she was trying to ruin it. Didn't she deserve to be happy?

Elizabeth knew that she did and she knew that whatever happened between her and William, this moment was right. If it made her feel as good as she felt at that moment, how could it be wrong?

She felt lips press against the nape of her neck and the subsequent shudder it sent through her system. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Good morning. Sleep well?"

"Better than I have in ages. You?"

"Wonderfully." She twisted so that she could look up at him. He propped his head up on his arm and smiled at her. "I'm starved. Care for some breakfast?"

"Sure." Instead of releasing her, however, William playfully nibbled at her earlobe.

"I wasn't planning on being part of the menu," Elizabeth scolded.

"Well, then," he began, "Let's skip breakfast because right now the only thing I want is you."

Elizabeth finally managed to escape from William's clutches toward the middle of the afternoon. Her stomach groaned in agony as she threw together ingredients for pancakes. She poured juice, chopped some fruit, and brewed a pot of coffee. The thought occurred to her that the kitchen was suspiciously well stocked and that her beloved had not sat idle while awaiting her arrival the night before.
She sat two places at the table, considered waiting for him before she started eating but decided against it when he stomach gave another angry growl. Elizabeth was greedily stabbing at a chunk of melon when William appeared in his boxer shorts. Elizabeth's stomach gave another lurch, but it wasn't of the hunger-related variety. His hair stuck up in patches here and there.

"That's a good look for you, Mr. Darcy."

"If a certain brown-eyed girl would've kept her hands out of it, it wouldn't be in such a state."

Instead of replying, Elizabeth merely stuck her tongue out at him then shoved another forkful of pancake into her mouth.

For a moment, William was struck by the enormity of what had happened between them. They were together now, bound. They had joined their hearts, minds, souls, and bodies together. They were no longer just friends, but they were more than lovers. William knew that this woman was the woman he was to spend the rest of his life with, the only person in the world who would ever know him completely.

There wasn't a doubt in William's mind how she felt for him, either. Not after the way she'd kissed him when they'd first gone to bed. He knew that Elizabeth loved him as much as he loved her. He'd never had any such guarantee from Clara.

"You look entirely too serious, Will. You should be jolly after the night we had," Elizabeth added, a coy grin playing over her lips.

He smiled at her in return. "I was just thinking about you."

She feigned a grimace. "Goodness! I hope I didn't inspire such dreadful thoughts."

"Never."

She stood, walked to the countertop, and slid another huge pancake onto her plate. "Are you hungry? Please tell me that you plan on having more than that cup of coffee."

He nodded that he planned on eating and she brought him a plate stacked with pancakes and topped with fruit. She sat across from him, skimming an old architecture digest that she'd never gotten around to reading, and gobbling her own breakfast.

The fluffy, light pancake tasted like heaven. He'd forgotten to eat dinner last night and didn't realize how hungry it was. The tang of the strawberries zipped over his pallet and mixed with the slightly honeyed taste of the cake.

"Lizzy, this is wonderful," he commented.

"Don't get used to it. It's one of five things I can cook well. Jane inherited all the culinary talent in the family."

He laughed and sipped his coffee. "What would you have done about our bedroom if we hadn't have met yesterday?"

Elizabeth leaned back in her seat to consider the question. After a moment, she replied: "I simply wouldn't have told you about it. You hadn't approved it so you wouldn't have known it was redone and you would have had no reason to go look at it. By the time you would've gotten around to it, you would've been mine anyway."

"A bit sure of yourself, aren't you?"

She simply smiled. "Don't I have every reason to be?"

"Touché."

She finished off her breakfast, took her plate to the sink. After she'd finished washing it up, she returned to the table to stand behind William. She slid her hands over her shoulders, feeling the muscles ripple beneath her fingertips.

"Darling, while those boxer shorts are quite flattering and an incredibly charming distraction from my magazine, I suggest you dress. I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? For me?" He asked, feeling his insides knot as she pulled her hands back up his torso.

"Don't be daft. You're the only one here." She tapped the back of his head in a mock smack, darting backwards before he could grab her.

"What about you? You aren't dressed," he pouted.

"I have jeans in my bag, which is in Addie. I think this tee shirt is sufficient enough. I'll meet you back here. Now go."

Ten minutes later, William appeared wearing jeans and nothing else. It was the first time Elizabeth had ever seen him in jeans and she felt her stomach tighten as she watched his bare-chested body enter the kitchen. She pushed her lust aside (no small feat) and focused on the task at hand.

Elizabeth frowned in dismay upon realizing that William was shoeless. "We're going outside. You need shoes."

"I've walked barefoot before, Lizzy. I think I can manage."

"But, William," she began. Her eyes darted from side to side like she was afraid somebody would hear her. Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "There are snakes."

He chuckled at her earnestness. In return, Elizabeth's arms crossed over her chest and she scowled.

"Darling Lizzy, would you like me to put shoes on?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You needn't do it to humor me, but don't whine if a snake eats your foot."

In the mudroom, William slipped his feet into a pair of old, brown work boots. He started for the door, but she stopped him.

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

Elizabeth sighed. "William, you aren't bloody deaf. I told you to close your eyes."

Confused and shaking his head, William did as he was told. When he felt the blindfold being snugged into place he was intrigued. What could possibly be worth such a large production?

He heard the door open and felt the late August sun drip onto his skin like warm rivulets of candle wax.

"Where are we going?" He asked her.

"Now if I told you there'd be no need for the blindfold, would there?"

"Oh, I can think of a number of uses for the blindfold," he replied, grinning.

He felt her quick tap on his arm. "That's quite pervy really."

"Yes, I'd like to think so," he said, his voice bordering a growl.

Elizabeth fought the urge to molest him on the spot.

"There's a step here, darling," she told him a few minutes later. "And another."

"Where the blazes are we, Lizzy?"

She released his hand and remained silent as she watched him stand there. Although she couldn't see his eyes, Elizabeth could see that William was confused and not a little bit annoyed by the way his lips were pursed together. She stepped behind him and undid the cloth, unable to torture him any longer.

