Only for the Deepest Love

Chapter One

March, 1812
London

Fitzwilliam Darcy had an eye for beauty, of all kinds. At eight and twenty, he was a veteran of the season and had sampled the best the ton had to offer. None of the ladies he met held his interest longer than the obligatory and solitary dance. Women who contained an original thought in their heads were uniformly unfashionable, and those whose form was light and pleasing had a little too much air between their ears. Being a man of means, he found ways for his needs to be met outside the dictates of society. His carnal desires were formidable and rigorous and he enjoyed them immensely. His choice was always of the finest available. He was kind to his women, but none felt that the heart of this handsome man was in reach, for it was not.

Fitzwilliam Darcy was not a wastrel, but a man with ideals, with which he was unwilling to compromise. Until he found a woman who could ignite his heart, mind and passion he would not chase empty promises. Time was still on his side, although in the dark hours of the night, as dawn approached and he made his way home from his assignations, he felt empty, dissipated. Perhaps it is time to let Antoinette go. Withers looks interested, he will take care of her, he thought. He was at a singular crossroads in his life. He was dissatisfied, yet remained unwilling to settle for less than his ideal of a mate for both himself and as Master of Pemberley. Till then, he would remain as he was. He knew what was being said about him, but he did not care.

Recent events had only reinforced his opinion of society and their brand of morality. Two years ago, his childhood friend nearly seduced his then 15 year old sister. Choosing not to cower in silence or fear, he allowed the incident to become public knowledge. It was Wickham's offense yet the Darcy's paid the price. Society turned its collective back on them, members of an old, respected, and very wealthy family. For over a year Darcy endured whispers behind his back, and being snubbing at public events. None would, or could totally ignore him, but they made their displeasure known. Difficult at first, their humiliation had unintentionally relieved Darcy from the relentless fortune hunting so fashionable in London at any season.

Marital hunting was not restricted to the female sex alone. Talk about White'sfocused on the new blood in town -- a refreshing face and lively wit holding court at many of society's grand salons. The woman in question was a country miss, visiting her uncle a successful merchant, one Mr. James Gardiner. Gardiner & Whitecastle had, over the years, proved quite beneficial to the East Indies Trading Company and had made a sizeable fortune through wise investments and precise business acumen. Now and then there was talk about Whitecastle's character, but on the whole, the establishment was without blemish.

Details, such as were known, were bandied about the gentlemen's clubs about the illusive Miss Bennet. Darcy was more than aware of her, having sought her out at first from curiosity, and then desire. He had first observed her at the opera. She was breathtaking in a ruby gown hugging her figure in such a way as to make him jealous of the fabric. Her figure was more than light and pleasing, it begged to be touched, held, pinched and bit. Her neck -- an ivory column behind ringlets of curls -- looked so soft, Darcy felt himself salivate when he looked upon her. Her Uncle spoke to her and she laughed, her entire body responding. She relaxed and her lovely shoulders begged for his caress, her lips parted revealing white teeth Darcy could imagine nipping at his skin, but it was her eyes that Darcy could not turn away from. Even across the hall, they sparkled. Darcy was lost, his body responding to her immediately. He was grateful the lights had dimmed for the performance. He could not help himself, he looked upon her the entire evening as she sat in Lord Blainard's box with her aunt and uncle. He chuckled when she rolled her eyes at the young suitor whispering in her ear. Blainard was a nice enough fellow, but this was a woman, not a girl. And Darcy, if nothing else, was a man.

Something about this brown haired beauty held his attention. She was beautiful, but many women were beautiful. Antoinette is beautiful, he thought and yet, there he was, captured by this wisp of a woman. The ensuing weeks had brought them into proximity frequently, yet Darcy found this was not enough. He had attempted an introduction, but could not orchestrate it. She always seemed surrounded by more than enough men, which Darcy found distasteful to the extreme. Yet it was the time away from her intoxicating presence that Darcy found intolerable. She would not leave his mind. He saw her, thought of her, heard her laugh, or one of her passing comments revealing more understanding than he had heard in a social setting in years. He burned with desire to meet and if honest with himself, to mate with her. His passion flowed in a new direction, towards meeting this Miss Benent, a woman of “quality” of the ilk he had foresworn years ago. He had tried love, before his father died, only to find it was his position in society and more importantly his wealth that attracted Penelope Walters. With his father's body barely cold and in the grave he was hounded, mercilessly by females searching for fortune. It was at this time, recalling his father's words to “not trifle with a woman's heart, Fitzwilliam. It will only lead to sorrow,” that he began seeking his comfort in the arms of courtesans. Women who expected nothing more than he was willing to give him. It had been an arrangement that satisfied his needs, until now.

*--* *--*

Titledom House
London

The approach of Charles Bingley and his sister, Caroline, jarred Fitzwilliam Darcy out of his silent musings. The sight of his friend brought a smile to his lips, but his sister, in her tangerine gown, shrewd eyes locking in on him, deflated whatever affect thoughts about almost encountering Miss Bennet in his favorite bookstore earlier that afternoon may have inflicted upon him. He would prefer to be home, or at Antoinette's, but he had heard Miss Bennet would attend the ball at the Oversbys. And so, he stood as Bingley and his party approached.

“Mr. Darcy, what a surprise to find you here,” Caroline Bingley began. Mortimer Upschtart trailed behind her. The forty-year-old second son of the Earl of Cackle, had recently engaged himself to Miss Bingley. After years of pursuing Darcy, Caroline felt the scandal and shunning of the Darcy's by polite society tainted him too grievously for her purposes. She had sorely miscalculated the suitability of Mr. Upschtart, but could not end her engagement to the dullard. Still, now, a little more than a year later, society was thawing to the Darcy's leading her to contemplate risking the censure and scandal of breaking her entanglement with Upschtart. He would be worth it, she thought as she closed in on his person.

“Charles, Miss Bingley, Mr. Upschtart, how good to see you.” Darcy said, genuinely glad to greet his friend. Bingley was younger and more lively than Darcy, an innocent in men's clothing. He, like most of Darcy's true friends, had stood by him. It was after an initial ten minutes of conversation that Darcy felt her eyes upon him. He looked up. There she was, in a golden dress, looking at him with a longing he understood. And then, in a heartbeat she was gone. The thrill of her focus on him vanished, and Darcy felt as if even the light had left the room. For an instant his universe had opened and he felt alive. Then, just as suddenly it was gone and he was once more, plunged into darkness. He sighed and asked Miss Bingley to dance.

*--* *--*

“Emma, who is that man? Over there?” the young woman asked her friend of many years.

“Who? There?” Emma nodded in the direction of a blond gentleman, with curls cascading along his collar.

“No, the man standing next to him, the tall one.” The young woman, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, was adorned in an ivory dress that shimmered gold in the candlelight. Moonstones clustered about her neck and throughout the dark curls piled on top of her head, creating a luminescence about her. The light of humor animated the dark pools of her eyes as she spoke. “There, that very tall handsome man.”

“Oh,” her friend responded, deflated. “That gentleman is Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy. He is handsome alright, but Lizzy, he's not for you.”

Elizabeth Bennet was shocked. “I didn't think you were such a … a snob, Emmy!” Emma Woodhouse's words stung as Elizabeth was not sure who was unsuitable for whom. Her face reflected the twinge of hurt.

“It is not that, Lizzy. He is notorious really, a bit of a rake, I am told. Does not deign to speak to any decent woman, has yet to form a serious alliance with a woman of good standing. And …” and here Miss Woodhouse whispered into the ear of her friend, whose eyes widened with each additional word. Elizabeth gave Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy one last look full of longing, then turned as Lord Darrell Blainard came to ask her to dance.

*--* *--*

March, 1812

Sackville East
London

Darcy found himself anticipating the dinner at Lord and Lady Grace's home. He had heard Miss Bennet was to attend. Darcy was impressed how this country lass had so quickly established herself, not only in the most fashionable circles, but the ones where more than fashion was required. She was seen at the philosophical societies he frequented, even at the Chess Clubs he enjoyed. She piqued his interest in every way he valued: beauty, intelligence, wit, and he could not forget her eyes as she looked upon his person. There is passion there, perhaps buried deep within, but it burns none the less.

As he gave his topcoat to the footman, Darcy overheard Robert Dunlevy speaking with Alexander Grant on the latest gossip making the rounds. “Rumor has it,” began Dunlevy, “that Lord Blainard will offer for the bewitching Miss Bennet.” This news startled Darcy out of his complacency.

I must find a way to meet her, he thought as he entered the drawing room of the Earl of Sackville, Lord Albert and Lady Amelia Grace. He went to greet his hosts when he saw her, halting his progress. Miss Bennet sat along the wall with Meredith Greenway and Lady Sarah Blakney. She wore a sage green gown, with delicate beadwork on the silk bodice. Jade pieces encircled her neck, with a triangular pendant directing one's attention to the ample cleavage below. Their eyes met as she looked up and she smiled at him. He nodded in return, standing stock still in the middle of the room, until Lady Sarah claimed her attention. He proceeded toward his hosts.

They were seated at opposite ends of the table, but he could not keep his eyes from her. She held her head high, but without pretense, as she participated in conversation that sparkled with her wit and spontaneity. It was torture for him, enduring the superficial drivel the women surrounding him passed off as wit. Later, when the men rejoined the ladies, he made a point of staying close to her. He was about to approach her, trying disperse his surprising timidity. Damn a proper introduction, I believe she can handle it. Louisa Helmsey stopped him as he overheard her repeat the tale of Georgiana's fall from grace. He stood almost three feet behind Miss Helmsey, unseen but able to hear every word.

“But how old was Miss Darcy?” Miss Bennet asked. Darcy noted genuine concern in her voice. This shocked him. It had been a very long time since any type of kindness had been aimed in his direction.

“Oh, she was but fifteen, I believe,” Miss Helmsey continued. Darcy heard Elizabeth gasp.

“Lydia's age,” she whispered.

“Pardon?” Asked the supercilious Miss Helmsey. “That is not the most scandalous part, Elizabeth. It was his response that is most malicious.”

Ah, here it comes, thought Darcy. the part in the story where my character is flayed at the stake.

“Her brother, Mr. Darcy, allowed the poor girl's infamy to be broadcast throughout society!” Miss Helmsey feigned shock. “He let it be known that that rake, Wickham, attempted to elope with his sister.”

Silence overcame the ladies. Darcy was not sure how this revelation sat with Miss Bennet, and was unnerved as to how deeply seeded was his concern with her reaction.

Finally she spoke. “I believe it took a great deal of courage for Mr. and Miss Darcy to allow this news to be known by all.”

“Elizabeth!” cried Miss Helmsey. “Courage indeed, he has practically ruined her amongst society.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Louisa, I seriously doubt people will long remember the indiscretion of a 15 year old child. However, many unsuspecting families are now forewarned about Mr. Wickham's true character. And for that, I am grateful. I have a very silly sister in Hertfordshire of the same age. If more people spoke honestly women would be better protected. Do you not agree?”

Miss Helmsey looked dubious, but reluctantly agreed, “Put that way, there is sense in what you say. Oh look, there is Mr. Ambroise. Come, let us make haste. I do hope to engage him in some conversation.”

The women were off, leaving a stunned Fitzwilliam Darcy in their wake. Never before had he heard such an unqualified defense of his actions, actions that had cost his sister dearly. While she was the leading advocate for revealing Wickhams' treachery, she had suffered for it. Naturally reserved, Georgiana had withdrawn almost completely from society. The barraging lectures from their Aunt Catherine and her subsequent break with the Darcy's weighed heavily on the girl's slight shoulders. Her distress weighed heavily on his conscious. And here was a woman who recognized their sacrifice and applauded their courage in revealing Wickham for the snake he was. He was grateful to her, for replenishing his faith in the decency of the human heart.

*--* *--*

“Come on now, up you go,” Darcy aided his friend, Sebastian Finch into his carriage. Finch, a friend from Cambridge had indulged in too much of lady Grace's excellent wine and needed help in seeing himself home.

“Bloody good of you, Darcy, seeing my home,” Finch mumbled as he staggered to his seat.

“Too true, Finch, too true,” Darcy replied wondering again, why he seemed to always be the one who picked up the pieces. Oh, that is right, because I care.

The carriage took off with silence prevailing within. That is until a particularly nasty pothole jolted the carriage and its occupants to attention. Finch returned to consciousness with a snort. “So, what did you think of her, Darcy?”

No, this conversation cannot be happening to me. Despite Finch's appearance, Darcy knew nothing escaped him. He may look naive and befuddled, but it still worked to his advantage. No one suspected, at least not at first, that Finch's mind was keen. “To what do you refer, Sebastian?”

“To the delectable Miss Bennet, Fitzwilliam,” he said with a drunken smile. “You remember the woman you stared at the entire evening?” he a self-pleased smirk covered his face. “No? brown hair, delightful …”

“Yes, yes, I know who you mean.” Darcy fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable to be caught out in public giving notice to a woman.

“Do not get your nose bent. I know you, Darcy, and I noticed your eyes tracking her.” Finch sat back smiling, like a cat in an aviary. They rode on in silence until Finch spoke again. “Damn shame about her uncle, though.”

Darcy looked up, called back from reviewing that particular lady's assets, indeed. “How so?”

“Came to us for a loan, a sizeable loan. Seemed in quite a hurry, too.” Finch trailed off into thought.

“Will he get it?”

“Cannot say.” Darcy looked at his long time friend askance. “Oh, not that. I know you keep your secrets to the grave. No, it is odd, but after processing the paperwork, the file was taken out of my hands.”

Darcy's brow twitched. “How so?”

“Went straight to the top, right up to Sir Percival Merriweather, himself.”

Upon arriving at Darcy House, Darcy went straight to his study. With a snifter of French brandy in his hand he wrote a note to a very resourceful, very discrete business associate. When sanded and sealed, he at back in his armchair and smiled. “Perhaps we can be of service to each other, Miss Bennet.” He raised his glass in tribute “To our mutual pleasure and delight.” Before he drank, he gloried in the thought, She shall be mine.

A log in the fire popped and crackled before bursting into flame.

*--* *--*

One week later
Cheapside, London

Elizabeth knew something was troubling the Gardiner household. Mr. Gardiner kept longer hours at his business establishment, often absenting himself from their evening meal. Mrs. Gardiner had an unfamiliar strain about her eyes and mouth, as if she had seen too much and could not say enough. Both tried maintaining the semblance of normality, but to Elizabeth's astute eye, she knew trouble was afoot. She wanted to know its root, to see what she could do to hasten its resolution. So, Lizzy did what she had always done when wanting to understand the world of grownups, she listened outside closed doors with a glass to her ear. After a week of attempting to uncover the mystery, she was rewarded with hearing a discussion between her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner.

“James, surely it cannot be that bad.”

“I am afraid it is, Madelyn. Reginald has made off with more than half our cash reserves and had not paid our vendors for at least the last six months.”

“Oh, James!”

“I am negotiating with the banks. However, sacrifices must be made.”

“Will all be well?” she asked, haltingly.

“I am not sure, my dear,” he replied with no enthusiasm.

Elizabeth could hear her Aunt sobbing through the door. Knowing the love between her relations, she knew they comforted each other in an embrace. The glass was replaced in the cupboard, and dazedly Lizzy walked upstairs to her room. What are we to do? Lizzy thought hard. Reginald. Reginald? Who is this Reginald that he would have access to Uncle's accounts? Lizzy reviewed all the clerks she had ever met at her Uncle's warehouse, but there was none that matched this particular given name.

Thinking on what she heard, Lizzy absentmindedly dressed for bed. Sleep was long in coming and when it did she dreamt a dream that had visited her for almost a month. In this dream she walked into a grand ballroom arrayed in her finest. As she made her entrance, a fine web of gossamer floated down, landing upon her like a shawl. Beads of pearl fastened the connections of the web to her gown. Variations of this dream began after meeting Lord Blainard. She had thought it was the web of love, but in this rendition, the bindings became uncomfortably tight and instead of gossamer, they were of silk. The net was not draped about her as a wrap this time but engulfed and constrained her. An aura of menace crept in and she felt twinges of fear in her sleep.

She awoke to a gray drizzle and damp air. She shivered even though Lotte had already come to light the fire in her room.

*--* *--*

A week later, Elizabeth walked around the small park near the Gardiner's residence. The Gardiner children and their nanny played by a small pond. The girls, Clara and Miranda fed the ducks while Thomas and James sailed a boat their father had made for them. Once they were situated, Elizabeth began her constitutional around the perimeter of the green. She was thinking of the muffled sobs of her aunt, heard again the night before, evident even without resorting to the use of an amplifying glass. So deep was she in thought she did not hear the man approach.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” came a deep, rich, voice, smooth as velvet. Lizzy whipped her head around finding the piercing brown eyes of Fitzwilliam Darcy gleaming at her. He stood three feet away. She nodded her curtsey. He continued, “May I join you?”

Although wanting to dwell in her thoughts, she acquiesced. “Of course, sir.” He strode to her, his gaze swirling around her as if taking possession of her. It was as palpable as if he caressed her with his hands, and she could feel it everywhere, even in places she was trained not to dwell upon.

“Do you come to this part of town often, Mr. Darcy?” she asked as he offered her his arm. She hesitated before taking it. He looked at her and smiled.

“As of late, yes. It seems the blossoms of this particular park are unique and more captivating than at any other in London.”

She glanced at him, her eyes twinkling and her brow arched. Darcy's mind raced at seeing this impish display. Yet he felt, instinctively, that she was not flirting like a coquette, she was ready to play. He could hear her verbal sword being unsheathed.

“Oh? And have you made a survey of all the gardens here in London, this early in the season?”

“But the Season is half way complete,” he mused, grinning like a tom cat.

“I thought you were a country gentleman, Mr. Darcy.”

“I am, madam.”

“As such, are you not familiar with the proper season for blossoms to come into their own, Mr. Darcy? You must know March is too early for blossoms to be in their prime.”

He chuckled at her word play. “Perhaps I speak of another type of bud.”

She looked up at him, the morning sun glowing behind him, throwing his face into shadow. Suddenly, the fear nascent in her dream came upon her. She stopped walking and just looked up at him, trying to comprehend what she felt.

He continued. “Tell me, Miss Bennet, is all well at the house of Gardiner?” He kept his gaze upon her, taking her in as she gasped. “I think not.”

“Sir, I hardly think it is proper …”

“Little do I care about what is proper, Miss Bennet. I thought you knew this about me.”

“I have heard tales of you.”

“Then your shock is misplaced. Or were you hoping I would be as polite as Lord Blainard? And perhaps as bland?”

“Lord Blainard …”

“Is a dullard, and not fit for this conversation, madam. I have come here this morning offering a proposition for your consideration.”

Elizabeth felt her stomach tighten and her head lighten. Her eyes narrowed and she stepped in front of Darcy so the sun lay behind her. His eyes no longer hidden were not cold as she anticipated. They were unfathomable, but held a steely strength Lizzy had seen in her own.

“Will you at least hear me out?” Not sure how to proceed, the pragmatist in her nodded her consent. “Thank you.” He took her arm again and they slowly regained their momentum. “I have heard rumor that Gardiner and Whitecastle is undergoing financial difficulties at the moment. That Mr. Whitecastle …”

“How is it sir, that you come here detailing the private affairs of my family?”

“Miss Bennet, do you wish to hear what I have to say?” He glowered at her indignation at being questioned evident in his strikingly handsome face. Elizabeth carefully weighed her options. Antagonizing him will not bring me any closer to the truth. She eyed the man to her left carefully. Years of observing people had taught her something about character, and this man looked like he believed in what he had to say. I will hear him out and then decide how best to proceed.

Watching her closely had only increased his estimation and desire for this remarkable woman. She did not cower to him, but he could see the deliberation going on in her mind, as they displayed themselves in her endearing facial features. Her curiosity is weighing against the unseemly idea of discussing her family with me, a perfect stranger. Ah, yes, there it is, the cat in her wins.

“Yes, sir, I do,” she finally replied.

Silently pleased with both himself and her thoughtfulness, he continued. “As I was saying, Mr. Whitecastle …”

“Would that be Reginald Whitecastle, by any chance?” she interrupted again.

Darcy nodded after looking at her askance for the second interruption in less than five minutes. Lizzy's stomach lurched as the implications of this final puzzle piece fell into place. Her concern overrode any apprehension she entertained over what Mr. Darcy had to offer. “As I have tried to say, it seems Mr. Whitecastle has decided to leave the country, and has taken quite a bit of not only the profits, but the working currency of your Uncle's affairs with him. Your Uncle is at pains to pay accounts that have become greatly past due. Without an influx of funds, his establishment will enter foreclosure and all he has worked for will be undone.” Elizabeth could find no words to add, so Darcy continued. “I would be willing to provide the funds necessary to salvage your Uncle's business, and in such a manner that no-one should ever know of his close brush with calamity.”

Elizabeth stopped walking and turned toward the tall, broad shouldered man beside her.

“You would do that? For a man you barely know? For a family so wholly unconnected to you?” She sought to find his true intent for such unparalleled generosity. She could find none, at least none that pleased her. She knew that people were rarely this generous without some expectation attached. She looked him in the eye and found her answer. He looked at her, as a tiger regards his evening meal. He smiled at her, returning her hand to his arm and continued walking.

“I will, in exchange …”

“In exchange for what?”

“Not what, Miss Bennet, for whom?”

“Whom? In exchange for a person? I believe slavery is illegal, Mr. Darcy.”

“It is, but what I propose is not.”

Elizabeth slowed her step, again. “And that would be?”

“I will give your Uncle the funds he requires, and you will give me your hand.”

“My hand? As in marriage?”

“That is the usual protocol, Miss Bennet.”

“Mr. Darcy, I do not understand. How … why? We hardly know each other. Why would you wish to marry me?”

“I would think that would be obvious, Miss Bennet.” She gave him a look indicating that in fact it was the farthest thing from obvious that she could conceive.

“I am sorry sir, but it is not.”

“As a prospective member of your family, I would be privy to its internal workings. Your Uncle need not know of our arrangement. As my wife, you would have access to my funds, and it would be the most natural thing for you to offer him aid.”

“That would necessitate an immediate union.”

His smile widened, while his eyes narrowed. “It would, indeed. With a special license, we could be wed within the week.”

“The week. You ask me to make this momentous a decision, this kind of life change in less than a week?”

“Yes, indeed, if you wish to save your Uncle the scandal of being dragged through the courts for funds he no longer possess, yes. It is not my timetable Elizabeth, nor is this regrettable situation my doing.”

She stopped arguing. His logic was flawless, except for his reasons for marrying her. “Mr. Darcy? While I understand the rationale for my agreeing to marry you, pray tell, what propels your desire to marry me?”

“I have my reasons, Miss Bennet.”

“Am I not to know them?”

“At present, no.”

“Well, you have given me much to consider, Mr. Darcy. May I at least have the day to think this through?”

Surprised at her response, he nodded his agreement. “I will call on you tomorrow, Miss Elizabeth.” He took her hand and bowed over it. As she was about to withdraw it, he looked up at her, saucily, then quickly placed a kiss upon it.

“Until tomorrow, Mr. Darcy.”

“Without fail, Miss Bennet.”

Chapter Two

March, 1812

Gardiner Residence
Cheapside, London

Elizabeth paced the confines of her room long after the occupants of the Gardiners' household were fast asleep, even those troubled by recent events. How can I agree to this? she asked herself, followed by, How can I deny my uncle the means to save his reputation, his life's work? How can I not save my family from ruin? Her questions were legion, her answers, non-existent. Jane and I promised that we would marry only for the deepest love. And here, I contemplate marriage to a complete stranger; one whose reputation does not bode well for my domestic felicity, not to mention fidelity. Her pacing increased. She thought of her aunt and uncle, of all they had given to both her and Jane throughout their lives. Aunt Gardiner is more my mother than Mamma ever was, she thought as she rubbed her fist against her forehead. She then placed her hands on her cheeks, moving them to the back of her neck which ached from the stress. She thought of her uncle, always there for me. Listening, cajoling me to see the bright side when I would rather dwell on the worst. He was there to help when Jane and I purchased Longbourn outright after father died. How can I leave them to the folly of this Mr. Whitecastle? she thought. I love them too much. There was her answer, one allowing her to calm her fears and eventually find solace in slumber. I will marry only for love of the deepest kind.

*--* *--*

Darcy waited for her in the park. He rose from the bench when he saw her cross the green, unaccompanied. He smiled to himself at her graceful movement toward him. The sun shone behind her, giving more definition to the outline of her hips and legs beneath the thin fabric of her spring gown. His blood warmed and his eyes dilated as he saw her bosom sway beneath her spencer, unbuttoned in the warm spring morning. She will be mine, he growled to himself. He fingered his cravat, trying to loosen its constraint. I must get hold of myself. We are not there, yet; but she is mine. One way or another, she belongs to me.

After seeing him and turning in his direction, Elizabeth tried to calm her jittery nerves. She felt at peace with her decision, but his being there, sitting and waiting for her, unnerved her. He was tall, even sitting; his straight back, broad shoulders and handsome face. His presence there on the bench, still yards away sent her blood pulsing strongly through her veins. She felt flushed and had to consciously steady her step. His face was clear and finely framed. The dark curls peeping from underneath his hat led her to thoughts of running her fingers through them, of brushing them away and nibbling his neck. She felt her cheeks flare with heat. Oh my, she thought, this will not do at all. Elizabeth, you must keep your wits about you, or we will be undone. Finally, she was before him.

“Good morning, Miss Bennet,” he said, slightly bowing to her.

“Good morning, Mr. Darcy,” she bobbed her head in lieu of a curtsey.

“Would you care to sit, or continue walking?” he asked, solicitously.

“I believe that for now, I would prefer to sit, sir.” She did, leaving ample distance between their bodies. He regained his seat, turning to drink her in her beauty. She saw him rake over her body with his eyes and blushed, averting her head. She felt her heart beating and a flush of warmth rushed through her body.

“Have you come to a decision, Miss Bennet?” he asked, so softly she had to bend her head toward him. Her movement unleashed a riot through his senses. He could smell the freshness of her hair rinsed in lavender water. The sun shone bringing glints of gold and red throughout the curls bouncing with each movement of her head. Her skin looked so soft, his fingers twitched to touch and run over the curves of her womanly figure. He could see the contours of her breasts and had a hard time stifling the moan rising in his throat. He licked his lips, to give them some occupation before they revolted on him and threw themselves upon her breast.

“Yes, I have Mr. Darcy,” she began with composure. “But first, let me explain that many years ago, my sister Jane and I made promises to each other, chief among them being the promise to marry only for the deepest love.” Mr. Darcy was shocked by this statement. “And indeed I have had the honor of refusing an offer or two in order to keep my promise, which I must add is one I intend to keep throughout my lifetime.” Darcy looked incredulously at her.

Could she mean to refuse me? The minx. What nerve. Such were his thoughts, while simultaneously impressed that she had withstood parental pressure to maintain her vow. But this was Fitzwilliam Darcy now before her. She continued to speak and Darcy refocused his attention on her.

“After thinking long and hard throughout the night, I have come to the conclusion that although it may not be the kind of love she and I had in mind, marrying you would be for a love of the deepest kind.”

He looked upon her as if she had sprung a third eye. With quiet composure, she looked back at him, with just a gleam of mischief as she registered his shock. “I love ...”

“Your uncle,” he said suddenly figuring out her puzzle.

“Exactly, Mr. Darcy. I cannot let him come to harm, not if it is in my power to prevent his humiliation.”

A smile overcame him. “Excellent, Miss Bennet, well done.” He looked at her with pride. Her loyalty stood well with him, raising his estimation of her worth even more. “Once we speak with your uncle, I shall visit the Archbishop to obtain a special license. Do you have a preference as to which church we should have our wedding?”

“Mr. Darcy, before we proceed with the details of the ceremony, I must ask,” Elizabeth took a moment to reinforce her courage, “what…I mean to say…pray tell me, how do you envision this marriage?”

He looked at her, sensing her need to broach delicate topics that he had assumed would be his alone to decide. Hmmm …. perhaps this shall be even more intriguing than I had previously anticipated. “I assume you will wish a say in matters?” he asked with a slight upturn of his lips.

“It would be best Mr. Darcy, for I am known to possess a temper when crossed.” His eyes dilated swiftly imagining how else this fire could be expressed.

“As do I,” he replied. She looked up at him with an arched eyebrow. The mirth in his eyes reassured her and she no longer felt afraid.

“Mr. Darcy, as you may have guessed, I believe that honesty saves time and trouble. My sister, Jane, and I are forthright to a fault. It has saved us needless misunderstandings. Shall I lay be first to lay out my thoughts and state that I expect them to hold for the both of us?”

Taken aback, he replied, “I am quite surprised at your candor, even though I have already been impressed observing you on many occasions.” She smiled up at him while a lovely blush caught her cheek. “Pray, continue.”

“My parents were not blessed with marital felicity, mainly due to the dichotomy in their understanding. We, that is to say, you and I are practically strangers, are we not?” He nodded. “I would like for us to attempt a friendship first before proceeding to the more…intimate particulars of marriage.”

“No. Impossible,” he blurted out. She leveled her gaze upon him.

“You would take me against my will, Mr. Darcy?” she asked with trepidation.

He looked at her, then away, then back at her. While not consumed by propriety, he would certainly not contemplate rape. He blushed and gaped, caught in a trap of his own making.

“Surely, you of all men of my acquaintance realize the advantages of a woman willing to enter the marital rites, do you not, Mr. Darcy?”

He looked away, and as her words replayed in his mind, a chuckle lightened his mood. “You are absolutely right, Miss Bennet. But I give you fair warning, I am not a patient man.” His eyes darkened and he took her hand to his lips, kissing it slowly while his eyes set hers on fire. He kept hold of her hand, drawing circles on its back with his thumb. “You caught me in your web even before my hungry eyes laid hold of you. I will not force you, Miss Bennet, but I shall endeavor to wait until you call me to your bed.” Elizabeth felt her pulse race. Darcy looked at her and formed the satisfying thought, Perhaps the wait shall not be so long after all.

Conversation turned to the more practical matters of arranging a wedding in less than a week's time, as the park filled with nannies and their charges. When they had arranged a rough outline of coming events, he rose offering his arm. They had agreed to speak with her uncle together. Some of Elizabeth's customary liveliness had returned, and Darcy was congratulating himself on winning her hand.

*--* *--*

They proceeded to the study where Mr. Gardiner sat reviewing, for the fiftieth time that morning, his accounts. He looked up with agitation at the knock upon his door.

“Come in,” he barked, and was immediately annoyed at himself for losing his temper at home.

“Uncle?” Lizzy began. “May I present Mr. Darcy?”

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Gardiner bowed his head from his chair. He looked at Elizabeth, indicating she should continue.

“Uncle, I…we…that is Mr. Darcy and I wish to speak with you.”

“Mr. Darcy?” Edward Gardiner's attention transferred fully to the couple before him. “Please come in,” he rose from his chair to greet his guests. “Lizzy, Mr. Darcy, please take a seat.” He turned his chair to face the two sitting side by side on the sofa. “Now, what is it you wish to discuss with me?”

Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy, who was looking at her. She nodded in her uncle's direction.

Darcy began calmly, “Mr. Gardiner, I wish to ask you for Miss Bennet's hand.” Darcy looked at Mr. Gardiner, who sat in shock. “In marriage.” Mr. Gardiner still sat silently looking at the man and then the woman who had just shocked his world.

“Uncle?” Elizabeth asked, concerned at her relation's silence. “Are you ill?”

“No, Elizabeth. Just taken aback, my dear. I was unaware you shared an acquaintance.”

“It is of short duration, but we are, yes, sir. We are…acquainted,” his niece continued.

Mr. Gardiner sat back, elbows resting on the arms of his favorite chair, fingers steepled in front of him. Darcy? And Elizabeth? How did this happen? Have I been so immersed in my own troubles that I missed this entirely? I wonder if Madelyn knows anything of this?

The couple waited in silence as Mr. Gardiner reviewed his thoughts. Finally, Darcy coughed, bringing the man back to the present. “I see,” he began. “And you, Lizzy, are in agreement with this?” He watched his niece carefully. He knew Elizabeth's disposition and honestly believed she would not entertain such an offer but for the most genuine of reasons. Unlike her younger sisters, she knew her own mind and would not mistake infatuation for true love. There was a blush on her cheek, and she looked a little too decidedly at her hands, but when she lifted her head to meet his gaze, his Lizzy was there in full; thus causing him to realize that whatever she decided, he would oblige. After all, there was little stopping her once her mind was set.

“Yes, Uncle, I am.”

“I see.”

He then turned his gaze to the young gentleman before him. “You know Elizabeth's circumstance, do you not?” Darcy looked confused. “She is the second of five daughters, of my late sister and her husband, Thomas Bennet of Longbourn. It is a small estate in Hertfordshire. Her dowry is roughly five …”

“Sir, while I appreciate these details, they do not concern me. Without too much exaggeration, money is not my primary concern.”

“Understood. I simply wish to present the facts.”

“I appreciate your candor.” Both men nodded their understanding.

Taking another thought to mind, Mr. Gardiner began again, “Mr. Darcy, a moment's indulgence, please. Elizabeth and her sisters were left, almost six years ago, as orphans. Their parents perished in a carriage accident.” Darcy looked at Elizabeth who returned her focus to her hands. “She …”

“Along with Jane …” Elizabeth interjected.

Her uncle chuckled, and continued. “Along with Jane, convinced me to approach a distant cousin, a Mr. Collins, to whom their home, Longbourn, was entailed.” Darcy sat taller in his chair at the mention of entailment. While not concerned with her dowry, he had assumed she was still part of the landed gentry.

“We…I purchased Longbourn outright for Elizabeth and Jane. Then, under Elizabeth's stewardship, along with Jane,” he looked at his niece as she was about to speak, “they have repaid my initial investment, plus interest; and for the last year or so have turned a constant profit. I believe it extremely unwise to underestimate my niece, Mr. Darcy. She has an excellent mind, matched by an excellent heart.” Here he turned to look at the young man before him. “And you, sir, what may be said on your behalf?”

Unused to such handling by a man of trade, even a very successful man of trade, Darcy was at a loss for words.

“Uncle, Mr. Darcy has demonstrated great courage in the face of daunting odds,” Elizabeth spoke out. “He stands firm in what he believes and is brave enough to take me on as his wife.” Her eyes twinkled below a brow that arched in a perfect semi circle.

Both Darcy and Mr. Gardiner smiled. Edward Gardiner knew when to retreat. “Very well, Lizzy. When will this momentous adventure occur?”

“If I may?” Darcy intruded. “Our wish is to marry expediently.”

“Expediently?” Mr. Gardiner's eyes narrowed and his hands clenched the arms of his chair. “As in how soon?”

“Within the week,” replied Elizabeth timidly.

He gulped, “The week? Are you mad? Or is there another reason for such haste?”

Darcy coughed, taken aback by the direct question. “No sir, we are just impatient. I have business that demands my return to Pemberley. I fear a delay in this would lose me the affection of my intended.”

“I seriously doubt that, Mr. Darcy. One thing I have learned about Elizabeth is that once her mind is made up, it is set, as if in stone.” Mr. Gardiner chuckled, while Elizabeth blushed.

“Be that as it may, I wish to marry as soon as possible. Once we have gained your blessing, I will approach the Archbishop for a special license. I wish my sister to attend the ceremony. She has been in Derbyshire, at the home of my Aunt and Uncle Fitzwilliam. They return on the morrow.”

“I would also like my sister, Jane, to attend, if that is all right?” she looked at Darcy.

He nodded his consent, only asking, “How long would it take for her to come?”

“She remains at Longbourn in Hertfordshire, less than a day's journey.”

“Then by all means, send an express to her.”

“Well, then. I suggest we go and tell your aunt, so you may be on your way, Mr. Darcy. It seems we all have a bit of work ahead of us.”

“Mr. Gardiner, if I may?” Darcy asked. “A moment of your time?” The older man nodded. Elizabeth stood by the door. “I have taken the liberty of contacting my lawyers, who assure me the settlement papers will be ready this afternoon. May I ask for another appointment later today?”

Mr. Gardiner looked a trifle perturbed. “I have pressing needs this afternoon. Perhaps you could join us for dinner?”

A smile overcame him as Mr. Darcy replied, “Thank you, I would enjoy that.”

“Until this evening, then. We can regroup at that time and report on the progress of our day.”

When they came into the Gardiners' parlor, they found Lord Blainard waiting for them, a bouquet of roses in hand.

*--* *--*

“Ah, Lord Blainard, Madelyn, children, gather round,” Mr. Gardiner called everyone's attention to where he stood with Elizabeth and Darcy. “Lizzy and Mr. Darcy have an announcement to make.” Mrs. Gardiner and Lord Blainard eyed the unexpected couple with varying degrees of suspicion.

“Yes, well…just this morning, Miss Bennet agreed to be my wife,” Darcy said, smiling despite his natural reserve.

Reactions around the room varied depending on the connection and age of the person involved. The children chattered noisily and excitedly about fairy princesses and dark handsome knights. Mrs. Gardiner looked between the principals not willing to believe what she had just heard. Lord Blainard stood stock still, eyes focused on Elizabeth until she blushed, at which point he turned his icy stare to Darcy. The two men locked gazes. Finally, Lord Blainard looked away, and as it took longer than Darcy had expected, he wondered if there was something beyond a lothario's disappointment. Something is there. I will have to look into it, he thought, as Mrs. Gardiner broke his interlude by embracing him, “Welcome to the family, sir. Congratulations.” She then went to her niece embracing her wholeheartedly while whispering, “Lizzy, oh Lizzy, what have you done?” Elizabeth looked at her Aunt, who had only kindness in her eyes.

Lord Blainard remained where he stood upon hearing the news. The flowers had fallen on the ground. The young girls rushed to gather them, and Mrs. Gardiner ushered them to the pantry to find a vase for them. Finally, Lord Blainard spoke, “Let me be among the first to wish you joy, Miss Elizabeth, Darcy. Have you set a date?”

“Within the week,” spoke Darcy with gravitas. Mrs. Gardiner gasped, hearing this upon her return.

“Impossible! Lizzy, are you out of your senses? How can we have all the preparations complete in a week?” She looked between her niece and future nephew.

“Miss Elizabeth's sister…Miss Bennet?” he looked to Elizabeth for confirmation. She nodded, “will be sent an express. I will send a coach for her and any of her other sisters who wish to attend. My own sister returns to town tomorrow. The breakfast may be held at Darcy House, if that is amenable to all of you. And now, I am off to procure the license from the Archbishop. As for any necessities the ceremony may incur, I will arrange an account to be opened for my future wife at the shops on Bond Street.

“That is very generous of you, Mr. Darcy, but hardly necessary,” her uncle interrupted.

“But a necessity once the week is past, Mr. Gardiner,” Darcy said with a smile. “Have no fear, I will ask no questions regarding her gown. I know brides enjoy their secrets.”

“As do grooms,” hissed Blainard. Darcy turned, glowering at the man. “Miss Bennet, Mr. Gardiner, a word, if I may?” He indicated the study. Mr. Gardiner and Elizabeth looked warily at each other, then at Mr. Darcy who was as bewildered as they.

“Perhaps it best we discover for ourselves what Lord Blainard has to offer?” Mr. Gardiner said to his niece. She looked at Darcy once again, then quickly at her aunt, who nodded.

“Yes, perhaps it is best.” Elizabeth's voice belied her opinion as being the opposite. However, she reluctantly followed Blainard and her uncle into the study. Her uncle then shut the door before taking his seat at his desk. Lizzy sat on the sofa she had just occupied with Darcy. Lord Blainard paced the length of the room before speaking. Lizzy thought he was trying to gather his thoughts, but in actuality he was vainly attempting to reign in his anger. Finally, he ceased his pacing and came to stand before Elizabeth.

“Miss Elizabeth, I beg you to reconsider this decision,” he stated emphatically. “Please, on all that you consider holy, rescind your consent.” Elizabeth was shocked and it registered upon her face. Blainard next turned to her relation. “Mr. Gardiner, you are a man of sense, please, consider the man. He is a reprobate. His sister ….”

“Was nearly seduced by a thirty year old man, and both she and Mr. Darcy had the courage to reveal this to the world so that silly girls,” here she looked meaningfully at her uncle, “would be safe from such reprehensible behavior.” Elizabeth had said this to her uncle to prove she was not totally blind to Darcy's character. Both Blainard and Mr. Gardiner were speechless, the latter in shock, while the former deflated for the moment. “Oh yes, the gossip mills are at full tilt about the man and his relations. Have you anything else against him, Lord Blainard?”

The man paced the room again, his fist in his mouth. How much to reveal? He looked at Elizabeth and his heart crumbled. “Miss Elizabeth,” he came up and took her hands in his, “it pains me to be the one to tell you this. Had I known Darcy was a rival, I would have found a way to reveal this in a less brusque manner.” Elizabeth willed him to come to the point. “It is well known, among our set, that Darcy…that he keeps…a mistress. And…and she is not his first.”

Elizabeth felt her future darken, her heart shut down. She let her gaze fall to the floor trying to maintain a hold on her emotions at being forced to confront this particular issue in the presence of her relation and Lord Blainard. After a prolonged silence, she looked at her uncle before rising silently. At the door, she turned to the two gentlemen who remained, staring at her. “Thank you, Lord Blainard, for imparting this information to us.” She nodded her head in parting. When she came to the parlor, she asked, “Aunt, may I have a moment alone with Mr. Darcy?” Mrs. Gardiner, seeing the concern on her niece's face, acquiesced.

“I shall bring the children upstairs, Elizabeth.” Then she was gone. Darcy stood, staring at Elizabeth. He waited, impatient for her to speak. That she would, he had no doubt. He only wondered what Blainard had revealed of his character.

“Mr. Darcy, shall we sit?” She indicated two seats by the window. He moved to her side, escorting her to the chair. He noted well her hesitation as he touched her elbow.

“Miss Bennet, what did Blainard say to you to cause such distress?”

“He launched an attack on your character regarding your dealings with your sister. I was able to deflect him, I believe quite successfully.” Here she took in a deep breath, letting out a remorseful sigh. “Thus deflected, he moved on, revealing,” and here she looked him directly in the eye, “that at present you keep a mistress, sir, and that this is not your first. This fact is apparently well known among his set, so he claims.”

“I will not lie to you, Miss Bennet. Yes. I do…have kept a…Miss Antoinette du Marche.” Darcy spoke rapidly, trying to get through this as quickly as possible. “She is a refugee from France and is charming, engaging, witty…”

“At this point, I believe I do not wish to know her details, Mr. Darcy. I reserve the right to inquire into that matter at a later date.” Elizabeth continued, “At this moment, I believe I can only process a yes or no response.” She looked pleadingly at Darcy.

“Of course. But please, I beg the chance to explain,” she held up her hand to stop him, but he finished with, “at a later date.”

She nodded and then rose to depart. “Good day, Mr. Darcy.”

“Miss Bennet?” He came up to her quickly; so close he could feel her breath upon his chest, her breasts heaving with emotion. “You must tell me, if our bargain still holds.” She looked up at him, fire in her eyes. His heart flared and he felt the blood rush to his loins. What he saw next chilled him to the bone, as the fire turned to steel, hard and sharp. “Yes, Mr. Darcy. My love for my family overrides my disgust for you.”

Darcy's hands held her wrists insistently. “Would you rather I dally with an unmarried woman? A woman of good repute, such as yourself?” His eyes devoured her. “Before I found you, there was nothing, only an occasional release in the willing arms of a woman whose fate was sealed long before my acquaintance. I have always been honest and honorable in each and every encounter with the women I desired. There have been a few, not many, but enough to chase away the loneliness so ingrained in my life. Elizabeth, one of the reasons I decided upon offering for you is a growing dissatisfaction with my life. I long for companionship, honesty, faithfulness - on both sides,” here he grabbed her to him, “as well as beauty and passion.”

He kissed her, forcefully. Taken aback by his brashness Elizabeth let his words wash over her, penetrating her mind. Without thought, she returned his kiss, answering the unexpected need rising in her breast. Her hands slid up his chest, stroking his neck through the cloth of his cravat, until they combed through his hair, pulling his head even closer to her own. When their lungs insisted on air, they unwillingly drew their lips apart, resting their foreheads together.

“I cannot explain this passion I feel for you, Darcy.” She lifted her head, her eyes open to his, searching for something, an understanding that she was not alone in this unfamiliar depth of feeling. He was right there, meeting her.

“I believe, Miss Bennet, there shall be no further use for Miss du Marche, or her sisters.” Elizabeth arched her brow, and Darcy felt his heart open and relax. It had been an eternity since this much contentment and dare he say it, hope, dwelt in his breast.

“Mr. Darcy! Elizabeth!” Mr. Gardiner's warning rang through the room. Slowly breaking their mutual gaze, Darcy relinquished his hold on her waist but retained control of her hand.

“Sir, I mean no disrespect, however ….”

“We had just finished discussing the information Lord Blainard recently provided,” Elizabeth stated as if that explanation was sufficient.

“Am I to assume you resolved this matter between you?” Mr. Gardiner looked decidedly at Darcy with no misunderstanding. Edward Gardiner wanted assurances the mistress would be gone before his niece would become Mrs. Darcy.

“Yes, sir, quite satisfactorily.” Elizabeth responded with a smile on her lips.

Lord Blainard, who had observed the entire exchange between Mr. Gardiner and his niece, was as red as a radish.

“Well then, I must depart for my office,” Mr. Gardiner added. “Darcy, until this evening. Lord Blainard, shall I see you out?”

“Yes, sir.” Blainard eyed Darcy before nodding to him. He went to Elizabeth and took her hand. “Elizabeth I sincerely wish I could express my joy for you. However, I feel you will regret your decision.”

“I comprehend your sentiments, Lord Blainard. Goodbye,” she replied.

“Until we meet again,” he bowed and kissed her hand, lingering a moment or two too long. Darcy stepped toward them, clearing his throat. Elizabeth pulled at her hand, causing Blainard to look up, pain in his eyes. Ah, Elizabeth, if only you had waited for me, he thought bitterly to himself.