For an instant, William blinked against the sudden brightness around him. As his eyes adjusted, he studied his surroundings. He was facing a bank lined with trees that he recognized, but as he looked down, he realized he was standing on a newly constructed limestone bridge. He ran his fingers over the curved railing and felt the peculiar not-quite-smooth sensation of the material. The rail, carved to look like so much ivy, was supported by thick pillars that had ornate depictions of animals carved into them, animals found in Pemberley's park...all except the snakes. The walkway was strong and firm and would never budge an inch.

And there was water running beneath the bridge, clear and gurgling.

"Elizabeth," he breathed. It was another project he'd heard nothing about, but he didn't care. It meant more to him than any room, save two, could ever mean.

"You said you hired me to build you a bridge. I was merely doing what the boss said," she added with a sly smile. "The reason we fell into that mudpit that day, besides some lame excuse for a bridge, was some furry little creatures upstream had dammed it. There was barely a trickle getting through, but it was enough to keep it messy.

"I called in a couple of favors. My friend, Gus, has this Italian associate who carves limestone. I turned the order in the day we broke the bridge. He did an amazing job on these pillars.

"Gus also knows this landscape architect, Carrie Billings. She's going to be doing royal gardens someday. She's amazing."

William cut her off with a kiss, knowing that, if given the chance, Elizabeth would simply tell him everything she did to Pemberley, and, while he was interested in the project, he was more interested in her at that moment.

"I love you, Elizabeth," he said. He stood there with her in his arms, looking up at him.

"Really? Damn. Here I thought this was simply a one-night stand. What am I going to tell Mick, Steve, and John?"

He shook his head, laughing. "I'm afraid, darling, that you're quite stuck with me. To put it very simply, you're mine and Mick, Steve, and John are dead men walking."

She graced him with a brilliant smile. "Well, you really only had competition from John. Mick and Steve are poofs."

He laughed again as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She kissed his cheek, his mouth.

"I love you, William," she whispered into his ear.

"Care to watch the sunset this evening?" He asked.

"From the bench," she replied, nodding. "You know Georgiana and I sat through three weeks of sunsets to get the perfect photograph for the foyer."

"Fascinating," he said, wanting to care but he found that he couldn't. "And what are we doing after the sunset?"

"Well, if you can't come up with something then I'm afraid I'll have to give John a call."

William's grip tightened around her. "Ah, darling, forget this John. I'm sure his entertainment wouldn't be nearly as impressive as mine."

She was blasé. "Typical male."

"Last night you said I was anything but typical."

A sly smile spread over Elizabeth's lips. "I seem to have forgotten how atypical you are. Perhaps you should show me."

William took her to the grass and did just that.

Chapter 18

Posted on Tuesday, 25 September 2001

There was a knock on her door. Georgiana's eyes fluttered open and she groaned unhappily as she settled a semi-angry gaze on the thick maple door of her bedroom. A quick glance at the clock sneeringly informed her that it was just before nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, which was the only day that Georgiana had to sleep in. She muttered an oath and tried to bury herself beneath her covers when the second knock came.

"Just a minute," she hissed. She grabbed her robe off the end of her bed and prepared the lecture she would be giving Jeremy for rousing her when he definitely knew better. She started ranting as she walked toward the door. "Now, just because I'm going to marry you, and that plan isn't looking so hot right now, don't think-"

Clara stood there blankly staring at her. Georgiana's mouth snapped shut in the midst of her sentence and she gave Clara a sheepish smile.

"Pardon. I thought you were Jeremy."

"Did he not stay last night?" Clara asked. She fidgeted with a stray thread on her grey cotton skirt. Her blonde hair was clipped smartly back with jade barrettes.

"No," Georgiana replied simply. Jeremy never stayed over on the weekends because he coached a youth soccer league and if Clara had paid even the slightest bit of attention to anybody but herself, she would have known that.

Georgiana studied Clara. The other woman seemed to be trying to nervously form sentences in her head. After being awakened, she was in no mood to be easygoing, especially when she had been brooding over William's situation and letting her anger toward Clara simmer to near boiling.

She noticed that Clara was dressed, really dressed, for the first time in ages. She wasn't wearing that ridiculous 'Neversnore' nightshirt or her seemingly mandatory white tank top and blue-green flannel pants. Besides the skirt and barrettes, Clara sported a creamy cashmere sweater. Georgiana recalled that William had given it to her for her last birthday.

"Georgie, have you seen Will?" She asked. Her voice was soft, timid. She kept her pale sea-green eyes trained on the inlaid woodwork of the floor as she tried to hide the shame in her eyes.

"No. Don't you know where he is?" The accusatory tone in Georgiana's voice was undeniable and harsh.

"No," Clara whispered as she choked on a sob. She hadn't realized until that morning that things had gotten so bad between her and William. She couldn't remember the last conversation they'd had or the last time they'd slept in the same bed together.

"Pity," Georgiana replied and began to close the door.

"Wait!" The desperation in her voice gave Georgiana pause. "If you know, please tell me. I need to see him."

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, Georgiana crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorjamb. The anger she felt was not subsiding with Clara's sudden urge to talk. In fact, it seemed to be getting worse. There had been so much that she wanted to say for so long that her temper was barely in check.

"Why?" She demanded.

"Georgie, please! Today's Papa's birthday and Will and I always go to Papa's for his birthday luncheons. I realized early this morning that I hadn't made sure Will was able to go. I tried his mobile but I only got his voicemail. My car's dead," she added and immediately realized her mistake in mentioning that.

"You're only concerned for Will's whereabouts because you need a ride?" Georgiana exploded. "How dare you! There's a bloody garage full of cars. Go find one and drive your own damn self!"

Clara blinked back tears. "I understand that you're angry with me. I'm angry with myself. I realized this morning how far apart we've become. I wanted him to go out to Roddglenn with me today so that we could start working on getting us back. I've not been there for him lately. I've been so focused on my work that I've forgotten that Will needs me too. I know you don't think so, Georgie, but I do love him."