Chapter Three

March, 1812

Madame Lestarte
Bond Street, London

Mrs. Gardiner, Elizabeth and Lady Fitzwilliam sat studying the sketches at the shop of Madame Celeste Lestrat. La Celeste, the most fashionable modiste of Bond Street, had agreed to design Elizabeth's trousseau, promising that at least the wedding dress and one or two other gowns would be ready in time for her marriage on Friday. Upon viewing the future Mrs. Darcy, Celeste exclaimed, “ Sacre Bleu! Elle est la grande belle de la saison” and decided to promote the new Mrs. Darcy with her personal best. Miss Bennet resembled her own sister, left in France, so Celeste Lestrat knew exactly how to dress Elizabeth to the greatest advantage. Celeste also knew of the tragedy befalling Georgiana, Miss Darcy. Her own young niece, Clarice, had been seduced by a rake in Paris so she felt a kinship with the Darcy family for standing up to the hypocrisy of the ton. She had heard the gossip and it galled her soul. “Non, Madame Darcy will look every inch like a Queen!”

The women sat in their private viewing room while the modiste pulled together her sketches. She had seen Marie Antoinette as a child, as her aunt had been a seamstress in service of the Queen. Celeste retained an image of enchantment and had worked hard to infuse these qualities into her designs. In honor of her niece and for Miss Darcy, Madame Celeste vowed to make Elizabeth Bennet the epitome of fashion.

*--* *--*

The carriage lurched forward leaving Bond Street and its environs. Rain began to fall creating a feeling of intimacy in the coach. While the women sat on the amply upholstered cushions, Lady Fitzwilliam collected her thoughts. “Ladies, if I may, I would like to speak plainly with you.”

Elizabeth and her aunt exchanged a wary glance before facing the formidable woman. “By all means, Lady Fitzwilliam,” Mrs. Gardiner began.

“Please, Eleanor is my given name. Lady Eleanor will suffice Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth? I would be pleased if you would call me Aunt.” Both women were quite astonished at this apparent welcome by the house of Matlock. “You look surprised.”

Elizabeth began, “I am,” and here she hesitated, unwilling to offend such a gracious offer. She tested the words upon her tongue, “Aunt…Eleanor.”

“You see that was not so difficult, was it?”

“But the honor is completely unexpected, your ladyship.” Elizabeth continued. The two women studied each other. Lady Eleanor knew of the Gardiners, and knew them to be honest, intelligent and wealthy. Mr. Gardiner had invested heavily and wisely in the East Indies as well as in India. Madelyn Gardiner was a staple among the charities that while not fashionable served a great need in war-time England. She was regarded by society as a woman of quality. While not peers, the Gardiners were successful and respected for their charitable work as well as the support they brought to the cultural life of London.

For Elizabeth, Madelyn Gardiner had been an encyclopedia of factual information on the Darcy and Fitzwilliam families. Eleanor was known to be loyal, kind, intelligent and a cornerstone of society. That she had offered to accompany them on their shopping expedition either meant she did not trust their taste, or was welcoming them into her family. That she initiated the lessening of formalities between them, spoke to the latter.

“You are, I am sure by now, aware of the tragedy befalling my niece, Georgiana,” Lady Eleanor spoke with great bitterness. Elizabeth nodded as an unpleasant scowl crossed the older woman's fine face. “No doubt the gossipmongers still spread their bile about my family.”

Elizabeth blushed. “Mr. Darcy has not told me his side of the story, yet, Lady Eleanor,” Elizabeth replied. Eleanor sat back, taking a long look at her future niece.

“And your thoughts so far? What have you heard, Elizabeth?” she asked.

“That a scurrilous…” and here she struggled for the right word, “unmentionable beast sought to impose himself on Miss Darcy, but was foiled in his attempt by Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth took a deep breath before looking Lady Eleanor in the eye and continuing. “Society then faults Mr. Darcy for allowing the information to be made known rather than kowtowing to blackmail and hiding the information from those of us with young sisters at home susceptible to this type of deceit.”

Lady Eleanor relaxed, smiling to herself. Mrs. Gardiner beamed with pride at her niece. Elizabeth continued to address her future relation, keeping her gaze steady. “I understand, in part, the harsh treatment society has dealt Mr. Darcy and his sister, and I do not approve. I have three younger sisters to protect. Thanks to the courage of Mr. Darcy, there is one less threat to their virtue and equanimity. This Mr. Wickham, I believe?” Eleanor nodded, “has been unmasked, and for that I am grateful, not condemning.”

“Even if he placed his sister's reputation in danger?” asked Eleanor wishing to test her future niece's understanding. Elizabeth sat still, her mind switching gears. She had not really thought about Miss Darcy; focusing more on her youngest sister, Lydia, and the handsome man at the root of the rumors. “Not knowing Miss Darcy, I may hardly comment,” she took a deep breath before continuing. “However, I believe she was but fifteen at the time?” Again Eleanor nodded. “Then her youth must excuse her. That a man approaching thirty would importune an innocent is,” here Elizabeth's rage engaged her, “is beyond belief. He should be drawn and quartered and then hung.”

Eleanor and Madelyn laughed at the exuberance of the young woman's vehemence.

“Elizabeth,” said Lady Eleanor, patting the young woman's arm, “there are a few more details you must know.” Here Lady Fitzwilliam took a deep breath. “Darcy did not want to reveal Georgiana's debacle. He too well understood what that would mean for her. However, Wickham became insufferable. Frustrated with losing her 30,000 pound dowry, he attempted to blackmail Darcy for his silence.” Both Elizabeth and her aunt gasped. “He was gathering the funds when Wickham, a little too far in his cups and too long at the tables, bartered the information as payment of a gambling debt to a particularly nasty excuse for humanity, one Mr. Roger Merriweather. This Mr. Merriweather had a particular vendetta against our family, as my sister-in-law, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, refused his offer for her daughter, Anne. Unfortunately, she made her announcement in a very public manner. He had approached her, interrupting her conversation with the Duchess of Bristol, pressuring her to state her reasons. He foolhardily thought his second cousin, the Duchess, would mollify her into approving his suit. Of course, according to Catherine, his connections were not high enough; second cousin to Royalty does not count for Lady Catherine de Bourgh, as no title would be given to Anne. The fact that Mr. Merriweather and Anne actually cared for each other, which believe me was a miracle in and of itself, was not enough to earn him Anne's hand in matrimony.”

Mrs. Gardiner now broke her silence. “So Mr. Merriweather is responsible for exposing Miss Darcy?”

Lady Eleanor nodded before continuing her story. “Yes. You see, Lady Catherine has always claimed and believed that Anne and Darcy were destined to marry; some nonsense about Darcy's mother wishing it on her deathbed. Utter nonsense, as Catherine did not visit her sister once when she took ill.”

“So Mr. Darcy did not try to unmask the reprobate?” Elizabeth asked, a little disappointed.

“No, he did not. However, he did not deny the truth. Elizabeth, Darcy has been Georgiana's guardian for almost five years now, as well as taking on Pemberley and all its responsibilities. Georgiana is all he has left of his immediate family. He would never have sacrificed her in order to bring down a worthless bit of refuse such as George Wickham. However, once the news was out, he spoke with Georgiana, and the two of them stood together facing both Wickham and the condemnation of society. They have done nothing to stop the rumors, believing that now the information is out, it is best to go on. Of course, there is no telling who will take the information and do what they will with it.”

“What of this Merriweather? What has been his fate after revealing Miss Darcy's misery?” Mrs. Gardiner asked with great agitation in her voice.

“He gained his satisfaction. The Darcy family has been brought low for not protecting Georgiana's reputation. The entire blame has been switched to Darcy's shoulders. The rumors say that if he had paid Wickham off, nothing would have happened, and Georgiana would still be pristine enough for the first tier of society. Catherine has reluctantly deemed Darcy unsuitable for Anne, and he is free from all but the most desperate of fortune hunters.” Elizabeth and her aunt gasped at this last remark and its implications. “Oh, please, I did not mean…Darcy has assured me, this is his choice, Elizabeth, and that he had to convince you. I must say I am relieved that you have accepted him. Your reputation as a charming, intelligent beauty precedes you, as does yours, Mrs. Gardiner. As his aunt, I am grateful that someone of your quality has accepted the challenge.”

Elizabeth blushed.

“Has Darcy mentioned Georgiana to you at all, Elizabeth?”

“No. He has not,” Elizabeth replied. “I admit to a great curiosity in meeting her.” A dark look crossed Eleanor's face. Mrs. Gardiner and Elizabeth looked at each other in concern before turning their gaze back to Lady Eleanor.


“Georgiana has always been a timid creature, secluded for the most part in Derbyshire. Lady Anne died when she was but three, her father when she was eleven. Wickham, who was raised at Pemberley, was considered a family friend.” Eleanor looked away, swallowing the emotion threatening to overpower her. “She was ripe for his treachery,” she added. “Her faith is all but destroyed. She hardly speaks to anyone, even Fitzwilliam. She eats little, never smiles anymore, never laughs.” Tears overcame the great lady who sat thinking of her dear, gentle niece. Elizabeth took her hand and held it. Madelyn put her hand on the woman's arm. No one spoke for the remainder of the ride back to Darcy House where they were to have tea. As the carriage drew up, Eleanor composed herself, a look of gratitude for the tenderness and understanding given by these two extraordinary women.

Darcy stood at the door awaiting them. A smile replaced the anxious scowl he had worn while awaiting their arrival. The three women emerged from their carriage, a nascent camaraderie evident among them. Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam seconded him at the threshold.

“Aunt, Mrs. Gardiner, Elizabeth! Welcome to my home.” Darcy bowed to the elder women, then took Elizabeth's hand, drawing it to his lips before wrapping it around his arm. He gallantly offered his other arm to Mrs. Gardiner as Colonel Fitzwilliam stepped up to escort his mother through the door.

They entered the parlor of the Darcy townhouse on Grosvenor Square. Elizabeth and her aunt were suitably impressed by the stately elegance of the architecture and furnishings. The staff was courteous and efficient. As the ladies arrived the Earl of Matlock rose to greet them. All three men were taken by the attractive party joining them. Next to his lordship sat a young woman of no more than seventeen. She too, was fashionably dressed, but remained listless, her eyes vacant, her hands idly resting in her lap. Remembering the discussion in the carriage, along with all the vicious gossip that she had heard, Elizabeth could only surmise this was Georgiana Darcy. Her quietude an indication of the trauma the girl must have endured.

“Miss Elizabeth, how kind of you to come in this dreadful weather,” Mr. Darcy began as he squeezed her hand still resting on his arm. Elizabeth felt waves of heat pulse through her body. “May I present my family? You know my aunt of course, my Uncle, Lord Michael Fitzwilliam, the Earl of Matlock,” the Earl bowed. “My cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam and my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy.” The girl barely raised her head and nodded. Elizabeth and her aunt looked at each other, their hearts reaching out to the young, and they suspected lonely, girl.

“Thank you, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth began when she recalled her manners. “Lord Fitzwilliam, Colonel Fitzwilliam, allow me to present my aunt, Mrs. Madelyn Gardiner?”

Pleasantries were exchanged, and when it was noted that Elizabeth hailed from Hertfordshire, Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked, “Are you familiar with Noah's Legacy?”

Elizabeth blushed while her aunt chuckled, and replied, “Intimately.” The military man looked confused. “Noah's Legacy, is Elizabeth's pet project, as it were.”

“Remarkable!” the Earl offered.

“Elizabeth? How is it you began such an unusual project?” Mr. Darcy was alive with curiosity as were almost all of his relations.

“Lizzy began her equestrian experimentation about ten years ago,” offered her aunt.

“Why you must have been just a slip of a thing,” Lady Fitzwilliam interjected.

“But forever in my brother's library reading all the latest scientific papers,” Mrs. Gardiner added. “She begged Thomas, her father, to purchase two horses, which she specifically selected, after spending hours researching their bloodlines. Of course, one was male, the other female.”

“Following Noah's Legacy of two by two, to repopulate the Earth,” added Elizabeth with a smile.

“Hence the name, Noah's Legacy,” Madelyn Gardiner completed the tale. They all laughed. Lady Fitzwilliam noted that even Georgiana smiled.

“Astounding,” Lord Fitzwilliam remarked. “And will you continue the stables once you are married, Miss Bennet?”

With a quick glance at Darcy searching for his reaction, Elizabeth replied unreservedly, “Yes.” With barely enough time to digest the implications of what had just been said, Darcy schooled his face to reveal nothing. However, he filed this information away for further discussion with Elizabeth.

“Capital,” his Lordship remarked. “It will be spectacular to have an inside connection to one of the most sought after stables in the land.”

“I hear Wellington himself is to obtain one of your stallions,” the colonel remarked.

“Indeed Colonel. It is our way of thanking him for his service to our country,” Elizabeth replied.

“Will he come himself to collect the mount, Miss Bennet?” asked Darcy.

“We are as yet, uncertain. Our correspondence has been with Major General Lessing.

“Excellent man,” said the colonel smiling at both Elizabeth and his cousin. What a pleasant surprise. Noah's Legacy has produced the most coveted horses in England for years, he thought to himself. Dare say even Darcy was unfamiliar with this aspect of his fiancée. I wonder what else is to be discovered about Miss Elizabeth Bennet?

*--* *--*

While the rest of the women gathered round the fire after tea, Georgiana remained by the window, looking out at the drizzle complicating the afternoon. She barely heard, and failed to recognize, the rustle of fabric beside her. She felt a light weight on her arm. It was an unfamiliar touch, yet it contained kindness, understanding and was without any insistence for a response. Slowly Georgiana brought her eyes to the right, locking on the lithe figure standing beside her with her hand still pressing on her arm.

After examining the details of the nails and knuckles of the fingers resting on her arm, Georgiana warily followed the hand to the arm, to the shoulders and finally the face of the woman who, if she remembered correctly would very soon be her sister. There was concern offered in this face. Georgiana looked even further into the eyes of this unknown quantity of a woman expecting to find censure, or disgust, or condescension. None of these were present, rather a quiet question, a reaching out, an offering to meet her as she was. No judgment threatened Georgiana and she held Elizabeth's gaze for as long as possible before something snapped, and the floodgate opened. Georgiana began trembling as relief bubbled forth, like an underground spring breaking through a layer of packed and crusted soil. Still gazing into those calm brown pools of acceptance, tears cascaded down Georgiana's cheeks before she turned and ran from the room. Elizabeth looked after her, then to Darcy who focused on the door his sister had used to make her escape. He looked at his aunt, then Elizabeth who was rooted to her spot by the window.

Lady Fitzwilliam sighed then rose. She came over to Elizabeth putting her hands on the younger lady's shoulders. Impulsively, she hugged the younger woman, whispering in her ear, “You must not let Georgiana's moods distress you. She is not the same since … the incident.”

Elizabeth nodded and returned the embrace. Lady Fitzwilliam left Elizabeth to see after her niece. Elizabeth returned to the couch rejoining the others in their refreshments. Darcy looked at her, willing her to look at him. After sipping her now cold cup, she did. She found a question and trepidation in his eyes. She smiled at him and his visible relaxation comforted her. Finally a small smile came to his lips and a joy to his eyes that was unmistakable.

He was beyond happy that Elizabeth had sought out Georgiana, and not shunned her. He was accustomed to Georgiana's running off when overwhelmed. He was pleased that she had agreed to come and meet his future wife. All in all, an auspicious beginning! he thought.

*--* *--*

Jane left Hertfordshire the next morning. She had read with alarm of Elizabeth's intent to wed by the end of the week. After quick instructions to Mr. Hill, Jane was sure Longbourn would be fine for a week or two. Long enough for me to talk some sense in to that silly head of hers, Jane thought as the carriage entered London proper. Lizzy has never been this impetuous before, at least not about love, and certainly not regarding marriage. Jane absentmindedly rapped her knuckles against the glass. It was before she left for town we were talking about her disappointment over Jamie, and how she must try her heart again. Jane grew concerned. She would not have…no, Lizzy would never…marry just to prove a point. My aunt would never allow it.

This thought calmed Jane considerably. She focused her attention on the familiar landmarks announcing her arrival in Cheapside. Soon enough, the carriage came to a stop and Jane was gratified to see Elizabeth looking well and content, waiting for her on the step. If there was any scandal involved in any of this, it would be in her eyes. With that, Jane descended from the carriage.

The sisters embraced on the steps to the Gardiners' home, and Jane was relieved to find her beloved sister in such good spirits. After they welcomed each other, Jane drew back, looking deeply into her sister's eyes, knowing Elizabeth could keep no secrets from her. They had endured so much together, surviving only by total honesty between them. Without a word, they walked into the parlor where Mrs. Gardiner had requested tea. Once Lottie, the maid, had cleared the room, Jane began her interrogation.

“Lizzy,” began Jane with a hint of a smile, “tell me, what are you about?” Elizabeth's eyes asked Jane for clarification. Jane complied. “Traveling to London, most come home with a trinket, or new shawl as a souvenir. You, it seems, shall return with a husband.” They laughed. Elizabeth was glad her sister was not angry with her, only concerned. She felt pride that while Jane had, like her aunt and uncle, questioned the rapidity of her marriage, they trusted her enough not to interfere; although Elizabeth thought much of their trust stemmed from preoccupation with their own affairs. Elizabeth shook off this thought as her sister began questioning her in earnest.

“Why have we not heard of your Mr. Darcy before this letter announcing your betrothal?” While light in delivery, Elizabeth saw Jane was expecting the unvarnished truth. Nervously, Elizabeth looked to her aunt. Sensing their need for privacy, Mrs. Gardiner spoke.

“I believe I will check with Ellie to see if the children are up from their nap.” Madelyn rose to leave, kissing Jane on the cheek, whispering, “I am glad you are here.” She then placed her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder, squeezing it before leaving the room. Once the door had shut behind their departing aunt, Jane returned her kind eyes to her sister.

“Elizabeth?”

“Jane.” Elizabeth rose, walking to the window. She knew this moment was coming, but How to explain all that has happened? She heard Jane's voice, but hadn't heard what she had said. Lizzy turned to see her best friend and sister. “Pardon?”

“I asked you, what of Lord Blainard? I heard from both you and Aunt Gardiner that he paid you a great deal of attention. Has his ardor cooled?”

“Oh, Jane! So much has happened these last few weeks, I barely know where to begin. Perhaps we could take a stroll in the park?”

About to chastise her for delaying the inevitable, Jane caught the serious expression in her sister's eyes. There is more to this than I imagined, she thought. Again she feared for her sister. “Yes, I would care to stretch my legs after the morning's travel.”

“Lottie!” Elizabeth called out, “Please tell my aunt Jane and I shall take a walk in the park.” Then Elizabeth ushered Jane through the hall where they found their coats and left the house.

For the first five minutes, they walked in silence as both Jane and Lizzy took in their surroundings. The spring air still felt cool against their skin, fresh and full of hope, as the gentle breeze brought the scent of fresh grass and blossoms on the tree.

“Now explain yourself, and leave off nothing if you wish me to accept this.” Elizabeth took a deep breath before launching into her talk. She spoke of Lord Blainard paying her great attention, her introduction to Mr. Darcy, both in person and by reputation. She spoke of meeting his aunt and sister and how fragile she still continued to appear almost two years later. Her story touched Jane's heart, reassuring her that Lizzy's intended was a man of good character, regardless of what the rumors claimed.

“But why Lizzy? Why have you, of all people, agreed to marry, in essence, a complete stranger? And in a week's time? I have tried to piece this together but there is something that still eludes comprehension. Until I know and understand, I cannot feel at ease.”

Elizabeth took a step away from her sister gathering her courage. This was the more difficult part of the story, the part she could not share with her aunt and uncle. Will Jane understand? Will she forgive me? Straightening her spine and holding her shoulders back, Elizabeth turned and began speaking. “A number of weeks ago I noticed things were not well with Uncle Gardiner.” Lizzy wrung her hands, pacing in front of her sister who stood, arms crossed in front of her. “You may scold me, but I found myself burning with curiosity.”

“You did not!” Jane smiled picturing her grown sister listening at the wall with a glass to her ear.

Looking a tad guilty, Lizzy looked at the grass below her feet. “I did. Jane, I did, but I felt it was for the best. I had to know what I could do to alleviate the stress my aunt and uncle both seemed to labor under daily. It was awful, Jane, the tears, the sighs, the strain in their eyes. It was as if all joy had left this house.”

“I thought Aunt subdued, but thought it was due to your betrothal.”

“It may be, in part.” Lizzy came to Jane, taking her arm in hand. “But you must believe me, Jane, this pressure existed long before Mr. Darcy made his offer.”

“And what, exactly is that offer, Lizzy? You pledged to me you would marry only for the deepest love, Lizzy. You …”

“And I shall, Jane.”

“Elizabeth Rose Bennet! How dare you stand before me and lie.” Jane was mortified.

Elizabeth looked desperately at her sister. “I do not lie.”

“How can you claim to love Mr. Darcy, a man you barely know?”

Again, Elizabeth twisted one hand around the other. “Jane, while Mr. Darcy daily improves in my estimation and admiration, I admit I do not love him -- yet. However …” Elizabeth looked at Jane who carefully watched her, waiting for her to continue; unwilling to make this any easier for her sister. “However, I do deeply love my aunt and uncle.”

Jane gasped unable to believe her gentle uncle would force Lizzy's hand. “You cannot mean my uncle promoted this …”

“No. Nothing of the kind.” Elizabeth began her pacing once again. “Mr. Whitecastle …”

“Who is Mr. Whitecastle, Elizabeth? How many men are involved in this sordid tale of yours?”

“It is not sordid. Please believe me!” Elizabeth cried petulantly. “Mr. Whitecastle is Uncle Gardiner's partner, Gardiner and Whitecastle?” Jane nodded. “He…he is the only sordid element in this entire…situation.”

“How so?”

“He has left the country with the majority of Uncle's profits and operating funds. His vendors have not been paid for months.”

Jane gasped. “My poor uncle. And Aunt Gardiner! Oh, Lizzy!” Jane came up to her, embracing her to dispel her own fears. While retaining her embrace, Elizabeth pulled back to look into her Jane's eyes.

“Mr. Darcy learned of my uncle's distress and came to me. As his wife I will have access to funds to fulfill uncle's obligations. Mr. Darcy has even expressed the desire to join in partnership with him. My uncle shall suffer no disgrace and I…I shall have a most unusual husband.”

Jane searched Elizabeth's face for any lingering disappointment or resentment. Surprisingly, she found none. Yet Jane felt compelled to ask, “And you have made your peace with this, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Jane, I have.” Elizabeth knew she could not keep the truth from her sister, but she was unwilling to reveal Mr. Darcy's involvement with Miss du Marche, at this point in time. It was too much to handle, and Elizabeth needed to stay focused on helping her family. “Mr. Darcy is a bit unconventional, yet on the whole I feel I shall have no cause to regret my decision. It could have been much worse. If Uncle Gardiner had not previously intervened you or I would be Mrs. Collins by now.”

Despite the heavy air lingering about them, the two broke out in giggles.

“Oh, Lizzy!” Jane cried out before she laughingly embraced her sister.

“Come, let us return. Mr. Darcy has promised to come to tea. He is eager to meet you.”

The two sisters returned to the house of their dear aunt arm-in-arm. When they arrived, they were surprised that there were two visitors instead of Mr. Darcy alone.

“Miss Elizabeth,” Mr. Darcy began. “May I introduce my dear friend, Mr. Charles Bingley?” Elizabeth turned her gaze from her dark lover to the bright, smiling countenance of Charles Bingley. “Please forgive the impropriety of bringing an unannounced guest, but when Bingley heard our good news, he insisted on making your acquaintance as soon as possible. As he will be standing up with me I thought it prudent to introduce him to your Maid of Honor.”