"You may love him, Clare, but do you think that a man can be treated like you've treated Will and still love you in return?" Georgiana knew this was a moment of truth. She was tired of watching William be miserable in the name of honor, she was tired of waiting on Jane and Richard, she was tired of Elizabeth's spinelessness when it came to fighting for what she so obviously wanted. If somebody didn't take the reins, the situation would never be mended. "You think you love him, Clara, because Will is all you've ever known. Just like he thought he loved you. You were just used to each other. Did he ever make your heart fall into your shoes, Clara? Did he ever kiss you to the point you thought your lips were his sole property? Did you ever picture yourself growing old with him because everyday was a new adventure and not because he was simply there?

"You know, you really should go ahead to your father's and perhaps even stand up to him while you're there. You aren't going to be with Will for the rest of your life. This is something we both know."

"You do know where he is. He's with Laurelen, isn't he?"

In her anger, Georgiana didn't even regret the cruel, mocking laugh directed at her brother's girlfriend. "You have no bloody idea, do you? Laurelen is happily married and, if she didn't work for Will, she wouldn't give him the time of day.

"I have no clue as to where he is. Mrs. Reynolds said he called Friday night and told her not to expect him until late tonight. He probably didn't figure that you'd miss him since you've been so very attentive and grateful since you moved in."

"I've been doing my job," Clara replied. She tried to sound strong and defensive, but her voice was too soft and the end result made her sound like she was whining.

"You're driving him away," she paused. "No, you've driven him away. You've changed, Clara, and Will doesn't deserve the person you've become. You've hurt him by closing off and shutting him out and that makes me angry because William is my brother and my friend and I can't appreciate somebody who hurts him. I must admit that I don't like you much anymore, Clara."

"Why didn't he come and tell me this himself?"

Georgiana looked at Clara as if she were joking. When it was clear she was not, Georgiana gaped.

"Are we even talking about the same man? Jesus, Clara, Will is too noble for his own good. If he thought that anything he said would ever hurt you he'd never utter the words."

Clara knew that Georgiana was right. Things had gotten so bad and she could only think that the majority of the blame fell on her. In her heart of hearts, she knew that it was too late for her and William. They weren't going to make it and, if she tried to throw a lifeline to the relationship now, it could only end on a sour note. She couldn't live knowing that William was alive in the world and thinking ill of her.

She nodded slowly then turned on her heel and walked back up the hall.

The second moment that William had dreaded all weekend had finally arrived. The first had been leaving Elizabeth as they'd gotten into their separate cars to return to town. He'd trailed her to London and pulled over on the side of the road when she did for one last searing kiss before resuming their real lives.

Now, William was presented with the task at hand as he parked in the garage. It was time to be honest with Clara, no matter how much it hurt her. He couldn't pretend that he didn't love Elizabeth. Like a man going mano y mano, William gave his shoulders and neck a few quick rolls to loosen them, and then cracked his knuckles. He slowly ascended the stairs.

When he reached the top, he listened for the now familiar clicking of the computer keys, but he didn't hear it. He looked at his watch. It was well after nine; she should've been writing.

Instead, William went to the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded primly in her lap. She looked up at him as he came in. He could see that she'd been crying.

"What happened to us? Wait. Don't answer that. I've neglected you."

Without hesitation, William answered. "Yes, you have."

"I'm sorry," she said. "It isn't much, but it's the best I can offer."

"It's a start." William remained at the door. He wasn't sure he could approach her. Looking around the room, he noticed that her things were gone.

"I've packed. I'm leaving," she informed him when she saw him taking in their bedroom. "I've already made up my mind. I thought about leaving you a note, but I've decided that I need to be stronger than that."

"Clara," he began but was cut off when she stood.

"Who is she?" Clara asked. "I deserve to know that much at least."

Anger suddenly bubbled up into William's throat. He coughed to push it back down. "You don't deserve any explanations, Clare. You're the one who shut me out."

"I'm not entirely at fault here, Will. Georgie seems to think so, but I can't say that I agree with her. You shoulder a bit of the blame too. You could've talked to me, let me know that you were unhappy. That bit about sparing my feelings is just an excuse."

"Her name is Elizabeth."

"Do you love her?"

"I've never loved anybody else the way I love Lizzy."

Clara only nodded her head. "I want you to be happy, Will. That's all I've ever wanted for you. It's too bad that I couldn't make you happy."

"We were happy for a little bit," William said, not wanting to hurt her any further.

"I suppose." Clara picked up her handbag and tossed it onto her shoulder. She crossed and stood directly in front of him.

"Where are you going to go?" William asked. He wanted to help her still; he didn't want to let her go without making sure she was fine.

"I'm going home first. After that, I'm not sure," replied Clara. "But I don't want charity from you, Will. This was going to be a surprise but I have discovered that I'm a damn good storyteller. I've written three romance novels and my publisher has accepted them. I've gotten a decent advance."

In spite of himself, William chuckled. "Richard always said you'd be more interesting if you wrote scandalous novels."

Clara nodded. "Well, Richard never liked me anyway. I hope that Elizabeth makes you happy."

"She will."

She bit her lip because looking into his soft brown eyes weakened her resolve. She did still love him, despite what Georgiana thought. She wasn't just used to him, she wasn't too apathetic to find somebody else. She loved him and probably always would.

Clara put a hand on his cheek and pulled his mouth to hers. One soft, sorrowful kiss later, she dropped her hand and took a step back.

"I'll miss you, Will. I wish things could've been different."

"I'll miss you, Clare."

With that, Clara brushed past him and slipped out of his life.

Later, after speaking with Georgiana and learning what had transpired, William picked up the telephone and dialed Elizabeth's number.

"Bennet residence," an unfamiliar voice said into his ear.

"May I speak to Lizzy?"

"She's in the shower. May I take a message?" Lydia asked then added when she sensed hesitation, "She really hates it when people neglect to leave a message. When she finds out who it is, she usually refuses to speak to that person for months. It's a weird pet peeve of hers."

He laughed at the thought of Elizabeth trying not to talk to him for months. She could not sooner do it than make her heart stop beating.

"I'll leave my name. Please tell her Will Darcy called."

"Mr. Darcy! Lord!"

"Thank you, Miss Bennet. You'll tell her I called?"

"Does the Queen obsess about Corgis? Of course, I'll tell her!" Lydia exclaimed. She sounded very young.