“Mr. Bingley, a pleasure. I hope you gentlemen were not kept waiting long?”

“No, no. I … we were impatient to learn of the safe arrival of your sister,” Darcy stammered never taking his eyes off of Elizabeth, her cheeks flush, her eyes bright from their excursion in the park.

“Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley, may I introduce my sister, Miss Jane Bennet?” The lady curtsied and the gentlemen bowed. Immediately, Mr. Bingley returned his gaze to the lovely, flaxen haired, Miss Jane Bennet.

“Miss Bennet,” Bingley said, “May I be one of the first to welcome you to London?”

“Thank you, Mr. Bingley.”

“I trust your journey was pleasant?” Mr. Darcy asked.

“Oh yes, sir, most pleasant. I was anxious to arrive before you and my sister solemnized your vows.” She looked pointedly at the dark haired gentleman. Darcy looked between the sisters. Jane's eyes appeared as steel and continued to calmly take his measure. Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with delight. He blushed, surprising all present. His color rose even higher as he heard Elizabeth's adorable giggle. He looked at her attempt at suppressing her smile. His chagrin was complete when he noticed Bingley covering his smile with a cough.

Mrs. Gardiner returned, followed by Lottie carrying the tea service. “There you are, Jane, Lizzy.” Mrs. Gardiner was relieved to see the ease between the sisters. While wishing Elizabeth would confide in her, she was relieved that at least she had unburdened her heart to Jane. To be honest, there is simply too much on my mind at present to deal with much more anyway.

The quintet sat down for a pleasant conversation. They made arrangements to attend the theatre the next evening and spoke of dinner at Darcy House the evening before the wedding. After a brief discussion of the beauties of Hertfordshire, Darcy and Bingley departed, allowing Jane the opportunity to rest. The ladies had been invited to a musical event at the home of Lady Brekenridge who was promoting her latest protégé, Alphonse du Baptiste. Bingley mentioned that his sisters Louisa and Caroline would attend as well.

“Perhaps we shall make their acquaintance?” Jane replied sweetly, as she handed Mr. Bingley his hat and gloves. Elizabeth watched Darcy wince at her comment, piquing her curiosity.

“A moment, Bingley, excuse me?” Darcy called out.

“Of course.” Bingley proceeded to inquire the length of Jane's visit to London, to which she replied, “I am uncertain. At present I have no fixed date of return. I find I am entirely dependent on Elizabeth and her plans.” Charles beamed his approval.

Meanwhile, Darcy had restrained Lizzy so as to have a word with her. “Elizabeth, I beg you, beware of Caroline Bingley.” Elizabeth looked at him in alarm. “As good and amiable is Charles, Caroline is his opposite. She is vain and pretentious and will not be kind.” Darcy looked over at his friend. “I would not have you think less of Charles based on his sister's behavior.” Again he looked at Bingley and Jane conversing quietly amongst themselves. Elizabeth followed his eyes to the blooming couple and smiled.

“I will take your words to heart, Mr. Darcy, for both myself and my sister's sake.”

“I have no doubt in your ability to handle any situation Elizabeth or to face any rudeness, but Miss Bennet, who appears to me to be somewhat like Bingley, may be a bit more tender.”

“Fear not, Fitzwilliam,” Darcy snapped his head, locking on to her eyes as she spoke his given name. His eyes smoldered as another barrier lifted between them. He grabbed her hand pressing it to his lips. Then boldly, he quickly pulled her to him, his lips locking on hers. In surprise, her mouth opened and he slipped his tongue between her lips, teasing and surprising her. Elizabeth felt possessed and weak in the knees. She met his challenge, engaging his tongue with her own. She took great pleasure when she felt Darcy collapse into her, a moan escaping his throat.

There was silence as Darcy and Elizabeth pulled apart, feeling the smiling gaze of their friend and sibling upon them. Bingley cleared his throat while the engaged couple blushed, profusely.

“It has been a pleasure, Mr. Darcy,” Jane spoke up. “I anticipate a happy sister upon your joining the family.” Jane smiled at his heightened color. Elizabeth grew even more flushed at her sister's teasing. Bingley slapped Darcy on the back and the gentlemen made their exit.

Chapter Four

March, 1812
Darcy House
London

Darcy ran his fingers along the edge of the paper he had read over half an hour ago. After all he had dealt with in his recent past, he thought he understood something of human behavior. But this? To engineer the downfall of a family to gain the hand of a woman? For the tenth time he re-read the document his man, Henderson had delivered earlier that evening. “The gentleman. Lord B, expressed bitterly that Mr. Darcy has reaped the benefits of all his machinations. And I quote, insufferable hours in the company of that pretentious Whitecastle drinking luring him to the gaming tables of Madame Southesby. His admittance alone cost me fifty pounds. Then as his debts became insurmountable, when he had no recourse, it was easier than I imagined…I simply raised the notion of taking the money, of embezzlement. The only time of uncertainty was waiting for Whitecastle to summon the courage to do it. Then, it was I who was to ask for Miss Bennet's favor. She would not, could not have refused my offer! I would have been very generous. I had no desire to see her suffer in any way, she is delectable. No, she was supposed to be mine! After a month or two, once I was satiated with the pleasure of Miss Elizabeth's body I would pull my self away and renew my suit for my cousin, the wealthy, if insipid Countess Bleary.”

“At least it is only Whitecastle that is ruined, and by his own hand.” Darcy threw the paper down in disgust, propelling himself out of his chair to the sidebar where he kept his brandy at the ready. Before pouring, he looked at the bottle, only one quarter full. Was it only yesterday Hobbs decanted the '97? He stopped to question himself. If not for Finch's loose tongue I would remain ignorant of Mr. Gardiner's and Elizabeth's plight? He took a hefty dose off the fine port. She would have been lost to me. This thought, unbidden and sharp like a sword cut through the fog of emotion in which Fitzwilliam dwelt since his father's demise.

Grief and responsibility had distanced him enough from his peers and the society they had once enjoyed. A society that he too had enjoyed and had anticipated enjoying again. Yet, as he gradually re-entered the circus of parties and balls and empty heads with proud demeanors, he saw the vacuous, heartless and meaningless center of it all. He recoiled from the mercenary hobnobs passing themselves off as the best England had to offer. Instead he followed a natural inclination toward intellectual curiosity, he re-visited the philosophical and literary societies his father had introduced him to many years before. He renewed the membership his great-grandfather had begun in the Masters Chess Club of London.

When forced to he attended obligatory social functions keeping the promise that Antoinette, or her predecessor, Sylvanie, would caress away the distasteful memories in their sensuous embrace. Their passion and occasional musical concert when Georgiana would still be seen in public were the only moments approaching happiness and satisfaction he had enjoyed.

And now, Antoinette is gone from my life, and Georgiana, she too, is removed, in her own way. As this thought crossed his mind, he realized he regretted nothing. His mind more pleasantly focused on the warm and delightful eyes of Miss Bennet, soon to be Mrs. Darcy appeared before him, as if out of a mist, a fog of confusion. Since seeing her at the opera, almost two months ago, his mind was never really without her, even during the increasingly rare nights when he had visited Antoinette. Miss Bennet's eyes fired his loins and her figure so beautifully arrayed drove his passion to new heights. Even a stray thought caused an immediate and pronounced physical reaction to her.

Even now, midday, less than an hour before his sister expected him at dinner, his body was enflamed with Elizabeth's image before him. He saw her in the nightgown he had purchased for their wedding night. It was of the softest lace, made to hug each curve of her addicting form. With his mind he drew down the straps so the gown relied on the prominence of her young breasts to uphold her decency. But he had no desire for her decency in the confines of his mind. A hand, his hand, guided the fabric down her curves. His hands felt the soft firmness of each breast as he lingered on their fullness. His fingers caressed her nipples, toying with them, enjoying their growing firmness beneath his touch. He yanked the fabric from her breast, forcing it down to her waist. His eyes dilated as he feasted on her perfection. And she is mine, he thought for the thousandth time, She will belong to no one else ever again.

His hand drawn to a firmness of his own, and rubbed over the front of his trousers, as his eyes closed to the quiet of his study. He imagined her willingly in his chamber. He moaned in delight as her eyes sparkled welcoming him, her hands pulling at his nightshirt. He heard her voice whisper low, demanding, I want to feel you next to me, your skin upon my own. She gathered his shirt and raised it over his head. Her hands next went to the lace gathered above her hips. Seductively, she placed two fingers from each hand applying pressure until the fabric stretched and shimmied, slowly down her body, revealing inch by inch the beauty of her skin. Skin he was sure was never seen by another man. And she is mine, he thought again, the pace of his hand upon his now bared erection increased, as in his mind he heard the flutter of yards of lace hit the floor, pooled at her graceful feet. She stepped out of the circle of froth, moving closer to him. He could feel her breath upon his chest, so attuned was he to her.

As she pressed her lushness to his body, he felt it tense anticipating the release to come. Her lips lifted to his and smiled, but rather than touch his, she looked straight ahead and clasped them to his erect nipple. A jolt of pleasure cascaded over him as he climaxed in waves of total abandon. Quickly, automatically, he reached for the steady supply of handkerchiefs kept in his top desk drawer, wiping himself before the semen could stain his trousers.

With a protective and totally relaxed hand over his spent manhood, Fitzwilliam Darcy closed his eyes and smiled. She shall be mine.

*--* *--*

Lakewood Manor
London

The evening with Lady Brekenridge was a tremendous success. Monsieur du Baptiste wooed the ladies present through the music he coaxed from the pianoforte. Two duchesses commissioned works for the next season. Elizabeth, Mrs. Gardiner and Jane were welcomed by their hostess, and Elizabeth was congratulated on her upcoming nuptials. As they approached the refreshment table, they overheard two women conversing about Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy. Lizzy sidestepped the table, positioning herself to hear more clearly. Her sister, after sending a chastising look her way, joined her. Their aunt acknowledged their desertion, and went to speak with a Mrs. Claredge.

“Honestly, Louisa, I do not know what has come over Charles. This afternoon he actually went to Cheapside! Mr. Darcy took him over to meet that upstart he's marrying, Eliza something or other. I've heard he had to marry below his station, you know, as no woman of quality would have him,” the woman sniffed.

“Caroline please, let it go. That was over two years ago. No one really cares about that anymore,” the other woman spoke in a loud whisper. “If only you had taken my advice and waited, you would be marrying Mr. Darcy and not this Bennet woman. Although from what I hear she was first courted by Lord Blainard, so there must be something to her, my dear.”

“Oh there is something to her, Louisa, and it all fits in the front of her dress.” The women cackled until Miss Steele came to speak with them. Jane could tell her sister was upset by the incessant, rhythmic pounding Elizabeth's thighs received from her clenched fists. Jane, herself, was appalled by the cruel words applied to her dear sister.

“Jane? Elizabeth?” called their Aunt Gardiner. “Here you are. The Duchess of Winchester wishes to make your acquaintance.” Stepping in front of the archway so the gossips could gain their view, Elizabeth and Jane attended their aunt and the Dowager Duchess.

“Miss Bennet, I have heard wonderful things about you from Mr. Mills of the Philosophical Society.” The voice of the venerable Duchess held unmitigated delight. “He made me promise to seek your acquaintance if ever the opportunity presented itself. And here you are. And who is this lovely creature?”

“My eldest niece, your Grace, Miss Jane Bennet,” added Mrs. Gardiner.

“It is an honor, your Grace,” Jane responded politely, curtsying correctly.

“Indeed,” replied Elizabeth, copying her sister in executing a perfect address to the elder woman.

“Once you and Mr. Darcy have settled in, I would invite you and your charming sister and aunt, to come for tea,” Duchess Winchester invited.

“It would be an honor,” Elizabeth replied, appreciation and delight written all over her face.

“I will send my card.”

“Thank you, your Grace,” Elizabeth ended with a smile, before turning to Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst. The Bingley sisters stood behind them, their mouths agape like beached fish. Elizabeth arched her brow before nodding her head.

“Elizabeth? Jane? I believe I am ready to return home.” Mrs. Gardiner began ushering her nieces to the door.

*--* *--*

Covent Garden
London

The next evening, the Darcy carriage collected the Gardiner party carrying them to a production of Love's Labour's Lost. Darcy noted there was nervousness in the Gardiners demeanor, and he searched Elizabeth's face for a clue as to its cause. Instead of answering him, she avoided meeting his gaze, looking out the window into the darkening sky. Involuntarily, Darcy tensed, his jaw clenching tightly.

Sitting next to him, Charles Bingley, noticed and chuckled, distracting both Darcy and Elizabeth from their musings. “Darcy, old man, lighten up. In two days you will be married. There is nothing that can stop you now.”

Darcy smiled and looked at Elizabeth. I must trust she will tell me what troubles her, and I will find a way to help her, he thought.

The gentlemen disembarked from the carriage, then helped their ladies to the ground. Mr. Gardiner assisted his wife, Bingley aided Jane, and Darcy took Elizabeth's hand guiding her descent. He held her hand in his own, relishing her grasp upon him. There was nothing tentative about it. She held it expecting him to support her, trusting him to keep her from harm. Yet she relied on her own strength to navigate herself to the ground. Before entering the theater, Elizabeth gave Darcy a brilliant smile, one that melted regions of his soul he had not realized were frozen. She brought warmth to him, an unexpected joy in just being near. Darcy marveled at this, as he had never experienced anything similar in his life.

As they entered the theater, all eyes were upon them. Curious onlookers were amazed to see not one but three ladies in the Darcy party, all respectable, beautiful women.

“That Darcy always had an eye for beauty,” Mr. Radclift said to his friend, Mr. Cosgrove.

“I hear he stole Miss Bennet right out from under Blainard's nose,” the latter replied.

“Jolly good. I think Miss Bennet a cut above Blainard. Would not wish him upon my worst enemy's sister,” Radclift rejoined. “Darcy will take prodigious care of her, I dare say.”

There were many such murmurings as the striking couples passed through the foyer. Miss Bingley and Mr. Upschtart stood along the sidelines with Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. They were watching the array of society's finest and were shocked not only to see Mr. Darcy in such a gay party, but their very own brother escorting the beautiful, unknown quantity of Eliza Bennet's sister.

“Charles?! Charles, over here!” Caroline called out a tad too loudly for propriety's sake. Charles glanced around and located the source of the grating noise. He bent his head towards his lovely companion and in a low voice, said, “My sister Caroline. May I introduce you?”

Jane looked into the eager face of Mr. Bingley and immediately agreed to his request. Bingley looked to their host for the evening, but Darcy shook his head in the negative. This was their code of long standing that Darcy's box was not receiving visitors. Bingley led Jane away from the others, knowing there was only a scant time remaining before the bell would rescue them.

Introductions were made, and Jane pleasantly ignored the brazen appraisal the Bingley sisters made of her person. She was used to the judgment of other women assessing her as friend or foe. She found it strange that these women, sisters to her escort, were acting as if she was somehow a threat to them. Aside from Charles, the only one who showed true gentility was Mr. Upschtart. Miss Bingley soon noticed the attention her fiancée gave this unknown country girl and was not pleased. First Mr. Darcy, then Charles, and now Mr. Upschtart! Insufferable. I will just have to show this strumpet her place before she thinks she and her sister can just barge into society and strut about. As Charles and Jane excused themselves when they heard the bell, all noticed the peculiarly sour expression gracing Caroline Bingley's otherwise pretty face.

Miss Bingley was not pleased at all when she overheard conversations from Lady Mathilda, one of the up and coming hostesses of the ton proclaiming “Miss Bennet will be such a refreshing addition to society. I must have the Darcys to Brandhurst this summer.” Caroline fumed at this pronouncement in particular. She had been angling for such an invite for the last three seasons. And that chit just marches in and steals my rightful place. Well, we shall see about that.

Louisa Hurst had overheard the same conversation. However her mind was more agreeably engaged. If Charles befriends Miss Bennet, our connections will greatly improve. Elizabeth Bennet has been adopted whole-heartedly and our standing will rise as well. She made a mental note to invite the Miss Bennets to tea before they left London for the summer.

The Darcys' attendance at the theatre was a success. More often than not, heads nodded in recognition, and Darcy had no doubt it was due to the lovely woman on his arm. Elizabeth was radiant in a rose-colored satin gown with rosebuds of a deeper hue embroidered along the edges of her sleeves and alluring neckline. How I long to pluck those buds, he thought as the lights in the box dimmed. Illuminated from the stage below, Elizabeth glowed; her skin appearing as soft as velvet and as warm and inviting. While she watched the players on the stage, he watched her, although more often than not, his mind created its own drama--that of her surrender to him on their marriage bed.

He saw her, in his rooms in town, the arch and strain on her bodice as she wrestled to undo the buttons running down her back. He felt his skin warm at the thought as his mind recreated the fabric of her gown straining across her breast, pushing more of her flesh against the restriction of its neckline. And then, he saw the fabric fall away like a veil parting, revealing her skin. Her corset still clung to her and Darcy's finger twitched with wanting to unlace the constricting garment. Looking back at him, his imaginary Elizabeth, still in her stockings and shoes, pulled on the bow holding her corset in place. He could hear the binding run against the silk of the undergarment as she loosened its hold upon her.

He let out a growl, and the Elizabeth sitting next to him in the darkened theater turned her attention to him. She looked at his face questioningly, forcing him to return to the present. He blushed and turned his gaze to the actors on the stage. However, her intoxicating presence, and the memory of his vision pulled him to return his gaze to her. She was in profile, her eyes smiling, as were her lips. He knew the taste of those lips and various parts of his anatomy were raging in their jealousy. The air in the box grew stifling around Darcy, his neck cloth and his breeches growing tight. He squirmed in his seat, his agitation so pronounced that Elizabeth leaned over to take his hand to calm him. This, however, was not what was required, as in doing so she presented the top of her breasts for his worship. He sighed and licked his lips. Her lips were moving near his ear. He could feel her breath upon him, and his eyes closed. She held his hand and he squeezed it before placing it in the middle of his lap. She gasped feeling the solid protuberance pressing through his trousers. Slowly, he moved her hand back and forth across it, and suddenly the air warmed for Elizabeth as well. Assessing her reaction, Darcy was more than pleased when he noticed the peaking of her nipples through the satin of her dress.

If he had paid more attention to her person sitting next to him, he would have been gratified to know that her attention was more often focused on him than the performance on stage. His scent mingled in the air she breathed, she could hear his ragged breathing as it caused his chest to heave in a most provocative manner. While she heard the actors say their lines, she envisioned them, their limbs entwined in some of the more evocative images she had seen in her father's art books. Her mind ran wild as she stole glances of her handsome fiancée's profile, imagining more of his kisses. Her skin tingled in anticipation and she felt her underclothes dampen in anticipation.

Suddenly the applause growing around them stopped their explorations. Caught in their attraction they turned toward each other, both blushing. He was mortified at being caught until he saw her arched brow with the gleam in her eye and the growing smile upon her lips. His eyes smiled back at her as he relaxed his hold upon her hand. They brought their hands together, joining the audience at large in giving praise to the performance.

*--* *--*

That evening the Gardiners hosted the gentlemen for a light, late-night supper. Darcy and Elizabeth remained quiet, unwilling to share their assessment of the actors on the stage. Jane and her relations looked at the impending couple with varying degrees of consternation. It was not like Elizabeth not to offer her opinion on anything. It is almost as if she did not enjoy the play, thought Jane. Madelyn Gardiner had conjectures of her own, And by judging by the fire in their eyes, I would place money that I am correct. She smiled at the prospective happiness awaiting this young couple.

The party broke early as the ladies had a last day of final fittings and shopping ahead of them before joining the Darcys for dinner the next evening. It would be the last day Elizabeth would remain a Bennet, and her family wished her to spend it with her as calmly as possible. Before the gentlemen took their leave, Elizabeth signaled to Darcy that she wished to speak with him in private. As she handed him his hat and gloves, her eyes begged for a moment.

“Bingley, I will meet you in the carriage,” he said to his friend.

“No hurry, man. I am fine where I stand,” Bingley said, looking at the fair Jane who returned his smile.

Elizabeth led him to a more secluded end of the hall.

“What is it, Elizabeth?” he asked, concerned over what she would say after their delectable foreplay in the theater. I will never think of Covent Gardens the same again.

“Fitzwilliam,” she began. He steeled himself against the onslaught the sound of her speaking his name created. “Is there any way you could speak with my uncle tomorrow?”

Her question returned him to reality. “Why? What has happened?”

“There has been no news from the bank. They will not be able to extend him the credit in time to satisfy his creditors. Things have come to a rather premature head.” Elizabeth's face was clouded with concern. He took the hands that she wrung bringing them up to kiss each one.

“I will speak with him first thing tomorrow. I have already prepared the sum for the day after our wedding, two days early makes no difference to me. Especially if it will bring you peace, my dear Elizabeth.” He lifted one hand to cup her cheek, marveling at how just one touch from her could command him so. “I am amazed, Elizabeth, how quickly you have taken hold of me. I only pray, you never let me go.”

She gasped at the power in his voice as he declared his feelings to her. She looked into his eyes, questioning him on everything. “How did this love arrive?” she asked. “How can it be so strong?”

“I do not know,” he said, chuckling as he leaned down taking her lips to his own.

*--* *--*

Madame Lestart's Shop
Bond Street, London

Madame Celeste fulfilled her promises. The dress she created for Elizabeth Bennet was an incredible vision of silk organza with crystal beading along the neckline. It was softness and elegance combined. When they saw it, both Jane and her aunt shed bittersweet tears. “Oh, Lizzy, if Papa could see you now,” Jane exclaimed, suddenly seized by a longing for their long-gone parents. “He would be so proud of you, of all you have done. If it were not for you, Elizabeth, I do not know what would have become of us.” Elizabeth came to her sister, holding her in an embrace while their aunt wiped her own tears away. She joined her nieces, wrapping them in her arms as well.

“Tis true, Elizabeth. You are the glue that binds us all together.”

Madame Celeste though accustomed to the frayed nerves of brides, was taken aback by the intensity of the three women when she returned with the organza veil in her hands. This had been her crowning glory. She had fastened gardenia blossoms into the headdress wanting to create the effect that would reproduce for the next morning. “Mon Dieu,” she exclaimed upon entering the room. “What is this? Such a beautiful bride to bring such tears? This will never do. Clarice!”

Her niece came in, and Madame Celeste ordered tea. The ladies calmed themselves, all the while exclaiming the marvel Celeste had created. Profuse thanks were given and well received. Celeste felt her heart expand at the sincere praise of these three women.

*--* *--*

As Elizabeth changed out of her gown, Jane wandered to the front of the shop, touching the fabrics, thinking of gowns she might order for herself. Elizabeth had promised to bring Jane and perhaps Mary to town next season. She was soon lost in thoughts of dances to come with the charming Mr. Charles Bingley. Voices obscured by mannequins draped in luxurious fabric disturbed her pleasant revelries.

“Oh, she may think herself well situated now but when Mr. Darcy returns to Miss du Marche, we will see how smug she remains,” said one pinched voice who sounded vaguely familiar.

“And I have heard that Mademoiselle du Marche has ordered a number of fine gowns and has been seen wearing some very impressive jewels,” added another woman's voice, sounding more like a duck than Jane had thought possible. “It seems she will not give up Darcy without a fight.” The women cackled cruelly and Jane remained, her hand fingering a bolt of intricate fabric until Elizabeth and Mrs. Gardiner came to collect her.