William cradled the telephone and leaned back into the mound of fawn colored pillows on his bed. Absolutely nothing of Clara remained. Her bedside table was empty; the photographs of her brother, John, were gone and the sentimental portraits of him and Clara had been removed as well. Wistfully, William wondered if she kept them or tossed them in the garbage.

Either way, Clara was out of his life.

He found himself holding her pillow that still held her scent, a faint trace of jasmine and clean laundry. He inhaled once slowly.

"Goodbye, Clara. Thank you."

Clara Ludlow stood in the library at Roddglenn, the manor house in Kent where her father and brother lived. This room and her bedroom, which was still decorated as it had been when she was a child, were the only places in the house where she didn't feel like an intruder. She had always been more comfortable when she was away at school.

Her father hadn't known what to do with her after her mother, Maureen, had run off with another man. Maureen had never bothered to look back and Clara, still desperate for a mother even now, felt despair rather than anger.

John Ludlow, Clara's older brother, stood in the doorway, watching her as she curled up helplessly in a leather armchair. He'd always been her champion since their father never seemed to regard her in any special way.

"Clare, what's the matter? You and Darcy have a fight?"

Clara sniffed and brushed a hand under her nose. "No. Worse. We're through."

John entered the library and took the seat across from her. He pulled her hand into his.

"What happened?" He demanded, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Lots of things that I really don't want to talk about. It's for the best."

"Did he hurt you? Physically?"

Clara looked horrified. "God, John. He'd never do anything so beastly!"

"He was never good enough for you."

She huffed out a tiny giggle. "As my elder brother you're biased. You cannot make an objective observation regarding my love life."

"I suppose you're right," he chuckled. "So, you'll be staying with us then. Just like old times."

"No, I won't." Clara took a deep breath, bracing herself for John's argument. "I'm going to go to Paris for awhile."

"Clare!" John began.

She shook her head to cut him off. "It's time for me to be on my own, John. I need to grow up and find out who Lady Clara Ludlow really is. Don't you think?"

"What about money?"

"I have money."

"A place to live?"

"I'll find one."

"You're sure about this?"

She nodded and squeezed John's hand. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

"What of Will? If he calls?"

"I doubt he will. Just tell him I'm fine. Don't tell him, don't tell anybody, where I've gone. Not even Papa. He wouldn't care anyway."

Clara's hand flew to her mouth in shock. She'd never before spoken angry words against her father for the way he treated her. For so many years she'd just accepted it as her lot in life. It never occurred to her to be angry about it.

"I understand," John said, comprehending the magnitude of the statement just made. "I'll take over your allowance."

"No allowance. On my own, John. Completely."

Reluctantly, John agreed to withhold the allowance that she'd always received. He wanted to understand and be supportive. After so many years in the shadows, Clara deserved a moment in the light and if this made her happy, he would oblige her.

"When do you plan on leaving?"

A wistful smile softened Clara's china doll face. "There isn't any time like the present. Or, at least, the almost present. I plan on taking the chunnel in the morning."

John swallowed the lump in his throat. He was losing his baby sister, but he plastered the most unrealistic smile of his life on his face for her.

She appreciated his show. With another smile, Clara stood, left the library, and went to her room to pack.

Chapter 19

Posted on Wednesday, 17 October 2001

Tentatively, Elizabeth knocked on the heavy oak door of the Darcy townhouse just past midnight. She was nearly certain that the tiny tapping her knuckles made against the wood could not be heard, but William had instructed her not to ring the doorbell. When she'd returned his telephone call he had only bade her cryptically to come over. Against her better judgment, Elizabeth did as she was asked.

And felt every bit the fool for asking how high when William Darcy said jump. She rationalized that William wouldn't have called her over to his house in the middle of the night if it weren't important. It didn't, however, make her feel any better. She loved him and she would do anything for him and that very idea scared the hell out of her. That she could have lost her will to him so easily, so completely that quickly.

When William opened the door, though, all doubts disappeared. He wore only flannel pajama bottoms. His bare chest looked golden in the pale yellow light from the dim lamp nearby. She felt her breath catch and nearly attacked him where he stood. Then she remembered that Clara would be tapping away upstairs. It would be bad form to make love to her boyfriend on the foyer floor while she was upstairs.

She caught the look of adoration in his eyes and fought a battle with herself to not ravage him. She gave him a weak smile, hoping that it gave him even half the pleasure that his gave her.

"Come in, darling," he whispered, taking her hand. He loved watching her will herself not to kiss him. He felt the same way. It was incredibly difficult to have her lips so completely ready to kiss and not take advantage of it. Instead, he brushed his lips over the back of her hand and saw the shiver rumble through her body.

"William!" Elizabeth hissed, struggling for some composure. "Try to be a bit more flagrant. I don't think the neighbors saw."

"Don't fret," he commanded. He pulled her into the house, sliding the door closed behind her. In a flash she was caught in a strong embrace. He planted a firm, hot kiss on her plump mouth.

When she sighed away from the kiss, nearly forgetting discretion, he laughed. She scowled at him and shrugged out of his grasp.

"Not funny, Will. Clara's just upstairs." Her mouth puckered on the last and William couldn't help but notice the bitterness of her tone.

"She isn't."

Elizabeth's eyes narrowed. "She isn't what?"

"Clara isn't upstairs. She left. She and Georgie had a row this morning. Apparently, it was all very brutal. At least, Georgie's part of it anyway. Are you sure you want to take me on? You get my sister in the bargain too, you know." He stroked the side of her face gently. "Anyway, Clare had a few sudden but meaningful realizations and she was waiting for me when I got home tonight. We talked a bit, but she knew that it was over. She left, Lizzy. She's gone."

Elizabeth couldn't help but feel utter relief at the thought of Clara being gone. Unconsciously, her breath escaped in a sigh and her shoulders visibly relaxed. She stared at William, this beautiful, caring man standing before her with unfathomable love shining in his eyes, she concluded that she had absolutely no regrets. No regrets for the months she'd spent separated from him because now she truly understood what he meant to her. No regrets for the rendezvous at Pemberley because she realized there what he had been feeling for her for all those months. No regrets for being happy that she had won his heart and Clara had lost it.