“Jane, what is it dear?” Mrs. Gardiner asked with great concern in her voice. She felt her forehead. “Do you feel ill?”

“No, Aunt. I am fine,” Jane replied hastily. Their aunt went to call for the carriage. Elizabeth joined her sister, insisting, “Jane, in truth you look quite ill.”

“Lizzy,” she spoke quietly, intently, brooking no opposition. “I have just heard some vile gossip regarding your Mr. Darcy and one Miss du Marche.” Jane tried to read her sister's reaction to see what truth lay in the rumor. As their aunt was approaching, Lizzy whispered, squeezing her sister's hand in reassurance.

“We will speak of this at the Gardiner's, Jane.”

Jane nodded her consent. As the Bennets moved to join their aunt, Jane and Lizzy in her wake looked decidedly to the left as Caroline Bingley and Lucy Steele cackled in derisive merriment at some new, unsuspecting soul. Lizzy gave Jane a significant look, topped by an arching brow.

*--* *--*

Gardiner Residence
Cheapside, London

While the ladies occupied themselves at Madame Celeste's, Darcy knocked on the door to Mr. Gardiner's study. When he heard, “Enter,” he found the older gentleman looking up from scattered papers and ledger books.

“Ah, Mr. Darcy, what may I do for you this fine morning?” he asked, a mask of joviality barely covering his deep concern.

“Sir, it is what I may do for you.” Darcy took the chair that was offered. He took a deep breath. “It has come to my attention that Mr. Whitecastle” -- here Mr. Gardiner stiffened -- “may have left your establishment in disarray. As a way of pleasing Elizabeth, I would like to offer you this.” Darcy reached into his coat pocket retrieving a bank check for 30,000 pounds. Mr. Gardiner just stared at it, his mind awhirl with conflicting emotions. He stared as seconds collected into minutes. He brought his fingers together in front of his mouth and they stroked his upper lip, pacifying the supposition he hoped would go away.

With agonizing slowness, Mr. Gardiner turned his gaze to Darcy before he spoke, “Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth is not, and has never been, for sale.”

Stunned, Darcy remained still. “Mr. Gardiner, I never …”

“How long have you known about this, and what part does this play in your hasty proposal to my niece, sir?” Mr. Gardiner flew out of his chair approaching a startled Darcy. “How could you lower … you sir, are a cur. Take your money and leave my house, never to return.” He reached for the door, opening it and with his arm indicating the direction he wished Darcy to follow.

“Mr. Gardiner, Elizabeth has given herself to me, of her own free will.”

“Believe that if it gives you pleasure, Mr. Darcy, but I know Elizabeth. I know her kind heart. If she knew of our trouble, she would leave no stone unturned to aid us. She does not love you, Mr. Darcy, and I will not subjugate her to that kind of future, simply to placate …”

“Mr. Gardiner.” Darcy now stood, his voice booming in the small room. “Elizabeth has agreed to marry me and marry me she shall. I do not need to explain myself to you or to anyone.” He moved towards Edward Gardiner, his voice low and feral, “there is nothing you can do that will change this fact. Now you can save yourself, and your family's reputation or not. I hope that you shall. I would hope to do business with you in the future. However, should you decide to oppose my plans, I will not stop to think of the consequences to achieve my objective, which is to wed Elizabeth. Do you understand me?”

“Mr. Darcy, I beseech you, do not do this. It will only bring misery to you both.”

“No sir, it will not. Elizabeth and I are suited for each other, made for each other if you will. As her uncle, I beseech you, do not oppose this union. As a man who not relinquish his desire, I advise you do the same.” They stood, staring at each other, each holding their ground. They heard a carriage approach and soon, the front door open. Darcy did not want this standoff to continue. “Perhaps our courtship has not the markings of tradition, or regularity. However, I believe that Elizabeth cares for me, and I, sir, care for her. More than I had ever imagined possible. All will be well, Mr. Gardiner. On that you have my word.”

Both men could hear the lively exchange as the women put up their coats and prepared for supper. The children's voices were soon heard bouncing around the parlor walls. Mr. Gardiner took Darcy's measure and relented. “Very well, Mr. Darcy. I concede.”

“It is not a matter of winners or losers, sir. We shall both have our desire, that of Elizabeth's happiness.”

“I certainly hope you are right, Mr. Darcy. I certainly hope you are right.”

Darcy nodded. The bank check lying on the floor caught his eye. He bent to pick it up. He approached Mr. Gardiner. “For Elizabeth's sake sir, I ask that you take the money. It would break her heart to see you brought low by another's folly. She has spoken as much to me. Please, do not crush her with your pride. No one need ever know about this.”

Edward Gardiner looked at the bank note still in Darcy's hands. The irony was not lost on him. How can I accept this offer? he asked himself before a second question formed as he heard the laughter of his children and his wife's gentle remonstrations to them. How can I not?]/i]

*--* *--*

After Mr. Darcy departed, Elizabeth declared she wished a brief stroll to clear her head before tea. Jane agreed to accompany her and soon they were seeking a shaded path along the little pond in the nearby park.

“Elizabeth, do you mean to tell me you know about this Miss du Marche?”

“Yes.”

“And you [i]still agree to marry him?” Jane was beyond incredulous. Elizabeth looked at her sister struggling with this information as she herself struggled to find the words to explain.

“Yes, I do. Come let us sit,” Elizabeth led Jane to the stone bench before continuing. “Lord Blainard made me more than aware of how things stood when I met Mr. Darcy.”

“The way …”

“The way Miss Bingley made it sound,” Elizabeth interrupted.

“Yes, Miss Bingley…” Jane took a moment recalling their meeting at the theater and the overheard bitterness of Miss Bingley. “But why would she just launch into such character assassination?”

“Oh, I saw her when Madame asked me to show the veil to one of her seamstresses. The look she gave me made me fear for her health.” Jane took this information, weighing it against what she knew of Elizabeth.

“Surely you would not marry him knowing he keeps a woman.”

“Mr. Darcy has … indicated that he has released Miss du Marche … from his service.”

“Forgive me, Lizzy, but can you trust him … to honor his word?”

Elizabeth looked away searching her own heart for her answer. She felt Jane take hold her hand and Elizabeth gave it a gentle squeeze in appreciation. Finally, she looked at Jane, replying, “I hope so, Jane, because, I do believe him…I must.” Jane was about to speak but Elizabeth continued, “Jane, I do not know how to explain this feeling that has come over me.”

“Could it be only physical attraction, Lizzy?”

Elizabeth blushed. “Oh, there is that, to be sure.” She smiled at her sister. “But that is not all, Jane. When I am with him I feel safe. I feel he would not harm me, and I have made it abundantly clear my stand on Miss du Marche.”

Jane laughed. “Of that I am sure.” Jane rose and pulled her sister up with her. “Thank you, Elizabeth. I feel better knowing you have, as is your nature, addressed this directly.”
The two smiled and continued to walk around the pond before returning to Gracechurch Street. As they left the park, Jane asked, “Lizzy, why would Miss Bingley wish to cause you such pain, if even through me?”

“I do not know for certain. However, Mr. Darcy indicated she is the opposite of her brother, Mr. Bingley.” Lizzy noted well the becoming color rising on her dearest sister's skin. “You remember the first we made her acquaintance? The cruel things she said regarding my person?”

“Oh, Lizzy, I had pushed that from my mind.” They walked on in silence. “It just pains me to think there are people in this world who would willingly harm another. There must be some grave disappointment fueling her ire.”

“You have met her intended, Mr. Upschtart?”

“A more notable Mr. Collins I have never met,” Jane replied. The ladies giggled as they walked into the house.

*--* *--*

Gardiner Residence
Cheapside, London

Elizabeth sat at the dressing table in the room she shared with Jane. Fitzwilliam had sent over a stunning emerald necklace that matched her gown. A pair of jeweled combs set with the dark green stones sparkled in her luscious brown hair pinned on top of her head. Lizzy felt a bit like a princess as she gazed at the reflection returned by her mirror. She was grateful that Jane had completed her preparations and was aiding her aunt in last minute directions to Nurse Ellie. For the first time since Jane's arrival, Elizabeth Bennet had a moment to herself to prepare for what tomorrow would bring.

Tomorrow I leave all this behind. All that I have ever known, to join my life with a man that I barely know. Suddenly Lizzy felt like crying. “This is not how I envisioned my life!” she cried out, then immediately cupped her hands over her mouth, shocked she had given voice to that tiny fear screaming to be heard. She paced about the room. “What am I to do? I do not think I can go through with this. We barely know each other. Three weeks ago, one week ago I had no idea what this man was about. And now? Do I know? Oh, dear God, please help me. Give me a sign to know what to do. What is right?” Elizabeth wanted to cry, to collapse into tears, awaiting her Jane to come and relieve her suffering. But that would not happen, no matter how she wished it. The tears would not come. And Elizabeth knew the reason for it.

Deep in her heart, she knew that what she did was right. Darcy had come to her with a way to help her family. The family that remained, that had cared for her through those dark hours after her parents' accident. They were part of her and she was part of them. And it was in her power to relieve their suffering and she would do it. Not because she had to, rather because she wanted to. Darcy was a decent man. He would be good to her. He was already very generous. Her uncle had shown her the settlement papers, and she and her family would never have to worry about their material well-being again. And he was marrying her, not taking her as … his mistress. This was one of the pieces she still did not understand. “Why is he marrying me? He said he had his reasons, he had even shared some of the them. But what if there is more, how can I trust him? And that he has…a mis….a mistress, that does not…had a mistress, Lizzy. You must trust him.” Her pacing increased as thoughts whirled through her head. “Honestly I do, it is just…difficult. What if he decides to leave me? Jamie said he loved me and then he left.” She paced around the room, her agitation growing. “I cannot…I must…but I cannot, how can I trust him when I do not know what kind of man he truly is? ”

“So this is what you kept in your heart.” Jane had walked in undetected by Lizzy in her heightened state of distress.

“Jane!” Elizabeth looked at her sister who came instantly to her side. The two embraced and Jane felt Elizabeth unleash her fear. Tears rushed from her eyes, as cries of despair rushed from her heart to Jane's ear.

“Oh, Lizzy, dearest. Have faith my darling sister. All will be well, I promise you.”

“No, no, I must marry … tomorrow.”

“Hush, Lizzy. We will speak with uncle, he will make things right. I promise.”

“Oh, Jane … what am I to do?”

“I am sure Mr. Darcy will understand. One week is too much to expect when you two barely know each other.” Lizzy collapsed in her tears once again as Jane stroked her back gently, as she had as a child. Jane knew that the tears that fell into her gown were for more than the coming ceremony. Lizzy was missing their parents, especially her father. Spring was always difficult for Elizabeth, as the rain sodden roads were what had caused the accident that claimed their lives. Elizabeth, always one to walk through the wilds around Longbourn, had been the one to hear the commotion and find the upturned vehicle. It was she who had found the mangled bodies of their mother and father.

And now this, thought Jane, sadly. And yet I cannot think ill of Mr. Darcy. The way he looks at Elizabeth, I fear not for her happiness. Yet, if she is this frightened, this cannot bode well for her. How can I help her?

Madelyn Gardiner knocked gently on the door. Jane called out, “Enter.” Upon seeing her nieces comforting each other, Madelyn drew near, hoping to calm Elizabeth. When she saw the tears still streaming down those precious cheeks, Madelyn grew frightened.

“Lizzy, child, what is wrong?” Mrs. Gardiner looked from one niece to the other. “Jane, what is it?”

“Oh, Aunt, I cannot do this. I cannot go on …” and here Elizabeth's tears redoubled.

“Jane, go and speak with your uncle. You and he must go and make our excuses. I will stay with Elizabeth. Is that all right with you, dear?” When Elizabeth nodded her head that was buried in her aunt's shoulder, Madelyn turned and pleaded with Jane to make haste. Jane being sensible complied. Within minutes, the heavier step of their uncle was heard ascending the stairs towards their room.

“Madelyn, Lizzy, is all well?” he asked from behind the door, concern evident in his voice.

Madelyn tightened her embrace for a moment before pulling away to the door. She opened it, enough for his head to peak through. Mr. Gardiner was shocked at what he saw. Elizabeth was standing, attempting to pull her shoulders back and compose herself. Yet her eyes told all. He could see the doubt and fear and loneliness he had seen that dreadful day he arrived at Longbourn five years ago. Little Lizzy was back, and she wanted her papa to help her through this difficult time. But he was no where to be found. Mr. Gardiner looked imploringly at his wife, and was relieved when she finally spoke.

“Edward, take Jane to Darcy House and make our apologies. I will try and calm Elizabeth to find what troubles her so.” Mr. Gardiner met his wife's gaze, nodded his head and disappeared down the stairs from which he had just come. Madelyn closed the door, leaning against it before returning to her niece. Madelyn opened her arms to which Elizabeth rushed. Madelyn embraced Elizabeth, holding her as Lizzy's sobs poured from her heart. They remained together, losing track of all time. All she knew was to hold her dear, brave Lizzy until she could find her way again. Finally, Elizabeth pulled back and wiped her eyes. She watched her niece unhook the emerald necklace, replacing it in the worn velvet case.

“Here, let me help you, Lizzy,” she said as she hurried to Elizabeth's side. “Such a stunning gift, is it not?” Elizabeth nodded. “From the case, I hazard this piece has been in his family quite a while.” Lizzy looked at the case, as if for the first time. Her fingers skimmed the stones, cool to her touch. Even lying in their box, they caught the candle's light, throwing it all around the room in prisms of color. Yet they retained an ember of fire glowing at their heart. “Mr. Darcy must care a great deal for you to give you his family's jewels.” Lizzy looked up sharply at her aunt. “Oh, yes. Men do not go about giving pieces worn by their mothers and grandmothers to just any pretty face.” Madelyn Gardiner smiled. “For them, they purchase new pieces.” Madelyn was looking at Elizabeth through the mirror.

“It is this that troubles you, is it not? That Mr. Darcy has been with other women?”

“That Mr. Darcy kept another women, Aunt. How can I give my heart to a man who… how can I trust him? What if he takes another?”

Madelyn sat next to Lizzy and took her hand. “Elizabeth. I do not condone the choice that Mr. Darcy made, not at all. However, this was before you came into his life.”

“But … what if?”

“Let us stick with the facts.”

“Lord Blainard ….”

“Lord Blainard had his own objective in telling you of Mr. Darcy's indiscretion.”

“Indiscretion? Aunt, he had a mistress! I have tried to work my way through this, honestly I have. I just do not know if it is possible.” Elizabeth was about to speak, but realizing it was her aunt, she refrained from speaking her mind. Instead she simply said, “And yet I must.”

A commotion was heard below stairs then the rushing of boots upon the stairs. The knock upon the door startled both women and their surprise only increased when Mr. Darcy opened the door and entered the chamber. His eyes, wild in distress, took in the scene before him.

“Mrs. Gardiner, I implore you, a moment with Miss Bennet.”

Madelyn looked at Elizabeth and squeezed her hand. Then she rose and left the room. Elizabeth tried to remove the wetness from her cheeks.

“Why do you cry, Elizabeth? I cannot bear that it may be because of me.”

Elizabeth turned to face him, but remained where she sat. “Mr. Darcy, I fear I cannot keep my promise to you. It is all too soon, I…I have a difficult time trusting people in general, and to marry when so much…doubt fills my heart. I beg you to release me from our engagement.”

“No, Elizabeth, I cannot.” His voice was full of pain and sorrow. He was finding it difficult to retain his composure. She looked at him incredulously. “I cannot for I could not stand the pain.” He took his seat in the chair vacated by Mrs. Gardiner. “Elizabeth, you know my history. I have been alone too long, in a crowded world where no one understood my heart. No one even cared to notice one still beat within my breast, until you came into my world. Do you remember the ball at the Oversbys? ” She nodded. “I saw you there, and for a brief moment in time, you looked upon me. Upon me, not Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, but me. I felt as if the sun shone upon me when the rest of the world was shrouded in gray. I felt hope wake in my heart after so many long years lying dormant there. And, suddenly, you looked away, called away by Blainard and I felt alone again, only it was worse, because then I understood there is someone in this world I could turn to. And that someone is you.

“I know I rushed you to be my wife. And while my passion for you is strong, very strong, Elizabeth, that is not the primary reason I do so.” He looked away, finding it very difficult to say the words his heart knew were true. She reached out her hand to his calling his attention back to her. He turned towards her and seeing her hand, took it to his lips where he kissed it then held it to his cheek. “Elizabeth, I … I am ashamed to say I forced your hand because I was afraid it was the only way you would accept me.” She was about to speak, but he continued quickly, looking directly into her eyes. “Not because of my family's reputation. I overheard you defending both myself and Georgiana to your friend, Miss Helmsey. That was the first time I have ever known someone to speak so kindly about us upon hearing of our past.” Lizzy looked horrified at this. “I thought that once you knew that I had failed Georgiana, failed at keeping her safe, as I had promised my father, that you would no longer look upon me favorably.” He took a deep breath then spoke again, “I knew that my past, my indiscretion…with Miss du Marche…would turn you from me. That a woman of your character would be mortified and disappointed. I acted abominably forcing you to my suit.”

Darcy had to move away, it was all too overwhelming for him. Never before had he opened his heart to another living soul. He strode to the window, looking out into the dark night where he felt he would soon be thrown. Taking a deep breath, with his head hung low, he finally spoke, “I release you, Elizabeth, from your pledge. You are free now, to go … on your own.” He turned towards her before speaking again. “I have paid your uncle.” Here he smiled, briefly and sadly. “After much more effort than I thought possible, I convinced him to save his family.” Seeing she did not return his smile, Darcy quickly returned his gaze out the window as he felt his heart break. The only sound heard was the sorrowful sigh escaping his lungs. Lost within morose thoughts of his lonely future, Darcy did not hear Elizabeth rise from her chair. He wished to cry when he saw the green velvet box containing his mother's emeralds approach his hands. Then he saw Elizabeth looking up to him, her eyes washed with her tears.

“Fitzwilliam, thank you.” Darcy was surprised. She continued, “Your words have soothed my soul. Please answer me honestly. Miss du Marche, is now part of your past, is she not?”

“Elizabeth, I thought you understood, that is over.” He looked at her seeing the distress his past had upon her. He closed the distance between them, taking her arm in his hand, not daring to hold her closer. He felt his heart tear in two. “My darling, please. Even before you agreed, when you still were unknown to me, I could no longer see Miss du March.” He searched her eyes that she understood. “I have not been with her in months, since that night at the Opera. It is over and done. My solicitor has delivered her settlement and she has accepted it.”

“Settlement? She receives a settlement?”

Darcy drew her near to him, both hands firmly holding her arms. “Elizabeth, that type of arrangement has a legal component, to protect her from the whims of men. To break it requires a legal redress of its own. I have compensated her for breaking our contract.”

“You have paid her off?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. I could not deprive her of my financial obligations.”

“So, it is done? You will not see her again?”

“I will not.”
Lizzy felt a great burden lift from her heart. She smiled and her eyes glittered like diamonds. Then, just as quickly, she darkened. “And there will be no more?”

“There will be no more. You are the mistress of my heart, my body and my soul.” And then he kissed her. Then she kissed him and he clasped her to him crushing her into his body. She held onto him with a strength he craved. He wanted to cry out in joy that they had somehow gotten through this and he could only hope for joy in their future together.

“Then, Mr. Darcy, perhaps you would help me with my jewels. I believe we have a party to attend.”

Chapter Five

April, 1812

Gardiner Residence
Cheapside
London

Friday morning, April 27, 1812, dawned clear and bright. Elizabeth, as was her wont, was awake as her room brightened about her. From the comfort of her bed, she watched the room emerge from darkness, infused first with a soft grey, and then the pure white that comes with dawn's beginning. She stretched beneath the clean sheets. She heard Jane roll on to her side in the bed beside her. Without thinking, Elizabeth stretched her hand over her sister's shoulder, gathering the duvet to cover her most precious relation. Elizabeth herself rolled on to her side, staring hard at Jane's slumbering form.

Tis the last morning I will have you as my companion, Jane, she thought, but found herself not unhappy with this notion. As much as she did not know or understand about her future husband, she felt unafraid. Their talk the night before, and how attentive he had been during dinner, assured her that all would be well. He will not harm me. When she thought about producing an heir, her body warmed precipitously, and she longed for his physical presence.

They had kissed a number of times, and he had done the most amazing things to her hands, kissing them, placing his tongue on her palm, her wrist and looking at her in a way no one else had ever looked at her before. Even thinking about him, safe in her bed, she felt a warmth in her breast, drawing her hands. As his eyes came into greater focus in her mind, her hand ran down her stomach, resting on the entrance to her womanhood. Jane's light snoring recalled her to her present surroundings, and she drew her hand back. Since she was not alone Elizabeth decided to rise and start the day.

*--* *--*

St. Cecelia's
Cheapside, London

The church, decorated with white gardenias and lilacs, gave a heady perfume of spring to the gathering. Although of a heavy stone, the church had a light, airy quality to it, the sun streaming through the reds, blues, golds and greens of the stained glass windows illuminating images of its namesake. Fitzwilliam Darcy stood at the door of the antechamber, his cousin Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, and his friend Charles Bingley standing with him. The colonel, unsure he would still be in town for the wedding, had deferred to Bingley's standing up for Darcy. Bingley was doubly gratified, as Miss Jane Bennet was standing up alongside her sister.

The Fitzwilliam family sat in a pew with Georgiana and her companion Mrs. Annesley. Sebastian Finch and Alexander Saunders sat together towards the back of the church, unwilling to miss this event. Unbeknownst to Darcy, the duo were there to verify the authenticity of the ceremony, as there were sundry bets at White's that Darcy would not go through with it. Miss Emma Woodhouse and her father along with Emma's sister Isabella Knightly, her husband and his brother, George, sat awaiting the bride. Friends of Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner's were scattered about, as they had known Elizabeth since she was a young girl. Missing were Elizabeth's three younger sisters, unable to reach London on such short notice from their schools in the North.

Darcy tensed as he saw Lord Darryl Blainard enter and take his seat on the bride's side of the aisle. “What is he doing here?” asked the colonel, who as a military man was always on the lookout for trouble.

“I do not know, and I do not care,” hissed Darcy, “as long as he causes no harm.”

“I will see to it,” offered his cousin who was rewarded by a grateful nod from Darcy.

A carriage pulled up to the church and the sounds of children and the women trying to keep them from being heard echoed through the chamber. Darcy smiled, trying to keep from laughing when he caught Bingley's eye. He too, had a difficult time controlling his countenance when Thomas Gardiner's plaintive voice was clearly heard, “I do not want to hold Mira's hand. I want to hold Lizzy's!” Mr. Gardiner responded, “Thomas,” and the foyer was filled with silence. The organ began. The door opened, but Darcy failed to see anyone approach and was at a loss, until he heard gentle laughter ripple through the congregation. His eyes lowered, and he saw Thomas continually tugging his hand away from his sister, Miranda. Following close behind, giving their younger brother dangerous looks were Clara and James Gardiner. James looked like he wanted to throttle his younger brother. Mrs. Gardiner slipped through the church doors behind them. Colonel Fitzwilliam caught her eye and went to escort her to the front of the church. Instead of returning to Darcy or his family, he took a seat directly behind Lord Blainard.