"What are you thinking? You look so bloody serious," he asked. He took a step back from as if bracing himself for bad news.

"That you're mine now. It's no longer an idea or dream. They aren't just words. You really are mine."

She threw her arms around him then and held on.

"I love you, William," she cried into his shoulder. Hot, stinging tears flooded her eyes and leaked out onto her cheeks. Everything that she'd wanted to cry about for years seemed to be welling up and flowing out of her at that moment. They weren't happy tears nor were they sad tears. They were simply the kind of tears that spilled whenever a person has reached point that nothing else can be done, tears of being completely overwhelmed by emotion. "Until this very moment, I never knew how much, but now I do. It's scary as hell to think how deep it goes or what I would do for it. It's there, though, and damned if I can resist it."

He cupped her red, puffy face in his hands and put kisses to her wet cheeks. Even in the midst of her panic, Elizabeth was beautiful and sweet but strong. Although he'd loved Clara, it was nothing compared to what he felt for Elizabeth.

Somehow fate had seen fit to put her into his arms. There had been something divine in the air the day that he walked into his office late and beheld her. He hadn't noticed it then, but he recalled it now. William would spend the rest of his life finding ways to thank it; to give a nod to destiny in return for loving Elizabeth.

"Don't fight it, Lizzy. I'm not. Just love me," he replied as he pressed his lips to her forehead. He inhaled her scent, a vague impression of pears, and committed it to memory. "And I'll love you. We have no choice, or so it seems."

"So it seems," she agreed. She lifted her face to gaze up at him. "What next?"

"Indeed." William considered their next move. "Right now, how about some wine? Then we'll go from there."

She nodded, allowing him to take her hand. He led her to the study where he left her to get a bottle of chardonnay and glasses. When he returned, she was examining a framed collection of beaded antique purses.

"Those are Georgie's," he informed her after he poured the wine. He handed her a glass then wrapped his free arm around her waist. Gently he ran his slightly stubbled chin over her neck. "Some of them actually belonged to Mum, but George sort of took over the collection when I gave her first credit card to her."

Elizabeth giggled softly but as she turned in his arm and examined his face she grew serious. "You're going to miss her terribly when she goes, aren't you?"

He smiled wistfully and shrugged. "She has to grow up sometime. I can't stop her when it's so apparent that she's blissful. If I didn't like Jeremy, I'd lock her in her room as a matter of course, but he adores her and she adores him and it is perfectly fine with me."

Jeremy had been dragged to Pemberley on more than one occasion during Georgiana's tenure as liaison. He had always been friendly and full of questions. He'd told Elizabeth that if he had not been accepted into medical school then he would have studied architecture. The two were never at a loss for conversation when they were in each other's company.

"He sort of looks like you," Elizabeth teased. "Perhaps not as devastatingly handsome but very, very close. It's the eyes. His eyes are the loveliest shade of green."

"Apparently women in my family have always gone for the dark, brooding types."

"You're hardly broody!"

"Ah, ye of little faith," was his cheeky reply.

Elizabeth merely rolled her eyes.

"Anyway," William continued, "I hope she takes them with her. They tend to put off the birds I bring home."

She knew he was chiding her, but she could help herself. "Well, I'll see that there's a stop to that."

"The birds?"

"No," Elizabeth said sternly, "The threat of Georgiana taking her purses."

Chapter 20

"Tell me again what this party is for," William demanded. His eyes narrowed as he examined his cousin's face suspiciously.

Richard shifted under the scrutiny. It wasn't discomfort at being examined; it was impatience at having to explain things to him again.

"It isn't a party exactly," Richard said. It would have been a party, but the idea had fallen through when not one of the cabal could think of a plausible reason to have one. "It's more of a familial last hurrah for Georgie."

"Right," said a doubtful William. For weeks his cousin had been acting utterly bizarre and William was very close to questioning whether Richard was still sane or not. Of late, there had been something very different about his manner. He had grown more serious and focussed. He was less sardonic. Also, he was very nearly glowing. Suddenly, it occurred to him.

"Good God, man!" William exclaimed, perhaps a bit too loudly as he startled Richard, who nearly spilled his hot coffee in his lap. "You're in love!"

"I am not!" Richard protested. He tried to seem as offended as possible. If he blew it now, all hope for William and Elizabeth would be lost. "Must have been something I ate."

"Like the cat that ate the canary. Come on, Richard. You have to tell me. I'm your favorite cousin."

"I beg to differ. Georgiana has always been my favorite and you mustn't forget Miss Anne DeBourgh. I think that puts you third on the list and therefore not entitled to any privileged information, real or imagined."

William rolled his eyes. If Richard wanted to keep his lover a secret, he certainly understood. He and Elizabeth had agreed to keep things quiet until Georgiana's wedding so that she could be the focus of attention. Of course, they realized that they would have a lot to explain at the wedding when she showed up on William's arm, but they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

"Speaking of my sister, what are you getting her for a wedding present?" William asked, segueing smoothly from the previous uncomfortable subject.

"A toaster," Richard replied snidely. "And you?"

"Actually, I didn't have to go to far. I'm giving her the diamond necklace that Mum wore on her and Dad's wedding day."

"No wonder you're her favorite brother."

William rolled his eyes, clearly indicating that he would not dignify his absurd cousin with a response. He came from behind the desk and went to the wetbar where he poured himself a gin and tonic. At which point Richard pointed out that it was barely noon.

"Like you've never started drinking before noon a day in your life."

A hurt and offended glare was directed at William. "That doesn't count. We were on a cruise in international waters. It had to be happy hour somewhere."

"If you're dragging me off for one last hurrah with the psychotic members of our family then I'd better be boiled before we get there. It's always better when one can blame discourse on lack of sobriety."

Richard laughed. If William thought more family members, namely their oppressive and nosy aunt, Catherine, would be attending the dinner it was fine by him. Of course, he would get a lecture from Jane about William's presentability, but he could take it.

"Well, then, cousin, I'll take a double Scotch. On the rocks, if you don't mind."

A last hurrah for Georgiana indeed.