Jane Bennet emerged into the church, beautiful in a rose colored silk gown. Slowly she made her way down the aisle and was met halfway by Charles Bingley who placed her hand on the crook of his arm and escorted her to the front of the church. He then took his place beside Darcy. The Right Reverend Sedgewick Pieceman came to the head of the aisle. All eyes turned toward the back of the church. A communal gasp filled the church as Elizabeth, on the arm of her uncle, came into view.

Her veil, consisting of a gathered silk organza held in place by a band of gardenias rested on her curls. The transparent material revealed her beauty as she walked toward Fitzwilliam Darcy at the end of the aisle in St. Cecelia's Church. His third cousin, the Archbishop, opened his arms in welcome. When asked who “gives this woman this day?”

Edward Gardiner, emotion choking his voice was able to eek out, “I do.”

Darcy was spellbound by the fact that after all he had endured in his life, she was pledging her trust, and perhaps her love to him. If not today, I will have the rest of my life to earn her love, he thought.

Elizabeth viewed her wedding through the veil of emotions colliding into one another. She kept her fears of the night before at bay until the enormity of the moment threatened to choke her. Nervously, she looked around at those gathered. None held her steady until she looked at her groom. He stood there, tall and unswerving, steady as she felt herself sway through the storm of her emotions. When her eyes met his, stillness wrapped around her, comforting her in a manner unique to her experience. She kept her head up, glued to his tender gaze.

The ceremony began and with every word spoken his smile grew broader, fully reaching his eyes. She saw his breath swell his chest and felt her smile widen as if on its own accord.

When he took her hand, Elizabeth felt the rightness of the moment. While not having the answers to all her questions regarding her unusual courtship, she was certain this union was right for her, and somehow true for him. Her musings were cut short when she heard his mellifluous voice decidedly call out, “I will.”

*--* *--*

As the carriage left the confines of London, its occupants fell into an almost uncomfortable silence. Darcy was preoccupied with thoughts of what lay ahead…his wedding night. He meant to keep his word to Elizabeth, that he would not enter her chambers until she called for him; yet thoughts of the passion she had shown fired his imaginings, and he battled to maintain his control. Her loveliness and the stunning gown she wore only highlighted her allure. It was a mighty struggle, and Darcy knew much rode on his success.

Elizabeth was only glad the turmoil of the last week was behind her. Now that they were married she wondered, What comes next? As she sat thinking of all the practical issues as a refuge from the intense feelings she felt towards her new husband, she twisted the gold band on her left hand. Rubies embedded in the gold shone back at her, and she smiled until her insecurities rose again. I suppose I am tolerable, yet there are others who are more fashionable, more accomplished. But he chose me! Not only chose me, she reminded herself, but went to much trouble to secure my family's reputation and standing in society, a society which I know he disdains. Why? The question burned at her enjoyment of this day of days. As her brow furrowed, her husband grew anxious.

“What causes such…such consternation, Elizabeth?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

She regarded him directly and spoke in an even manner. “I was just asking myself why, Mr. Darcy, you chose to make me Mrs. Darcy.” She fixed her eye upon him in a manner brooking no evasion of the question.

Ah, the moment of truth, he thought. Maintaining eye contact with her, he began, “Elizabeth, as you well know, I am not a novice to…the pleasures between a man and woman.”

“Neither am I, Mr. Darcy.”

His look of astonishment humored her. She raised her eyebrow in challenge to him. “I see,” he said. “And you thought now, after our wedding, was the time to inform me of your past?”

“Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth began, her ire raised at the alteration in his voice. “If we had a more lengthy engagement, perhaps there would have been time to explore our past experiences, and compare notes, shall we say? I am not yet one and twenty, and yet I have experience of the world; more than most women of my age.

He looked at her while his passions flared in another direction. What can she mean, she is familiar with the pleasures between…? His eyes narrowed, his brow furrowed, he learned forward in his seat. “Exactly what do you mean, Elizabeth, when you say you are no novice?” His voice was low, a growl, animalistic.

Elizabeth felt the hair rise on the back of her neck; she was mesmerized by the man, transformed by a familiar emotion. Before another thought passed through her mind, he grabbed her shoulders, dragging her towards himself, crushing his lips upon hers. Heat shot through her as if she was kindling, but his hands gripped her tightly and she struggled to push him back. Instinctively her hand came to slap him, but his hand prevented it from making contact.

“How dare you?”

“You are mine, Elizabeth, and I will have no secrets from you.” His hand gripped tighter to hers, “Tell me.” He attempted to steady his breath. “Now.”

When she looked into his eyes, she saw anger, jealousy and betrayal. It was to his pain, his hurt that she spoke. “Jamie, James Simmons, grew up alongside us in Meryton. His family owns Beyford, a good sized estate, less than ten miles away.”

Darcy released her hand, sitting back on his side of the carriage. His eyes, however, never left hers, weighing her words for their veracity.

“When… when my parents died, after… when we… when Longbourn was truly ours, our neighbors offered help, advice mostly. Jamie would come around, keep an eye on us. He and I spent most of our time outside, with the horses. He was always around, like a big brother; until one day about three years ago he… he kissed me and told me he loved me.”

Darcy felt his jaw tighten and he looked away.

“We were not always proper, but well …”

“How far?” he interrupted.

“Mr. Darcy!” she exclaimed, outraged.

“Elizabeth, I asked `how far?'”

Her eyes seized him in a cold grip. “Not far enough to damage my value on the marriage block, sir,” she answered, her voice lowering the temperature in the carriage.

Thank god, he thought. He allowed himself to look at her, to see the woman who had revealed all to him and sat there infuriated and unyielding. She did not cower, she was not ashamed, she was Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth,” he began, his voice softer, less hostile. “I… the thought of you with another… I… I am sorry for my behavior. I was a brute and unworthy of your forgiveness, but I beg it of you, just the same.” Silence reigned within the carriage as Elizabeth stared at him, assessing his behavior. “Why… why did you not tell me of this before?”

“Would it have made a difference, sir? Would you have rescinded your offer over a few caresses three years ago? Would my heart be abandoned twice over Jamie Simmons?”

Her eyes flared, and Darcy felt his breath leave him, his heart pound and his loins flare. He did his best to reassert control of his emotions until he answered in a labored breath, “No.” Gathering his courage, he continued, “Did he ask you to marry him?”

“Yes, he did.” She turned her head quickly to look out the window.

“Then why? What happened?” His voice was kind. She refused him! A young girl, alone in the world, did not run to the first offer, even though she cared for him.

“He moved to America,” she stated, her hands clasped in her lap to quell the impulse to bounce them. “He wanted me to leave Longbourn; leave my family and go off to America with him… I could not.” Tears ran down her cheek, unheeded. “He begged for days, his parents came to plead his cause, then they spread all sorts of vile accusations against me, that I lead him on, broke his heart.” She turned to look at her husband directly in the eye. “I could not! How could I leave Jane? Noah's Legacy is what kept us together. How could I abandon them to run off for Jamie's dream.” She stilled, and when she spoke next, it was small, barely audible, “I guess I did not love him enough.”

“Or perhaps he did not love you enough.” Her head shot up at his words. “If he could not see… could not honor your love…your ties to your sisters, what kind of love is that, Elizabeth?”

She looked at him, tilting her head as if allowing his words to seep into her head. Finally she spoke, again in a soft voice, “I do not know.”

He opened his arms to her, and she crossed the carriage to sit in his embrace. His long arms wrapped around her. “Thank you for telling me, Elizabeth,” he finally said. “You continue to amaze me, both in your courage and loyalty and your ability to humble me.”

Startled, she looked up from where she sought refuge in his embrace. “Humble you, Fitzwilliam?”

He nodded. “Yes. When you… when this discussion first began, I assumed you had…given more than your heart to this man. It enraged me, even though you are aware of my past.” He felt her stiffen and he stroked her back as he continued. “You forgave me when my transgressions were all the more grievous, and I was even less forthcoming than yourself.” He gently pushed her back to look directly in her eyes “My heart was never even engaged. Elizabeth, I am truly sorry.” He looked away.

She sat, thinking until her humor returned. “Now, we are as open books, more or less,” she quipped, the sparkle returning to her eyes.

“More or less.” She returned to his embrace and snuggled in his arms. He thought about what he must now say. “Elizabeth?” she murmured some response into his chest. “I must tell you something… rather… uncomfortable…”

She raised her head sharply, “Yes?”

“I wish us to be open with each other… I feel that you and I shall enjoy an affinity rarely seen between two people. I feel such a wealth of emotion for you that I knew I must make you mine. There are… that is to say there were forces swirling around you.” Here she looked up in alarm.

“Forces?”

“Yes. Blainard.”

She laughed her sparkling laugh, and he felt himself relax, even with the difficult words he knew were yet to come. However, she spoke first. “Surely you know I would never marry one such as Blainard.”

“Perhaps not if left to your own judgment.”

“Then to whose judgment would he appeal?” she asked, her ire rising because he doubted her ability to control her own life.

“Yours; with your abundant love of your family.”

“Like a certain someone I know?” she teased.

“Yes, but my offer was for your hand in marriage.” His look indicated that Blainard's would not have been so proper.

“That is a heavy accusation to lay even at Lord Blainard's door.”

“I do not make it lightly.” She looked at him incredulously. He sighed before speaking. “After his…performance…the day we announced our engagement, I felt there was more to his story than he acknowledged. Mr. Henderson, a man who served me well in the Wickham debacle” Her brow arched and her eyes fastened to his. “kept an eye on Blainard. One evening, he was able…well that is to say - he persuaded Lord Blainard to tell his version of things. It seems Blainard was the one who encouraged Mr. Whitecastle in his gaming habits then suggested a convenient source to repay his debts.”

Elizabeth let out a gasp. “No!”

“His intent was to come to you, informing you of the impending scandal and offer to pay off the debt before it all became public knowledge, in exchange for you accepting…”

“His hand?” She tried leading him to this conclusion. Darcy shifted in his seat.

“Ah, no. His offer was to set you up…. to become…”

“His mistress!?” All expression left her. She paled as she pushed away from him, looking out the window, staring into nothing.

“His intent was to offer marriage to his cousin,” Darcy added.

“How do you know this?”

“He was bemoaning the fact to others that I beat him to you.”

“Yet you offered for my hand. Why?”

“I need you Elizabeth,” Darcy reached for her shoulder turning her back to him. “I have met no other who opens my heart, my life. I truly believe that you, Elizabeth Bennet Darcy, were born for me. Just as I, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was born for you. I could not dishonor you anymore than I could sell my soul.” Before the words were out of his mouth, Elizabeth placed a quick kiss on his lips. She returned to his arms and embrace, sobs racking her body.

“Oh William!” was all she could say. He held her, rocking away the fear in his soul over how easily he could have lost her if he had not listened to Finch.

“Hush, my love. We are together, and no one may tear us apart. There is no need to fear anymore.” He held her until her sobs subsided and she fell into an exhausted sleep.

After dozing for a while himself, Darcy woke, and was unfamiliar with the terrain. He felt her move to straighten herself and her clothing. “Elizabeth, will you not tell me of Longbourn? What is your home like? And Hertfordshire? I confess it is county in which I have never been.”

Darcy was graced by a beautiful smile as Elizabeth gratefully abandoned her thoughts to tell him of her fondness for her home. She pulled back, yet retained her hand in his. “Do you walk, sir? I mean, as a habit?” she asked, realizing there was so much to the man, her husband, of which she was unaware.

“Yes, I enjoy walking, although I prefer riding. Are there any in your stable we could employ for an afternoon or two.”

“I am sure we could find something suitable to your tastes, sir,” her brow arched as she spoke. Darcy felt a warmth rush over him. He struggled to loosen his cravat. He looked at her, trying to tame his thoughts from an amorous vein. Control yourself Darcy; she is a gentlewoman, and you gave your word you would wait until she invites you to her bed. Wild conjectures of when that would occur swirled through his head, and he groaned despite his best efforts to present a neutral front. She looked at him, concern for his wellbeing written across her lovely face. His eyes looked into hers, and he saw genuine feeling for him, feeling that was not unpleasant. Perhaps I will not be waiting so long after all, he thought.

He wasn't sure what to think of Elizabeth. He had not given her internal state much consideration; at least not in terms of what she thought of him, or how that would impact him and his happiness. All I cared was that she be mine; I needed to possess her. Now what do I do? She is mine. How do I make this work? She entranced me before; how do I ignite her now?

“Elizabeth,” he began. “I believe we must have some conversation about… our situation.”

She smiled bashfully, although her words were not timid. “Yes, William, I believe we must. It is rather odd, is it not? To think we are wed; two people who know each other not…”

“I disagree, to some extent, Elizabeth. While our courtship,” and here she laughed outright. His lips curled into a smirk. “Very well, our acquaintance,” she nodded, although the smile had left neither her face nor her eyes, “has been very… unusual and abbreviated. Yet we are now united for the rest of our lives. Shall we not attempt to make the best of this situation?”

“What do you propose, sir?” she asked, her eyes receptive. He sat staring at her vivacity, his blood pooling in his nether regions.

“Elizabeth, I meant what I said,” he began again after taking the time to carefully choose his words, “I will not come to you until you call me to your bed.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I will not deny that while this promise will be difficult… to… maintain, a promise it is, nonetheless. I keep my word, Madam. While I hope you accept me… into your heart, and your bed, in the very near future,” he took a deep breath to steady himself. “I suggest we take this time to get to know each other.”

Elizabeth considered his words carefully. A most unusual speech from such a passionate bridegroom. She looked him squarely in the eye. “I appreciate your honesty and your offer. I accept these terms, sir. Who knows? We might find we have fallen in love.”

“Indeed.” Darcy's heart flew open, registering in his eyes and in his smile. She returned his smile and laughed delightfully. She led the conversation as they discussed the neighborhood, the horses of Noah's Legacy both past and present, those she hoped to obtain and a lively disagreement on the best method of introducing a young colt to the saddle. The debate moved seamlessly from horses, to equestrian references in Shakespeare, to literature, through poetry, and settling upon politics as the carriage entered the environs of Meryton. Elizabeth ceased her argument mid-thought, and reached eagerly for his hand. Both felt the jolt as her skin took hold of his. Their eyes met, finding certainty in the sudden need to touch. As the coach rambled, the outer world regained Elizabeth's interest, and she explained the significance of this farm or that crossroad with illustrations from her childhood.

“Fitzwilliam, there is so much I wish to show you!” she exclaimed excitedly. Her enthusiasm to share her world made Darcy smile within his heart. There is hope, old man, as I live and breathe, there is hope.

*--* *--*

Longbourn
Herftfordshire

The wedding night Darcy had envisioned was not the wedding night he experienced. Their arrival at Longbourn was unceremonious, greeted by Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, who had a lovely meal of duck, local produce and fresh bread prepared for them. Elizabeth, back at her ancestral home, relaxed and graced Darcy with frequent smiles. After a brief tour of the house and Elizabeth regaling him with stories of her youth and family, she led him to the stables.

There, in the most ordinary stalls, were some of the most beautiful and well kept horses Darcy had ever seen. It embarrassed him, but he spoke the truth when he told her, “These animals are outstanding, Elizabeth. I have not seen their equal.”

“Thank you, William,” she replied already petting her own horse, Xerxes. Darcy watched as Elizabeth greeted her horse with sweet endearments and kisses. The horse whinnied and nuzzled his human. “Would you care to ride, William?” she asked eagerly.

Looking at her face, full of hope and anticipation he readily agreed. “Which mount would suit me?” he asked. She looked up at him, and suddenly her breath caught and a fire ignited by their proximity roared into a full blaze. Leaving Xerxes' side, Elizabeth walked along the stalls, ostensibly selecting a mount, but in truth attempting to regain her composure.

Darcy followed behind, attempting to do the same. His question, asked innocently enough, turned into fire when he saw her eyes darken and flare. How he wanted to touch her, kiss her. Get a hold of yourself, man! For better or worse I must wait until she decrees. I gave my word. The thought of riding in his current state acted as a deterrent to his arousal, and soon they were amiably discussing the horse flesh so beautifully arrayed beside them. He listened to her expound on the traits each horse embodied and from whence they came. She allowed him a glimpse into her methodology and objectives for each horse and its progeny.

Elizabeth kept speaking out of fear that if she allowed herself to stop, she would drown in his eyes; and she just wasn't ready to do that yet. When I fall, there will be no turning back. I must not; not until I am certain of how he feels. I cannot give my heart so readily. Not again, can I? she wondered.

Darcy made his selection and they went to change into their riding attire. Quicker than either thought possible, yet feeling like an eternity to both, they were riding out into the open fields. Over time, Elizabeth and Jane had purchased acreage from the neighboring estate, Netherfield, allowing their animals further range to roam. Elizabeth expertly led Darcy on a merry chase, jumping fences and ditches as she explained the crops grown for feed and those that fed her family. Darcy was enchanted and intrigued simultaneously. His mind registered that this woman was enlightening him on the care and maintenance of animals he and his family had been breeding for generations. The information was new, her approach both novel and effective. He was eager to learn her method of training, for although an unknown combination, both horse and rider responded well to each other's idiosyncrasies. Over the pounding of the hooves beneath him, he could hear her laughter pealing melodically. His heart raced from more than the exercise, and he found his seat becoming uncomfortable as his arousal began pressing into the pommel of his saddle.

Even his physical discomfort could not quell the joy in his heart. He was here, riding out on a beautiful spring day with the beautiful woman he desired above all others, the woman who belonged with him. He spurred his horse onward to catch her, and they cantered together easily. He asked questions regarding the topography, the climate, and how it affected their crops, and finally their destination. She gave him a full smile, which lit her face, adding even more luster to her sparkling eyes. He felt his heart melt, and he knew he would do anything for her, anything to keep her by his side. He no longer doubted his feelings could be so strong so quickly, he just knew the emotions coursing through his heart were novel, and so glorious he never wanted them to cease.

When she called out, “We're heading to the right, at the end of that field over there,” she pointed to a path at the far side of the clearing, three fields away. Bestowing a brilliant smile of his own, he kicked his horse firmly in the sides leading him to take off, leaving Elizabeth in the dust. That was until she gathered her wits and spurred Xerxes into a gallop of his own. Soon they were heading at breakneck speed, their blood rushing in the thrill of competition towards an unknown destination.

*--* *--*

Letting their horses drink from a stream of sweet water, Elizabeth reached into her saddle bag, bringing forth two handkerchiefs she dipped into the refreshing water. Darcy offered his hand, helping her from her knees. She wrung the water out of the linen cloth and began wiping his brow. He closed his eyes as she ministered to him, wiping the sweat and dirt off his face. He brought his hand up to hers, pressing it into his cheek, looking into her eyes. Their gazes locked and he dragged their hands to his lips where he kissed the inside of her palm, the cloth now fluttering in the gentle breeze. She looked at him curiously, wanting to know his thoughts, his feelings.

“Elizabeth, I know it may be too early for you to hear me say it, but I love,” here he faltered, “I love you.” Nervously, he watched as she digested his words.

“Oh, William. How is it this feeling has come to flow so strongly between us? I feel alive when I am with you, in ways I have never thought to experience again.”

“Again?” Darcy was thunderstruck. “You have… felt this way… before?” She looked at him nervously, but unwilling to create a falsehood.

“Not to the degree I feel right now, not nearly; but the awakening, yes.” Seeing the distress in his eyes, she turned away, walking on the path leading upward. Darcy remained where he was, dumbfounded that this sensation could be duplicated between another man and his Elizabeth.

“Elizabeth!” he called out before going after her. “Wait.” He caught up to where she had stopped, waiting for him. He saw her vulnerability to him.

“I felt I loved Jamie…I am sorry if it gives you pain. I was before…he went away, to America.”

“Would you have gone… with him… if things had been different?”

She looked at him curiously. “It does not do to think upon it. It was long ago, almost two years… and what was… to think of how it could have or should have been creates too much misery.”

Darcy hung his head, defeated. Her heart belongs to another.

She continued speaking, “If Jamie and I had wed, then I never would have gone to London for this season, and I would not have met you, William. And for that I would have been sorry, indeed.” This last sentence was spoken, as in a whisper and contained emotions raw and pure, over which Elizabeth had no control. He heard them in her voice, and he looked up and over to her. She looked at him, waiting for his response. He strode over to her, grabbing her in his arms.

“I intend to blot him out of your mind, Elizabeth, so all you will see is me, all you will feel is my love for you.” He hugged her to his chest, wrapping his strong arms about her, pulling her into his body. She felt his chest, broad and hard; felt his thighs pressed against her own as she felt his erection eager to meet her. She closed her eyes, allowing her heart to lead her. He felt her relax into his embrace and he thanked heaven for sending him such a remarkable woman.

He pulled back, gazing into her eyes, two chocolate brown pools inviting him to enter. Her eyes were soft and focused on him. He stood there, entranced, lost in her, in the overwhelming sensation of her allowing him to embrace her; of his right to hold her so, alone on an uninhabited hillside. His eyes dropped to her lips, parted, revealing her white teeth and the ruby redness of her tongue. He was lost as he descended, bringing his lips onto hers.

The explosion of desire shot through them both and they redoubled their efforts. He felt her hunger, she fed his passion. His lips pressed firmly, insistently onto hers. She felt his tongue run the length of her lips, as if seeking an opening to exploit. In an effort to breathe, she opened her mouth and was instantly presented with his tongue seeking the confines of her mouth. He withdrew slightly to lunge forward in the next instant. The desire for him within her body rushed through her, lifting her consciousness and twirling it around until it lost its bearings. Her lips redoubled their own efforts as she devoured his tongue, relishing its thickness as she held it between her lips. He dragged his tongue back, over the ridge of her teeth as she compressed her lips upon it. He groaned as his need for her unleashed itself. His hands, which had been holding her so closely, began moving over her, as if his life was found within her.

As if waiting for this invitation, Elizabeth's hands began an exploration of her own. She felt the silk of his waistcoat, the nubs of the buttons holding it to his chest. Automatically her deft fingers worked the buttons free and the two sides now hung limply. Her hands were not content with this victory. They ran over the smooth weave of his linen shirt, savoring it as if tendering the finest cloth. But it was not the fabric which had her spellbound. It was the feel of his chest beneath it that bewitched her. She wanted to see the skin covering the muscle she felt ripple at her touch. Looking up at him briefly, she began attacking the fasteners of his shirt until she saw the tawny skin, covered in dark curls about his breast. Slowly, reverently, her hand went between the cloth and his flesh. Her fingers made contact with his skin and such a growl emerged from the reserved Mr. Darcy that it startled Elizabeth.

Her next coherent thought was minutes after Darcy's lips landed again on hers, kissing her with ardent desire. He sucked her lower lip away from her teeth, scraping it with his. She gasped for air, and his lips moved away from hers, down her cheek to her neck tracing a path from her ear to her collarbone. It was Elizabeth's turn to moan, as Darcy discovered areas of sensitivity so exquisite her knees weakened and she fell into his embrace. He more than gladly lent her his strength, until he thought better of it, and he lowered them to the ground.