"Jane, I really don't want to go." Elizabeth folded her favorite blue sweatshirt and tucked it away into a bureau drawer. She sneaked a suspicious glance at her sister as she continued to put the laundry away.

"Would it help if I told you the real reason I want you to go?"

"The truth? Oh, heck, Jane, I don't know. You know how I feel about the truth," she added as she hung a plaid skirt in the armoire.

"Don't be flippant, Lizzy," Jane muttered. She had been arguing with Elizabeth about dinner for nearly an hour. She'd floundered with her story at first as lying did not come easily to her. "Blind date."

Elizabeth's groan relayed the dread and resignation she felt at those words. Her duty as a sister meant having a closet full of clothes available for borrow, always having time for emergency summits over chocolate and sad movies, and accompanying a sister on a blind date when an ugly friend is unavailable. She had played the role of the protectorate in the past only because the other Bennet girls had been too young. Too bad Mary was so far away and so bloody unlikable.

"Charlotte Lucas set us up. Please, Lizzy," Jane pleaded although she knew she'd already won. It wasn't gracious to gloat.

"Remind me to have Charlotte lose our numbers. She is the last person who should force men on single women. She has awful taste in men! Remember Creepy Collins?"

Jane giggled. "Can you believe she kissed him?"

The sisters simultaneously expressed their disgust with sour faces and retching noises then burst into a helpless fit of giggles at the thought of Creepy Collins' mouth touching anything even remotely human.

"For your sake, Janey, I'll go," promised Elizabeth after the laughter had finally subsided. "But don't expect me to help you crawl out of the bathroom window like last time."

Jane raised her hand and looked solemn. "I promise."

There would be absolutely no need to find a bathroom window and make a quick escape. After all, Richard Fitzwilliam would be there.

Richard had arranged for dinner at the Hanging Hedgehog, knowing that William would grumble but make due and Richard and Georgiana really would have one last hurrah. Georgiana Darcy had spent many an evening at the Hedgehog with Richard, learning how to throw back pints of Guinness like an Irish babe drinking it from the bottle.

They were sitting at a table in the far corner of the pub; William positioned strategically with his back to the door. From Richard's vantage point across the table, he would be able to see when Jane entered with Elizabeth.

"I can't believe that you dragged my young, innocent sister to this vile place," William muttered into his Scotch neat. He had been absolutely astounded when Georgiana ordered a pint of the sludge that Richard chugged with delight.

"I'm hardly innocent," Georgiana pointed out.

William only glowered.

"Lighten up, Will. Your sister is getting married in two days. How can you be such a sourpuss?" Richard asked, knowing full well why William's mood was so brooding.

Georgiana, also picking up on William's dark temper, took her brother's hand. She gave it a quick brush with her lips then squeezed. William had been there for her every step of the way her whole life. She had no doubt in her mind that marrying Jeremy was the right thing for her to do, but it meant that William would be left alone. She knew his heart was breaking and that was why it was so important for her to bring Elizabeth into his life.

"I love you. I hope you know that. Both of you," she added, glancing at Richard, who, like William, had been a constant source of support to her.

"I love you, George," Richard said.

William nodded, but remained silent. He took his hand from hers and reached into the breast pocket of jacket. He pulled out a small package, neatly wrapped in paper the color of a robin's egg and tied with a silver bow. Georgiana's wedding colors.

"Will, you're having my wedding at Pemberley. You don't need to give me anything else."

"First of all, Pemberley is your house too. Secondly, shut up and take the box, George." He pushed the box lightly across the table, trying to be careful of the delicate paper.

She picked up the small package. Carefully, she opened it. In the dim light, the metal object inside glinted. Gingerly, she removed a set of small brass keys. With a puzzled countenance, she looked at her brother.

"You are the proud owner of the newest photo studio in London."

The keys clattered loudly as they fell into Georgiana's empty pint. Her mouth had gone slack and there seemed to be no comprehension in the girl's face whatsoever.

"Oh my God, Will."

"It's just a thank you for putting up with me all these years. I know that you've been wanting to open up your own studio, but you haven't been able to while working for Lorne."

Georgiana couldn't seem to find any words. She merely stood then pulled her brother up from his seat. She threw her arms around his neck and giggled when he returned her fierce hug.

"I love you too, Georgie."

Richard smiled as he watched the tender family moment play out before him. He wished that he were that close with his older brother, Evan, or his younger sister, Meg. It wasn't that he didn't get along with his siblings; he just got along better with his cousins. Suddenly, Richard noticed a beautiful blonde with the face of an angel walk into the Hedgehog.

Jane seemed to carry her own light with her as she made her way through the dimly lit pub. She saw Richard and flashed him a quick smile as his eyes finally took in the object of his cousin's desire. For a moment, he could hardly believe that the other woman was his lover's sister. For feature that Jane had that was fair Elizabeth was blessed with a dark, elegant beauty. He could see why she attracted William like a moth to a flame.

Richard watched as they sat down at a table just a few feet away. Just as they picked up menus, William broke his hold on Georgiana and turned back for his seat. He didn't notice them at all. Richard sighed loudly in relief. Beneath the table, Richard kicked Georgiana's shin harder than he meant to. She yelped.

When William gave her a curious glance, Georgiana supplied that she got her toe caught on the table leg. Richard laughed just a bit too loudly at her expense.

"What's going on?" William demanded.

"Nothing," they both supplied quickly.

"Right," he muttered, then began to look around the pub. Perhaps they saw Clara and wanted to keep him from seeing her.

"Will!" Richard said.

It was definite, William thought. Something was going on. Richard's voice always went double its regular volume when he was trying to conceal something like that time in college when he was hiding one date in the bathroom and trying to push the other off on William.

"Okay, what's going on?" He repeated. "You two have gone wonky."

"I think I've had too much to drink," Georgiana said. "Why don't we go?"

Richard bit the inside of his cheek. How was it that he could be entirely smooth with women, but be a complete moron when he needed to pull off a plot as simple as this? He would never be James Bond.

The party stood, William helping a suddenly lucid Georgiana by holding her elbow. Richard began to guide them out of the pub when she screeched.

"Oh, goodness! Lizzy Bennet! I haven't seen you in a couple of weeks. Where have you been?" Georgiana exclaimed, suddenly stopping and pulling her brother into a stuttering stop.