They stayed on their knees, their lips locked, arms entwined. Darcy moved his hands up her arms, tracing his way to her cheeks. She mirrored his movement and discovered the pure pleasure of running her fingers through his soft, rich brown curls. Again and again she combed her fingers through them, savoring the feel of them, of his head in her hands. She felt his sigh and pressed herself into his chest, needing to be closer to him. His hands had run rampant through her coiffure, the pins were gone from her hair, caught in her dress, scattered on the ground. Long waves of rich auburn tresses fell from where Jane and her aunt had placed them early that morning, what now seemed like an eternity ago. His hands raked through them, returning to cradle her head, as he drew her lips to his once more. When sated with the longed for feel of her hair, Darcy returned his attention to her neck. He dragged his lips up the length of it, before his tongue followed the same path venturing lower along her collarbone. He pulled back to look at her, disheveled, her eyes closed, savoring the pleasure he brought her.

His fingers and strong, flexible, lightly traced the bones of her shoulder, beginning at the edge, meeting in the middle, midway between her lips and her heart. There they hovered momentarily as he gently kissed her lips once again. Then, as his eyes watched their progress, he drew them down her breast bone, fanning out as her skin conformed to the rise of her breast. There he slowly caressed each breast, his thumbs circling her nipples, enjoying their rise and hardening. He felt his loins do the same and he inched his body closer to make contact with her thighs.

With his thumbs still ministering to her nipples, his index and middle fingers pulled on her bodice dragging it down, revealing the satiny skin for his eyes to drink in. He gazed upon her. “Perfection,” he whispered before bringing his lips to the skin he had dreamt of. The twin sensations of the firmness of her breast and the softness of her skin his lips repeatedly kissed nearly undid him. He brought one hand to her bottom, groaning at its pliancy. He pushed her still closer to him so that the apex of her inner thighs met his erection. He began rubbing against her, noting that she mirrored his movements. He looked at her, and she smiled. He took this for all the invitation he required.

Releasing her, he threw off his jacket, and laid it on the ground beside them. He then grabbed her with one arm and kissed her soundly while the other drew her skirts to her hips. He laid her down, and ran his hand up her thigh until it met the top of her stockings. He slowly pushed each one down so they pooled around her ankles; then with one hand on each leg, he caressed her calves, her knees, her thighs, and joined at the center of her core. He stroked the silk of her undergarments, feeling her wetness through the cloth. Hungrily, he drew down the silk, leaving her bare from the waist down. His eyes raked over the vision of beauty before him. He brought his head down between her legs and Lizzy threw her head back in anticipation.

His kiss was drawn to her dark curls glistening in the late afternoon sun. He heard the eagle's cry overhead, and smiled before returning his attention to his bride. He let his tongue explore her, searching out the spot that would unleash spasms of delight for him to savor. Elizabeth's hands returned to his curls, massaging his scalp while releasing whimpers of pleasure mixed with groans of delight. He heard his name upon her lips when he found what he sought. His tongue began rotating on her spot of desire. He alternated his rotations with lapping at her like a cat. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and when he sent his fingers onward and inward, her head thrashed from side to side. As he withdrew his fingers only to plunge them in again, her hips began bucking. His free hand attempted to stay her movement, but it was a struggle. Never one to back away from a challenge, he persevered and was rewarded with the clenching of her inner muscles upon his fingers, immersed to where they joined his palm, and her spasm of sexual release began. He eased his pace, and raised his head to look on in joy as his wife experienced bliss.

He was mesmerized as her body flushed with release, convulsing as the spasms ran through her, moving her as easily as a feather flies in the wind. His fingers felt each and every one of her contractions, transmitting the sensation to his groin. “Elizabeth?” he asked, drawing his face to hers. Slowly she opened her eyes with such a loving look that he kissed her. Her hands claimed his head, holding it so her lips could return his greeting.

“Please, yes,” was her response. His eyes flared with desire, and his hands undid the buttons of his breeches. She looked upon him for the first time and gasped as his fully erect manhood stood eager for her embrace. Leaning up on one arm, her free hand reached out and touched him. He shuddered and softly moaned her name. She clasped her fingers around him, running her fist up and down his shaft. He nearly fell over as she repeated the motion. Coming to his senses, he lowered himself upon her, his hand returning to her inner folds. Her moisture lined his fingers, and he brought them to his lips and sucked off her juice. Keeping his eyes on hers, he moved over her, and she lay down fully on her back. She drew her knees up, and he placed himself upon her. His erection waited outside her lower lips. He thrust against her, moistening himself with her slickness. He heard her whisper his name, softly yet filled with need, and he could take no more. He stopped when her virginal barricade impeded his progress.

He looked at her again, his eyes and voice asking, “Are you sure?”

She whispered, “Yes.” He withdrew once and entered her again up to her blockade, asking again, “Are you sure?” She nodded and said, in a stronger voice, “Yes, William, I desire you. I love you.”

He broke through the membrane that had been part of her since birth. She contracted in pain and they both stilled. “Hush,” he whispered in her ear. “Take a moment and let your body acclimate to mine.” His eyes sought hers as her lids opened and she relaxed. When he felt her muscles relent, he pushed onward. He filled her, giving her all he had, and she to him, her muscles clasping him. He felt everything within her, the smoothness of her muscles, the roughness of the tissue as he pulled out only to plunge in again and again. As he explored her, he shut his eyes, preferring to focus his senses on what he felt within her. He felt her tension build; she felt his erection harden and expand even more. Her mind had ceased thinking, and she only felt herself lying there, in the moment, with this amazing man joined with her body. As he withdrew, her hips fell back, and as he re-entered, her hips flew up to meet him.

This dance repeated itself, increasing in intensity and pace until it overcame their control. Her screams bounced among the trees that had witnessed many of her previous private moments. He felt her convulsions begin and was lost. He simply felt the pulsations and the sensations they engendered in his own body. Her pleasure literally and figuratively became his. It was beyond anything he had ever experienced. His body moved without his input, answering an ancient call to dance the lover's dance. Reaching the tempo made for his release, he felt his seed spasm out of his body as she toppled into bliss, and he felt her in the midst of his own ecstasy. She felt him join her in her bliss. Their essence joined, fused in the brilliance of their open hearts. They loved from beyond time and space. This love radiated through their being, each perceiving themselves and the other as one, united in this pulsating light where they moved together, floating free beyond restraint.

As their breathing returned to its normal rhythm, their bodies reclaimed them. Both opened their eyes and looked into the eyes of the other, silently seeking confirmation that what they had experienced was true. With smiles emanating from their eyes, they gently kissed each other, Darcy found his voice first. “Elizabeth, you are the love I feared I would never find.”

His words touched her heart, opening a door that had been locked for as long as she could remember. She understood his fear, for she knew it as her own. Tears softened her heart as a gentle rain does drought-ridden ground. They found their heart's hope, and their eyes told each other that all would be well. Elizabeth responded to him, “Believe me, Fitzwilliam, I understand, because I also carried that fear, until you came to me.”

Darcy rearranged his clothes, retrieved Elizabeth's undergarments, and helped her rise. Together they walked to their horses, grazing nearby. After helping each other appear presentable again, they rode home with smiles on their faces and returned to Longbourn, after stabling their horses, with their hearts and hands intertwined.

*--* *

Chapter Six

Longbourn
Hertfordshire

The next morning, Darcy woke with the unique sensation of a weight on his shoulder and hair on his face that was not his. His eyes popped open, startled. When he recognized the woman lying across his chest, he smiled and ran his arm up her spine, losing sight of it as his fingers entwined in her wayward curls. He then combed his hand down her hair, along her back. She stirred, and his breath caught in his chest.

They had dined together the night before, sharing stories of their childhood, youth, and the breadth of their education. She showed him her father's library, pulling her favorite tomes from the shelves, explaining the scratch marks on the shelves where she had climbed as a child wanting to reach one or another of her father's treasures.

Darcy was amazed at how often she called forth his laughter, how warm his heart felt when he made her smile reach her eyes. After dinner they retired to the parlor, and when he noted the pianoforte; she said that she played, “though rather ill,” and let loose her sparkling laugh. “Would you … would you play … for me?” he asked hesitantly, and she was struck how like a young boy he looked, the haughty exterior broken through, the child emerging from the man. She smiled and moved to her seat at the keyboard.

“Do you have any requests, sir?” she asked, her lips turned at the corners and her eyes dancing in delight.

“Do you know any of Beethoven's work?” he asked honestly.

“Fur Elise, and before I left for town I mastered, in a manner of speaking, Moonlight Sonata.” By his reaction, she made her choice and began the lilting melody. Darcy stepped back, his page-turning services were unneeded, as she played from memory. He leaned in the crook of the pianoforte, his eyes riveted to her performance. My God, she is beautiful. And she is mine. And though that thought had brought him satisfaction, it no longer sufficed. She belongs with me, not to me. He then relaxed and enjoyed the rest of her performance.

After making love throughout the night and into the morning, the Darcys rose after noon. Mrs. Hill had prepared a supper of cold meats, and then cleverly left indicating when dinner would be served. Helping each other dress took longer than expected as their hands kept searching for skin, and their skin cried out for touch, not clothing.

By late afternoon they stepped outside for a ride into Meryton. There Darcy was amazed that the entire town knew his wife and everyone was more than pleasant, albeit surprised, when she introduced him as her new husband. They were more impressed with this than with the fact that he was Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley and worth more than 10,000 pounds per annum. This was foreign to him; being regarded as a gentleman, but without the weight of his history or wealth. It rather unnerved him, this common courtesy accustomed as he was to deference; but with Elizabeth as his guide, it was a welcome journey.

Riding home, Elizabeth spurred Xerxes onward, her laughter catching on the wind. Darcy returned to his senses from his daydreaming. He dug his heels into his mount and chased after her. She had gone into a wooded glen and Darcy, unfamiliar with the land, soon found himself lost among the trees.

Elizabeth, however, had no such distraction. Beginning to worry for her husband, she guided her steed off the path, cutting through the trees in hopes of finding her beloved. Coming up to meet her was a handsome rider on a familiar beast. “Elizabeth,” he called, as if he had been searching for a long while.

“Jamie!” she called out, stunned. “You are here!”

He laughed outright at her, “Is this what has become of your infamous wit in my absence? I say, it bodes well that I have returned.” He was now upon her, “for you.”

“For me?” she eked out, her voice higher than she would have wished.

“Yes.” He looked at her, searching for some indication of her feelings. He then asked, “You are surprised?”

“Of course I am. It has been two years since I have heard from or of you. How else would I be?”

“Relieved? Happy?” he offered.

“I am all those things,” she said aloud. To herself she added, and so much more.

“Shall we adjourn to Longbourn?” he asked. She looked around, searching for her husband.

“I am not alone, Jamie. I am …”

“There you are Elizabeth!” Darcy called out, relieved to have found her. His eye quickly swept over the rider next to his bride.

“Fitzwilliam! I feared you were swallowed by the forest,” she greeted him lamely. The two men took the measure of the other. Darcy did not like what he saw: Elizabeth, alone in the woods with another man, Darcy's scent still upon her. Worse to his eye was the look of confusion and distress upon her face. Has he imposed himself on her in any way? He sat straighter in his seat as images ran through his mind at an alarming rate, But she is still mounted, if anything was amiss, she would have ridden home, I am sure of it. And yet the thought of trouble would not leave.

“Who is this, Elizabeth?” the stranger asked. Darcy looked sharply at the man who took such familiar liberties with Mrs. Darcy.

“Yes, Elizabeth,” Darcy drawled out the name, “who is this gentleman I find you with secluded in the wood?”

Elizabeth looked between the two men, both of whom had places in her heart, one ascending, the other faded into memory. “I… Fitzwilliam, this is Jamie Simmons. I believe I mentioned him to you.”

Darcy's mind recalled in specific detail her description of the handsome man before him. He sat well on his horse, with an ease that was enviable. His sandy blonde hair curled around a face bronzed by much time in the open. Hazel green, his eyes burned with emotion. His dress was of quality, but had the casual air of those accustomed to country life.

“Jamie, Mr. Simmons, this is … Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy … my husband.” Elizabeth looked down after delivering this blow to her former suitor. She heard his horse startle, as she looked up to see him steady his mount, Carnelian.

“Husband? Since when, Elizabeth?” he asked, defiantly using her given name.

“Since yesterday, sir.” Darcy replied, challengingly.

“Yesterday? Why were no banns published? No one in Meryton knows of this marriage.” Thoughts swirled in his head, Elizabeth married? No, it cannot be! How could she forget? I relied on her loving me still…

Darcy responded, “Our marriage was consecrated in London, sir. We are here on our honeymoon. You will forgive us if we have not had the time to announce the news to the village.” His tone was icy and indignant. Elizabeth was mortified.

“Elizabeth?” Jamie called out to her. She looked up into kind eyes, then over to her husband who watched her warily. It was too much, seeing Jamie, her husband's rude behavior to him and her own emotions battering against each other.

“Jamie?” The old lovers looked at each other. Elizabeth sat on her horse feeling closed in even as they were in the open air. “Come, ride with us. We are to Longbourn.” She looked at Jamie, then Fitzwilliam, whom she smiled upon. Instantly Darcy felt better. As they rode in silence, he realized the impossibility of her situation. It was evident Simmons' presence was unexpected. His concern was for the feelings Simmons stirred in his wife's heart, and how these would impact his own newly found bliss. He could not imagine a more uncomfortable situation for one's honeymoon.

Darcy dismounted, walking over to his wife to help her regain the ground. She slid into his arms, her eyes never leaving his, as if searching for something. He bent down and gently kissed her lips. She brought her hands up to his cheeks and caressed them. Jamie rode by, and seeing the intimacy between the two called out. “Elizabeth, I must not tarry. You will call upon us before you leave Longbourn? Or do you intend to settle here?”

“We leave within the week, sir,” answered Darcy, wanting no doubt that Elizabeth was no longer available to him.

“To London?” He asked.

“Yes.” Elizabeth responded, her husband's arm still about her waist.

“And then to Derbyshire, sir,” Darcy said, taking a step forward, effectively blocking Jamie's view of Elizabeth. Jamie watched Darcy through a narrowed gaze. I cannot blame the man. I too, would guard her from another. Yet I must speak with her, this marriage … something is … is not right. “Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy? I will tell my mother to expect your call, then, perhaps on the morrow?”

“Yes, Jamie. Tomorrow will be fine,” Elizabeth answered. Her spirits were low, both men could tell this. All three wished the conference to end, and quickly.

“Until tomorrow then.” He bowed to Elizabeth, then Darcy and then turned his horse and rode off.

The couple watched the dust settle before walking towards the house while one of the stable hands took care of their horses. They remained silent until they were in the parlor. A fire burned casting a lovely glow as the sun settled into the evening's light. Darcy poured himself a glass of brandy, one of the amenities his valet had seen fit to transport from London. He watched Elizabeth for a long time as she stood gazing out the bay window. He poured another glass for her, then took a hefty gulp from his own and strode over to her, silently offering the amber liquid. She looked at him, as if not recognizing him, then roused herself from her thought. She took the glass in her hands. “Thank you,” she said, very quietly. Both were uncertain how to begin what they knew would not be an easy conversation.

“So, that is your Mr. Simmons,” Darcy took the initiative.

“Was my Mr. Simmons,” she replied before taking another long sip of brandy. She looked up into Darcy's eyes, and he knew he at least stood a chance with his wife. “It was just so sudden… I began looking for you… and there he was. So many times I had longed to see him… and now, with him there, all I could… see… was my need to find you.”

Darcy was shocked. While hoping for a response like this, he had expected the opposite. She continued, “It is so strange. I cannot fathom it.” She looked at her husband, who took her hand, leading her to the settee. His presence comforted her. While keeping her eyes on her hands in her lap, she felt him there, sitting beside her. He filled her mind; she wanted to touch him. She felt one of her hands reach for him, and instantly his hand was holding hers. His thumb caressing her palm, drawing circles on it.

“Are you all right, Elizabeth?” he asked. She nodded. “Do you…” he breathed in deeply, willing himself to stop the question threatening to spill from him lips, “do you regret…marrying…me?”

“No!” she exclaimed, finally looking at him, seeing his insecurity, thinking how different he was now than even a week ago. “Apart from what… you did for my family, Fitzwilliam, I am glad to be your wife.” She took a moment to collect her thoughts. “Although our acquaintance is but brief, I feel… what I feel is stronger for you than for any other I have known.” She looked into his eyes. “We are meant for each other, Fitzwilliam. I cannot explain it other than that. It is what my heart whispers to me continually.” He smiled at her before hesitantly kissing her. His lips brushed hers, lightly, and she leaned into them. Her softness was addictive. He wanted more, and kissing her, deepened the intimacy of the moment. Her hands were upon him, running up his arms to his hair, where she embedded her fingers in his curls ruffled by the wind.

Darcy felt relief until a thought wiggled into his brain. What if she wishes only to distract me from her regret? Or to convince herself? He pulled back, his hands cupping her cheeks, his eyes trying to see into her soul. “Elizabeth, are you sure?”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam. Jamie is my past, it cannot be undone, but you are my future.” She smiled at him, her hands holding his, even as he still clasped her cheek. He remained as he sat, looking into her eyes, his hands caressing her cheek, enjoying her smile.

I see no guile, his heart pounded in his chest until he brought his lips to hers and felt her kiss given freely, fully, and his heart was at peace. He pulled her towards him, needing to feel her body yield to him. He moaned as he felt her breast crush against his chest. He moved his hands to her back, where he fumbled with the buttons of her gown. He needed her reassurance that she was his; that no regrets remained in her heart. His eyes opened, searching her face for her acquiescence. When she raised her lids, she saw his need for reassurance and nodded slightly before boldly kissing him again. He allowed his mind to cease its ramblings while he focused on disrobing his wife. Undoing the top tier of buttons, he slid her gown off her shoulders and arms revealing her corset covered breasts. His mouth descended to taste their fullness, as her breath filled her lungs. His hands then set about divesting her of her lower undergarments. His hands traced the contour of her calves, knees and thighs where he squeezed and kneaded their flesh. He slid his hands up, pulling her underclothes down in one tug. He held her legs in one arm as he removed the cloth completely. He raised her skirts, and placed one of her shapely legs on each of his shoulders, kissing them repeatedly. He then unbuttoned his breeches and swiftly entered her there, on the settee. She gasped as he entered her warm core. He sighed, his happiness evident on his features, relaxed, reassured.

When he opened his eyes, he saw her looking at him with love. And he bent down to kiss her, pressing her legs up against her stomach. He thrust himself further within her before bucking his hips to withdraw and reassert himself into her warmth. She felt so good, so necessary, so much like home. He could not explain. Making love to Elizabeth was like no other experience he had ever had. Her smile, now reaching her eyes, released the binds across his heart, restraints he was unaware had shackled him in the past. And now, after the unexpected encounter with her past suitor, her love was more necessary than ever. He brought his hand to the apex of her thighs and began caressing it in the way she was teaching him to bring her pleasure. Her breathing soon matched his, ragged, labored. He began pounding into her, hard and fast, a primal rhythm of conquest and possession. He needed to possess her, claim his right to her, that she was his. She understood, and in her own way needed to feel her claim upon him as well. It was a primal urge to unite, allowing no interruptions, no barriers to the desires of their flesh for each other.

Their mating was fast, its pace furious, and soon their pleasure peaked and exploded into bliss. Elizabeth felt the tension in her body reach untenable heights, and as it overcame her, she cried out her husband's name, along with the most precious words he had ever heard, “Fitz… will… iam… I… love… you.” And then her body shook as tremors of pleasure shot through her, transmitting her love to him. He felt her surround him and caress his manhood as he plunged into her abyss. The pressure of her womb contracting upon his sensitive skin set his nerves on fire, and he exploded into her, his seed shooting like a cannon. His hips bucked twice more, and then he could move no more, immobilized as he shuddered within her, and all doubt washed away in the pure love he felt for and from her.

“Elizabeth, my beloved. I am yours, my heart, I love you,” he whispered in her ear before he lost his ability to think or speak.

They lay wrapped in each other's arms, adrift in sleep. Dusk settled around them, with only the flames of the fire and the crack of the burning logs disturbing the silence of the room. When Elizabeth woke, she heard Darcy's breath in her ear and smiled, feeling his strong body next to her. She snuggled beside him, replaying images of their last coupling. He is mine, she happily thought, and I am his.

*--* *--*

The third day of their marriage saw the reserved, often haughty, Darcy making more social calls on friends and relations, including the Philips, who were appalling. But through Elizabeth's sweetness, he could see their genuine concern for their niece. Then there were the Lucas's. Sir William was gregarious to a fault, and when he uncovered the fact that Darcy was a regular at St. James, his monopolization bordered on the offensive. Yet Darcy only need look at Elizabeth, her eyes infused with merriment, and he relaxed, allowing himself to be queried about his adventures in town. Through them, he learned that Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas, was Elizabeth's dear friend and married to her cousin. She, along with her husband, now resided at Hunsford, as the vicar to Lady Catherine de Bourgh. This information generated a groan from Darcy, and when Elizabeth looked at her new mate, instead of meeting impatience, she saw genuine concern spread across his handsome face. His eyes were lost in thought far from Meryton. I wonder what consumes him to create such an imposing demeanor upon his comely features, her head tilted as she observed her handsome husband.

Shortly thereafter, the Darcys made their farewells and walked the path toward Longbourn. Darcy held Elizabeth's arm in his, his hand covering hers as it rested there, yet he was lost in thought.

“Fitzwilliam,” she began. Even though dwelling on his aunt and their recent interactions, he surfaced at her use of his given name. He shook his head, ridding him of the laden reminiscence. She continued, “What thoughts transported you to a land so dour?”

Smiling at how she kept him close, even though they were separated by his thoughts, he began. “Mr. Collins, your cousin?” She nodded. “Is pastor in the village of Hunsford,” again she nodded, “which is presided over by my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“Your aunt is Lady Catherine?” she asked in true shock. Now it was he who nodded. “But why does this upset you?”

“It does not; not in and of itself. I merely allowed my thoughts to wander, and they did, to recent interactions with her. She… she was very harsh to Georgiana and me, as you may imagine. This is what created such a bleak demeanor.”

“Oh,” was all she could say.

They traveled to Longbourn in silence, content to walk next to each other, maintaining a physical connection. As they rounded the corner to the front of Longbourn, they noticed a horse being led by a stable hand. Darcy felt Elizabeth stiffen and slow her approach.

“Elizabeth, what is it?” Genuine concern was written all over his face. Elizabeth looked up at him, confusion in her eyes which she turned toward the horse.

Guessing the identity of a visitor who could unnerve her to such a degree, Darcy said, “Come, Mrs. Darcy, it appears we have a guest,” and with that, he kept her arm in his until they achieved the parlor, where stood the tall James Simmons, the man who had expected Elizabeth to wait.

Why did you return? Elizabeth asked him mentally. Her emotions churned within her breast. Of all the times to walk back into my life, she thought. Rousing herself from her thoughts, she observed the two men now sitting in her parlor. Like two roosters challenging each other for her hen coop, they sat, chests puffed, eyes locked on the other. Although covered in a veneer of civility, she believed they would resort to fisticuffs if given the chance. With this, she began to giggle, unable to stop. The men turned from eyeing each other to stare in amazement as she laughed, looking at each of them.

“Pray, Mrs. Darcy, what amuses you so?” her husband asked impatiently.

“Yes, Eliza … Mrs. Darcy,” acknowledged Jamie, “What stirs your mirth?”