"The vast majority of the job is done, Miss Darcy. I wanted to get my people out of the way to let your people in to prepare for the wedding." Elizabeth gave her a smile. "I hope things are going well with you."

"Wonderful!" She exclaimed.

William shook his head, suddenly realizing that he'd been set up. Somehow, Georgiana had found out about Elizabeth. He looked over at Richard and understood whom her source was.

"Richard, George, you two have some explaining to do," he said.

Georgiana looked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. "What do you mean?"

"You, dear sister, aren't drunk. And you, cousin, are a terrible actor."

Richard sheepishly looked at the ground. Georgiana tried to look indignant, but gave up the ruse when she realized that the game was over.

"Miss Bennet," William began, "I'm afraid that we've been set up."

Elizabeth took a moment then realized that Jane had to be in on the ploy as well. She chuckled as she looked warmly at William. "So it would seem, sir."

Richard watched their exchange carefully.

"How can I make it up to you, Miss Bennet?"

"I'm not sure that you can."

"Lizzy, who are these people?" Jane asked, trying to salvage the operation.

"Oh, Jane, I think you know at least one of them, right, Miss Darcy?"

Georgiana looked down.

"What are you talking about?" Jane asked.

"You two are completely transparent," William said to his sister and cousin.

"And so are you," Elizabeth said to Jane.

"You two are already together!" Richard exclaimed. He pointed an accusatory finger at William. "You've been entirely too happy these last few weeks for somebody who's supposed to be utterly miserable!"

"Would you have me feeling rotten for your amusement, Richard?" William asked, amused. There was a light in his eyes as his glanced over at Elizabeth. "Would you have me pine away for this beautiful woman indefinitely? You can't fight fate forever."

"I suppose not," Richard muttered, disappointed that the Conspirators' plan had fallen through.

Elizabeth stood up and suggested that the now larger group of them go outside the pub. When they were standing outside, Elizabeth properly introduced herself to Richard. Then she introduced Jane to him and Georgiana.

"Now that we have figured out what has occurred here, may I point out that as perceptive as we have turned out to be, we are actually a large bunch of boneheads." Elizabeth laughed.

William put his arm around Elizabeth's waist and looked at Georgiana. "We didn't say anything because we didn't want to divert attention away from your wedding. We planned on surprising you, but looks like we don't get to do that."

"I don't care about that, Will. Just as long as you're happy," his sister replied.

With a loving look at Elizabeth, William nodded.

"Well, now that our mission is accomplished, I think we should go home!" Richard said jubilantly.

Georgiana glared at him sternly and cleared her throat. "Since we're all coming clean here, don't you think you should share your happy news?"

Jane arched an eyebrow when he hesitated and Richard's shoulders sagged. If he didn't admit everything now, he would be sleeping in his own bed for the next six months.

"Well, Will, remember this morning when you accused me of being in love?"

"Yes."

"Well, I am. Terribly, desperately in love with an incredible woman."

"Richard that's wonderful. Who is she?"

He grinned sheepishly as he looked helplessly at Jane. "You have your arm around her sister's waist."

Elizabeth's jaw fell open. She stared at her with wide eyes. "Janey! Why didn't you tell me?"

"And ruin our foolproof, but apparently not Richard proof, plan?"

"We're a bunch of bloody dolts!" Elizabeth laughed.

"Good thing there's such a thing as fate or we'd all still be single and unhappy," William said.

"I was perfectly happy when I was single," Richard protested before he could help himself. He studied his shoes as Jane glared at him.

"Let me save my cousin from your wrath, Miss Bennet," William began. "I say we go back into the Hedgehog and celebrate being bloody dolts."

In raucous agreement, the party returned to the barroom where Elizabeth and Jane delighted Richard and Georgiana by throwing back as many pints of Guinness as they could.

Chapter 21

Posted on Thursday, 25 October 2001

Elizabeth cupped William's face softly and let her thumbs push away the tears that had wet his cheeks. He had watched the Bentley carry Georgiana Blake and her husband, Jeremy, away toward their new life together. He was still standing there forty-five minutes later, his shoulders heaving occasionally with a suppressed sob. It had been the hardest moment of his life when the minister asked who was giving Georgiana into marriage. He had almost turned and dragged her back down the aisle.

Now the guests were gone, except for Jane and Richard, who had gone to bed right after the car had disappeared from sight. There were mementos of the nuptials everywhere though; champagne glasses with champagne still bubbling, crushed flower petals lying about, ribbons of robin's egg blue and silver silk strung strategically. Pemberley had been the sight of a grand celebration for the first time in years.

William couldn't wait for everything to be gone. There would be cleaning crews to dispose of the mess in the morning and he was ecstatic about it.

"She yelled at me when I gave her Mum's necklace," he stuttered. "She said I was going to make her cry and ruin her make-up. She was the most beautiful bride I've ever seen."

"She was stunning," Elizabeth agreed. "And you never looked more proud to be her brother."

William wrapped his arms around her, breathing her scent in deep. "I'm so glad you're here, Liz."

"Come on. You're exhausted. Let's go to bed." She pried herself out of his arms to grab his hand and tug him inside.

Grudgingly, William allowed himself to pulled up the stairs. Indeed, he was happy that Elizabeth was there.

She had held up spectacularly when people suddenly realized that she was his date. Even when they'd overheard Charles Bingley's sister, Caroline, make a snide remark about Elizabeth's hat, she didn't even break stride. It was only a hat and she knew that Caroline's comment only lowered William's sour opinion of her.

In fact, when Caroline begged a dance, Elizabeth had only smiled and left him to the unpleasant task. When he'd looked at her in horror, she promised him a very dear reward if he sat Caroline straight after the wedding.

Even through all that, though, Elizabeth never lost sight of who the day really belonged to and did her best to avoid questions about her relationship with "the second most eligible bachelor in England," as Caroline had called him. (She had also pointed out that if William had been titled like the Prince of Wales, he'd be number one.) She also didn't forget that, while Georgiana was utterly blissful, her brother was the polar opposite.

They reached their bedroom, a room that was, thankfully, devoid of any evidence of Georgiana's happiness. Once inside, Elizabeth helped William undress and, with a kiss to the forehead, tucked him into bed. She picked up a book from the desk near the door and started for the sitting room.

"Lizzy?"

"Yes?"

"Are you not coming to bed?"

"I need to unwind. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Disturb me."

Understanding that, even this early in their relationship, he couldn't sleep without her beside him, Elizabeth smiled softly then closed the bedroom door. She padded across the room and turned on her bedside lamp to change into her pajamas. A few minutes later she was settled beneath the thick comforter with a new murder mystery in hand.

"I love you, Lizzy," William murmured. Beneath the blanket, he shifted and rested his hand on her belly.

"I love you, Will," she replied, knowing that he was already asleep.

Richard swallowed his tea and choked. He was the only member of the household that was awake and he was alone in the kitchen. He was thankful for the privacy as he coughed and sputtered his way to a pathetic recovery. He hadn't managed to fall asleep at all the night before and he was paying dearly for it. Whenever Richard was sleep deprived he seemed to turn into a huge putz.

He tried to focus on his newspaper, but his mind kept wandering. His thoughts drifted from Georgiana actually going through with the wedding (Richard could finally admit that it bothered him too) to the look on William's face when the Blakes left for their wedding trip to Vienna to the sleeping woman upstairs who could make his day with a mere smile.

It was when his mind settled on Jane that he did stupid things like butter his newspaper or pour milk into his eggs. Jane turned his brain to goo.

"Morning, Richard," Elizabeth sang as she entered the kitchen.

He started and knocked his spoon to the ground.

"A bit jumpy this morning?" She asked, pouring herself a cup of coffee. She sat down across from him and reached for the newspaper.

"A bit," he chuckled.

Her eyebrows screwed up in confusion as she opened the section. "Why's there butter on this?"

Richard shrugged like he didn't know anything about it. Instead, he glanced at the clock. It was barely after nine.

"A little early for you, isn't it? You must have gone to bed very late."

Elizabeth nodded and peeled the greasy pages apart in a vain attempt to read them. "I didn't sleep so well last night. Too worried about Will, I suppose. I figured there was no point in staying in bed."

"Must have been contagious. I didn't sleep either. You seem more well-adjusted than I though."

"Practice," Elizabeth replied simply. When she caught Richard's confused look, she explained that she hadn't slept well for several years after her parents died.

Richard chewed on his lip for a moment as he regarded Elizabeth. She didn't seem to notice, as she was intent on an article about new office space being added in a posh section of downtown London. She was nearly salivating.

"I'm going to ask Jane to marry me."

Elizabeth only nodded. Disappointed by her reaction, Richard repeated his statement. She gazed up at him, closed her eyes, and began to laugh.

"What? Do you think she'll say no?"

Elizabeth's only laughed harder.

Angry, Richard shoved back from the table and whirled around toward the door. And came face to face with Jane.

"How could I say no to something that romantic?" Jane asked.

Richard groaned and Elizabeth fell to floor, gasping for air amidst the giggles.

That afternoon, William convinced Elizabeth that they needed to have a picnic. He had already packed his car with the necessities, knowing that she would say yes because she was worried about him.

They got into the roadster to drive to a far corner of the vast estate where a tiny gazebo was located. It looked new. He carried the basket and set the blanket out onto the floor. He was pouring wine when she finally entered.

"I didn't know this was here," she said.

"Of course you didn't. I just put it here. It's your wedding present."

"My what?"

William chuckled at her shocked expression. "Oh, Lizzy. We're going to get married eventually, I suppose, but this is your present from Georgiana. She wanted to do something special for you."

She huffed and shook her head. "That was mean, William."

He only smiled.

"There is something very serious that I need to talk to you about," he started. He handed her up a glass of wine.

She slipped down onto the blanket beside him and leaned into the conversation.

"What is it?"

"Well, we have some unfinished business," he began. He took her mouth with his and let the kiss build between them. When he felt the absence of air, he pulled away. "You spilled your wine."

"Hmm? Oh." Elizabeth looked at the puddle of red liquid seeping into the cloth of the blanket. "Oh!"

"Don't worry, Lizzy. It isn't a big deal."

"It was your fault," she muttered. She couldn't even blot it with napkins because they were linen.

"Indeed."

"What is it that you needed to talk about?" She grumbled. "The unfinished business."

He leaned close again. She put her finger to his lips.

"No. Talk."

"I'd much rather..."

"Talk," she commanded.

"My car," he said, resigned.

"Your car? What about your car?"

"You still haven't helped me name it." He let a pout play over his lips, which made him irresistible.

"What? Oh my God." She could only laugh.

"It's very serious, Elizabeth."

She shook her head then became thoughtful. After a moment, her face brightened. "I've got it! Archibald!"

"Archibald?"

"It's perfect! Who was more suave than Archibald Leach?" She asked. He only seemed puzzled. "Cary Grant. That was his really name. And Cary is a silly name for a car."

"And Archibald isn't?"

"Not if you call him Archie."

"So my car's a boy?"

"Addie's a girl."

"Point taken." William considered it for a moment. He liked it and told her so.

"So, Archie it is," she said, satisfied.

"Archie it is."

Epilogue

Archie it was. And Addie had never been happier. She finally had somebody worthy enough to race her, which it happened quite a lot on the weekends when William and Elizabeth escaped to Pemberley.

William adjusted nicely to Georgiana's being gone, especially once Elizabeth and Lydia moved into the Darcy townhouse. He found Lydia to be pleasant and she reminded him just a little of his own sister.

Not that Georgiana fell off the face of the planet. She and Jeremy dined at the townhouse at least twice a week and spent one weekend a month at Pemberley with their family. And it was a happy event indeed when she gave birth to a daughter, Georgia Jane, a year later.

Richard and Jane married that winter in a quiet ceremony at the chapel near Longbourn. It was a beautiful ceremony and even Mary had no disparaging words for the bride and groom.

The group only became closer and happily welcomed William's best friend (and the inadvertent engineer of the whole story), Charles, in when he finally returned from an extended business trip to the United States.

But that is a whole other story.

Finis.

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