“Why, you two, of course.” They stared at her without comprehension, increasing her laughter. To Darcy it was like music, sweet and alluring, leading him away from his dark thoughts. What do I have to worry about? he asked himself. She has given herself to me, confessed her past involvement openly with me, and she is … my wife. For Jamie, Elizabeth's laughter was water to a parched man. His heart broke realizing he was too late. By one day she was gone, out of his reach forever. With growing restraint, he made polite conversation, informing them of his travels in the New World. As he announced his coming return to New York, Darcy's countenance brightened, and he recognized the pain his rival carried. He could see in Simmons' eyes pain, frustration and a growing anger, at what he could only surmise stemmed from the realization Elizabeth was gone from his life, forever. Darcy wanted to be merciful, gracious, but whenever he attempted to relax his Master of Pemberley façade, he caught Simmons pursuing Elizabeth with his eyes, seeking some clue of remorse, some sign his advances would be welcome. Darcy noted by Simmons' agitation in sitting, that lust must be broiling through him, for as he, himself gazed at Elizabeth, he too, was overcome with desire for her. Her breath was unregulated, and she often cast her eyes down, flashing long lashes and occasional glints of fire when she raised her eyes upon one or the other; and then there were her lips… That lower lip will be my undoing, he thought as she bit it with her teeth. He almost groaned thinking of the parts of his flesh she had bitten recently.

Just as he was about to give in to visions of Elizabeth at play upon his body, he caught the covetous leer Simmons unleashed upon his wife as she turned to Mrs. Hill, who had a question over their travel arrangements. Darcy's guard immediately came up, and his face darkened. Elizabeth rose and Simmons advanced to her, taking her hand in his bringing hers to his chest. Darcy was gratified by her pulling back, but Simmons deftly raised them to his lips, bestowing an almost proper kiss.

Darcy could not see the look in Jamie's eyes but could see Elizabeth's reaction as she simultaneously pulled her hand back and averted her gaze, a look of discomfort set upon her face. When Darcy appeared at her side, she gave him such a look of relief that he brightened for the first time that afternoon.

Jamie saw all this and his heart turned. So, Lizzy, you have chosen another? So be it, but I need to taste what should have been mine. “Until tomorrow then, Mrs. Darcy, Mr. Darcy,” he bowed and walked to the hall for his hat and gloves. Darcy put his arm around Elizabeth, rejoicing at how she relaxed into his embrace as they went to see their guest out the door.

*--* *--*

Beyford was an efficient estate that returned a hefty profit. Mr. Simmons was long dead, but Mrs. Simmons had run the estate since before then, so his departure had caused little turmoil for his family or tenants. Margaret Simmons adored her only child, and while civil to the Darcys, could not hide her disappointment.

“So, Elizabeth, where did you meet your handsome husband?” she turned to Darcy. “She always did have an eye for a good looking man,” and her eyes led his gaze to her son who sat across from her.

“Yes, I can see that,” Darcy replied, trying to slow the burn his anger created. Jamie was watching Elizabeth like a hawk while she kept her eyes on the bowl of soup in front of her.

“You would like America, Elizabeth,” Jamie intoned in a seductive manner. “It suits you, Lizzy, your spirit, your sense of adventure, your eyes, your laugh.” He pushed an errant curl behind her ear.

The clang of her spoon hitting the bowl attracted attention from the other end of the table.

“Mr. Simmons, I would ask you not to repeat yourself.” Her eyes fixed on to his, and he whispered, “Oh how I have missed you, Lizzy.”

“Mr. Simmons,” her reprimand was unmistakable. Jamie smiled at her as if they had just spent the afternoon abed.

“Surely there is no need for such formalities, Elizabeth. We have been friends your entire life,” Mrs. Simmons chided her guest.

Darcy caught Elizabeth's eye, and his guard went even higher. He watched as his three dinner companions entered a discussion of local events. His ire only increased as Simmons attempted to catch Elizabeth's gaze, to touch her hand as it reached for her glass of wine. More than once he had to restrain himself from launching at Simmons' throat. Not for the first time, Darcy regretted accepting the invitation, as Mrs. Simmons attempted to engage him in conversation.

Suddenly Elizabeth was on her feet, her chair hastily falling to the floor. She looked to her husband, who nodded at her unspoken plea.

“Mrs. Simmons, I believe I feel a headache developing, and I must call this evening to a close,” Darcy spoke as calmly as he could to his hostess.

“Oh, no, Mr. Darcy. Please,” she stammered.

“Elizabeth, let us go,” he came to Elizabeth's side, and taking her arm, headed to the door. Simmons tried to take her arm, but she recoiled from his touch. They looked at each other. His eyes pleaded with her, but hers were full only of revulsion.

“Goodbye, Mr. Simmons, Mrs. Simmons, it has been a pleasure to see you again.” Then she and Darcy departed, walking the short distance to the stables for their horses.

“What happened, Elizabeth?” he asked.

“Not here, Fitzwilliam.”

Her response did nothing to calm his temper. He stopped and turned her to him, his look demanding a response. She heaved a sign of frustration. “Please, Fitzwilliam. I wish to leave this place. Then I will share all with you.” He acquiesced to her request, wanting to put distance between Beyford and his wife.

“Very well,” he nodded and they walked the remaining distance in silence. Darcy kept his eye on Elizabeth, alert for clues to her thoughts. Feeling his eyes on her, she smiled, as a mother would with an exasperating child.

Riding home, Elizabeth kept the pace brisk enough so there was little opportunity for conversation. It was not until they reached her study and she had poured them each two fingers of brandy that she spoke.

“Fitzwilliam, you must promise me that when I tell you my reasons for wanting to leave, you will not do anything foolish.” He stared at her as if she sprouted a third eye. “We leave the day after tomorrow and will not see Jamie Simmons again.”

Darcy's hand grasped tighter around the snifter it held. “Fitzwilliam!” she spoke again. “Please.” He finally relented and looked at her as if coming out of a trance.

“I agree,” he said reluctantly.

“Good.” She took a long sip of brandy.

“Are you well?”

“I am,” she stuttered.

“Good, now tell me why we are home in this cozy study, blissfully alone instead of at that insufferable table with that odious man.” She smiled at the turn of his lips and the twinkle in his eye.

“Jamie had tried to hold my attention by first attempting to hold my hand,” she said, hesitantly. His mirth was gone, a scowl, not a smile, upon his lips.

“And then?”

“He…he put his hand on my knee.”

“I will kill him.”

“No! Fitzwilliam, you promised.”

“That was before I knew his offense.”

“Which is why I made you promise before I told you.” Her hand was upon his arm, pulling him back to her. “There are more pleasurable things we can engage in that will keep Jamie Simmons in his place.”

They remained at odds for quite a while as Darcy attempted to dampen his jealous rage. Finally, looking at his wife, he cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Such as?”

She stepped close to him, pulling his face to hers, “This.” She kissed his lips before pulling back a hair's breadth. “And this.” She ran her tongue along his lips, pressing on them for admittance. He moaned and complied, and she kissed away his problem as Jamie Simmons faded from his mind.

Chapter Seven

Longbourn Estate
Hertfordshire

Elizabeth led Darcy down the road. It was their last ride before returning to London the next morning. While she had taken great pleasure in showing him the wilds and wonders of Longbourn and its environs, this morning she kept to the main road, although the one heading in the opposite direction. Tis a pleasant prospect, he thought, but an unusual choice for our last ramble together here at Longbourn. They rounded the bend, and Darcy was surprised as Elizabeth quickly dismounted, tying her horse to a nearby tree. Darcy followed suit, but was caught short at the tears coursing down her cheek. Unaware of their significance, he gently took her in his arms, and she let loose a heartfelt sob that shook him to his boots.

“Elizabeth, dearest, what is it?”

“This … this is where my parents … lost their lives.” Suddenly he remembered that she, along with her sisters, was an orphan due to a carriage accident five years before. He had no idea it had happened so close to home.

“I miss my mother,” she began. “We were never close, not like I am to my Aunt Gardiner, but still… my papa. He was… I just … I felt loved by him. Aside from him and Jane, I felt no love at home, not like… like I was someone special, the best little girl there was. Just because I was me. He would soothe me when Mama would cut with her words; I was never her favorite, you know. But none of that mattered because my father was there, always there.”

“And then, one afternoon, he was gone. They were returning from visiting a neighbor, and I was walking one of the ponies, getting him accustomed to the bit, when I heard the sounds, the crash. A wheel broke on a rut in the road. It was the worst sound I have ever heard. I ran, completely forgetting my horse, but he followed me. And we found them, along with Roberts, our coachman was already dead. My mother's neck was dangling, she was dead. But my father… I think his back broke, and he was in pain. I ran to him as quickly as I could; he was still alive, but breathing was difficult, and he could no longer see. I called to him and he said, `I knew you would come Lizzy. I love you, my dearest Lizzy. And I always will.'”

It took Elizabeth a moment to compose herself and let the river of tears run dry. Darcy pulled her head to his heart. He just held her. He too, had seen his father die, although a lingering illness had prepared them both. By the time George Darcy had breathed his last, Fitzwilliam believed it was a relief and had only his grief to attend. For Elizabeth and her sisters, there was grief and the shock that their parents had disappeared, never to return.

“I told him I loved him, that we all loved him, and then, he was gone. I stayed with them until Mr. Parsons of Aldersfield came and summoned the authorities. Afterwards all I could do was sit and stare for weeks. I felt I was surrounded by ice, layers and layers of frozen air between me and the living; between me and the dead. I could hear and see everyone, but they were distant, unable to reach me. Sarmacia gave birth one night, about six months later. She was the last mare bred with Papa's assistance. She had a terrible time of it. The colt… they were certain the colt was inverted, and she suffered so. I could hear her calling to me, her neighing like screams in a storm: wild, frightened, agonizing. Her pain cut through the ice. Her heart, her need, touched me and I had to help her. I went to the stables and stayed with her for two days until that foal was born, healthy and well. Her eyes are what saved me. Brown pools of love, Fitzwilliam. In all the pain that horse endured, she still let me know she loved me, was grateful I had come to her. I was needed, as damaged and empty as I felt, she needed me, and I had to respond.

When Sarmacia was stable and Killarn, the colt, was as well, I collapsed and slept for three days. When I woke, I went to Sarmacia. She nuzzled me, and as I looked into her eyes, I knew I would be… everything would be well.”

Elizabeth looked up at Fitzwilliam, seeing the same level of love she had seen all those years before and said, “And as you see, it is.”

*--* *--*

Lizzy walked to the stables their last morning at Longbourn. The air, still carrying the cool of the night, blew around her. I hope it will not rain, at least not until we depart for London. I have enjoyed being home, yet it is mine no longer. She and Darcy had spent the last two days reviewing the ledger books, plans for the last of the spring planting and which horses would breed before the summer was out. Due to her uncle's instance in the marriage contract, Lizzy's consent for changes in Noah's Legacy was assured between her and Darcy. She would bring the horses she wanted with her to Pemberley. However, she was extremely cognizant that her sisters' livelihood depended on the stables, as the fields were no longer abundant. The price of horseflesh brought more to Longbourn than farming ever would. She and Darcy agreed that the stables would continue to support the Bennet sisters, maintaining their home, their educations and their dowries.

Elizabeth reviewed their late night discussion in front of the fire, a glass of wine poured for each. They lay across the floor, on cushions, enjoying the wind howling outside their window. They had spent the evening discussing plans for the farm. Darcy wanted her to move everything and everyone to Pemberley.

“Surely your sisters will not mind?” he had tossed out casually.

“Not mind?” she had asked, incredulously. “Not mind leaving everything they have ever known? Not mind uprooting what is left of their life, their sense of home, to traipse after you? I think not, sir.”

“Elizabeth, please be reasonable. What purpose would it serve to have two households, when one will suffice?” He tossed a piece of wood on the fire, causing the flame to intensify. Suddenly, he sat upright, “Elizabeth, I am not asking for this to occur tomorrow, or even by the end of the summer. But your sisters are getting older, Jane will surely wish a home of her own soon enough. And the others?” He looked at her as she sat, her legs drawn up, her head resting on her knees. He so wanted to embrace her, take her right there on the floor, but knew his seemingly unquenchable passion would have to wait. She was upset, and he needed to calm her fear. “I want you to think about it, that is all.”

Elizabeth looked at him, then into the fire. She closed her eyes and hugged her knees. This was her home, the place she felt most connected to her parents. Could she let them go? Let go of her childhood? Could she make this decision for her sisters on her own?

“I will think about it, Fitzwilliam, that is all I will promise.” She looked at her husband, so peaceful in his casual attire. He was in his shirt, no cravat, no waistcoat, lying across her hearth. She wanted to run her fingers through his tousled hair, but withstood the temptation. “It is not our decision alone, Fitzwilliam. We must discuss this with my sisters.” He nodded.

The sound of a familiar neighing returned her mind to the present. The sky gathering in intensity, promised a spring storm. Elizabeth quickly went to Sarmacia, to calm the mare in her last days before giving birth. Elizabeth smiled as the horse ambled over to her, bringing her head to Elizabeth for a hug. Elizabeth whispered sweet nothings into the animal's ear as she patted its long chestnut colored neck. The rest of the yard was quiet, as only one or two of the stable hands were at their posts. Sarmacia noted the addition to their party before Elizabeth was aware of his presence.

Turning, Elizabeth saw Jamie walk towards them, a smile was on his face, but his eyes were troubled.

He had thought of nothing and no one but Elizabeth Bennet since she left his home two nights ago. Each thought ended the same way, with her agreeing to leave for New York with him. These, along with the libations shared with his remaining friends, fed his obsessive spirit, and he was determined to make it so.

“Elizabeth,” he greeted her. “I am happy to find you here alone.”

“Good morning, Jamie. What brings you out on so turbulent a morning?” Elizabeth tried to remain calm, but the wild look in his eyes disturbed her equilibrium.

“You, of course,” he replied. He stood next to her, too close for her comfort. Sarmacia, sensing Elizabeth's distress, positioned her head between the couple. Jamie smirked at the animal, batting her nose a tad more vehemently than necessary. Elizabeth pulled the horse's head to her, soothing away any discomfort he may have caused the pregnant mare. “I was hoping you could answer some questions making the rounds about town, Lizzy.” Elizabeth glared at his impertinence. “Oh, yes, the old biddies are taking your name in vain, my dear. All sorts of wild notions of why the clever Miss Lizzy suddenly married a man none of us have heard of until now.” His eyes narrowed. “So, Elizabeth, tell me. Why are you married to Mr. Darcy?”

Trying to control the anger she felt at the interference in her private affairs, Elizabeth replied in a low voice. “You have absolutely no right to ask me anything about my personal life, and the motives for what I do, Mr. Simmons; not after your disappearance without a word, to say nothing of your behavior the other evening.”

“It is not me that is asking, Elizabeth. I care not why you married the man. It is the town matrons who abuse you so.” Elizabeth turned away, furious about the gossip she could only imagine running through town.

“What did you expect, Lizzy?” he asked, continuing to stand close to her back. She could smell the sweat on his clothes, the stale alcohol swirling around him. “While I do not care, I am curious why Mr. Darcy, of Pemberley.” Elizabeth turned, looking sharply at him. He smirked at her indignation. “Oh, I know who Mr. Darcy is. A man of his consequence is hard to hide. I tried to let the ladies of Meryton know his position in society. Unfortunately, the information only fueled their flames.” His smirk returned, wider and more wolfish. “I am curious to know how you arranged the alliance, my dear; although I definitely understand your allure.” He stepped closer, his hands running up her arm. He lowered his head, whispering in her ear, “No matter what woman lay beneath me, Lizzy, it is always you that I see.”

“Then why did you leave? Why did you not write or send word?” She felt her anger rise at his cruel desertion.

Misreading her, he continued maneuvering his body as if to kiss her. “I tried to forget you Elizabeth, but it is impossible. I long for you, to feel you … to possess… you are meant for me.” Elizabeth pulled her arm back, looking into Jamie's eyes. His words confused her, stirred old feelings around the bottom of her heart.

“What right have you to speak this way to me, Jamie?” She tried to push him away but he held her by the arm, anger bubbling beneath his skin.

“Aye, such a fine lady now, are you, Mrs. Darcy?” He moved so his body now pressed into her.

“This has nothing to do with my being anything or anyone but me Elizabeth.” She pulled back with more force.

“My Elizabeth!” he cried out.

“No, Jamie, no more. I beg of you. That was over long ago. Two years to be exact. When you left me, no promise of returning to me! Nay, you said if I would not go with you then, you would not return for me. Why are you here, Jamie? Why now?”

“I missed you, Lizzy …”

“So much you sent not a word? Not once in two years? You had no pity, no mercy for my broken heart then. I still want to know, Mr. Simmons, why you come to my door. What were you expecting after all this time?”

He dropped his arms, stunned at her obstinance. “A man is entitled to visit his home is he not, Miss … excuse me, Mrs. Darcy. England is still free, is it not?”

She glared at him. “You know that is not of what I speak. Why are you here, at my door?”

Defeated, he replied, “I had to see you. I heard you had returned and came to see you. You are unforgettable, Elizabeth.” He ran his fingers through his hair. Then he looked at her, momentarily like the young man who had enchanted her years before. “Elizabeth, you would love America. Come away with me,” he pulled her towards him.

*--* *--*

Darcy, upon rising to an empty bed, dressed quickly and went in search of Elizabeth. He walked until he saw Edmond, one of the stable hands, intently watching the scene unfold. Edmond stood back, but was prepared to intervene if he felt the situation warranted it. Darcy was stunned when he saw James Simmons pulling Elizabeth towards him. Something held Darcy back as well. I must know her answer. The resounding slap against Jamie's cheek brought a sigh of relief and a smile to Fitzwilliam Darcy.

“Even if I did not love my husband, James Simmons, I am not so without honor to abandon my vows, made not a week ago, to abandon him and abscond in the night with the likes of you! Good day, Mr. Simmons. May you have a safe return journey to your new home.”

Elizabeth began walking toward Longbourn when Jamie seized her arm, spinning her around. An angry gleam settled in his eye. His breath was ragged as his arms possessed her, drawing her towards him. Elizabeth struggled to break his hold upon her. She struggled with her skirts to kick him, but he bent kiss her and embrace her more tightly.

“Stop, Jamie! This is obscene.”

“It will be over soon enough, Lizzy, but not before I have had my share.”

Jamie felt himself whirl around, his world shattering as he staggered against the fence. Elizabeth was torn from his grasp. He heard the tear of her dress as he pulled the fabric down with him. He felt the hard leather of a boot kick his jaw before he fell backward in the dirt. And then he felt, heard and saw no more until he woke in the cell of Meryton's jail.

Darcy lifted Elizabeth close to his chest as he ran the short distance to Longbourn. He called out to Edmond to bind Simmons, then to Mr. Hill and Mathias to send for the apothecary and the constable. He called to Mrs. Hill for sherry and hot water to be sent up to their rooms. He carried Elizabeth up the stairs, all the while whispering, “Lizzy, I am so sorry. Elizabeth, please forgive me.”

Elizabeth did not reply, so great was her shock. What went so horribly wrong? How could he do this? To me? she asked herself. “How could he?” she asked aloud. “He said he loved me!”

Her words cut him to his heart as would an assassin's blade. He stilled momentarily as anger and guilt raged against each other. Gathering his determination, he continued on his way.

“Fitzwilliam?” she asked, noting the pained look on his face. “Please, look at me.” When finally he did, he met the eyes he loved looking at him as they had done earlier that morning. “My distress is not born of my love for him. It is that a love I had believed in, long ago, a man I thought I knew,” her agitation returned, “could turn so vile. So violent.” She looked to him for comfort, and he held her tighter in his arms. Mrs. Hill came soon after with a glass of sherry, and after Elizabeth refused to let him go, he stayed with her, placing her in the tub and staying with her while she bathed. He helped her dress, and then he held her until she fell asleep in his arms.

*--* *--*

Elizabeth woke hours later, a violent wind rapping wayward branches against her window. A fire burned warmly in her room, casting a cozy glow about the familiar setting. At Darcy's insistence, they had moved her father's large bed into her old room, where it took up almost the entire space available. Their clothes were stored in the master bedroom, but to sleep, Darcy wanted them to stay in Elizabeth's old room. Amused by his request, it pleased her to have him there. The first night she had felt wicked -- A man in a young girl's chamber! -- but his passion and tenderness soon left those thoughts crumbling in the dust.

Now, waking after the turbulence of the morning, Elizabeth was grateful for and content with the familiar view from her window, as well as finding Darcy's arms wrapped protectively around her. He dozed; his body slouched against a pile of pillows. He held her against his chest where she had fallen asleep, the sound of his heartbeat in her ear. She pulled his arm tighter to her, wrapping her own around it.

Although just after noon, the storm cast dark shadows out of doors. Elizabeth felt no inclination to stir outside their chamber. She snuggled underneath her comforter turning her head to inhale Darcy's scent. She could not help herself. She placed a kiss upon his chest. While his shirt prevented her lips from touching skin, she still felt her body respond to this erotic act. She wanted to feel him, ensure that he was still hers, that the events of the morning had not diminished his love for her. Her hand felt pulled towards the buttons on Fitzwilliam's shirt, carefully unfastening them one by one. Without thinking, her hand slid in underneath the fabric of his shirt. As her hand touched skin, she heard him gasp. Quickly looking up, she saw him smile and his eyes flutter open. Sensing no objections, she moved her hand up to his chest, where she felt each of his firm muscles. Enthralled by the flat peak of his nipple, she mimicked his attentions to her, by caressing, pinching and finally tasting the sensitive skin. He groaned, sliding his body so he lay flush against her.

She pulled at his shirt, freeing him from its confines, her hands gliding across as much of his skin as possible. He trembled as she kissed his lips, taking his lower lip between her teeth, giving it a gentle tug. It was too much for him, his hands flew over her; arms, waist, ribs, breasts, lingering there as if unable to move. She kissed him again, her tongue meeting his. He pushed against her, she returned the pressure and soon she felt his hips engaged in a similar dance. Elizabeth drew herself up so she sat on her knees. She drew her shift up and over her head. Darcy's eyes dilated with the movement of her breasts. Immediately, Darcy took them in his hands. He looked at her waiting for permission. She smiled at him, and he rose to taste first one breast, then the other. She wanted him to blot out Jamie's kiss, his grasping at her. She wanted Darcy's embrace to implant new memories onto her skin, into her soul.

It was Elizabeth's turn to moan as Darcy suckled at her breast while cupping and squeezing the other. His free hand unbuttoned his breeches, freeing his erection. He began tugging at her underclothes, gently pulling them down until she was naked. He pulled back, drinking in the tantalizing sight.

Elizabeth took in the beauty of his body lying underneath her. His muscles, his skin awaited her touch. And touch him she did. She ran her hands along the sides of his body, stretching forward as a cat, her skin just barely making contact with his. She relished the feel of his hardness against the lushness of her own body. His quick intake of air pleased her, as did his whimper when he begged, “Please, Elizabeth.” She raised herself up on her arms then bent forward to kiss him as her legs straddled him. His gaze became worshipful as she kneeled above his flat body, breasts on display, her hair tussled and untamed, her eyes wild with longing for him. Again she bent down, and he grabbed her breasts as her tongue touched his lips. She felt afire, plunging onto him. His eyes closed in ecstasy as he felt her warmth surround him and he could think no more.

She gasped as he filled her, pushing all thought away. His hardness pressed against her core, sending spasms of delight pulsing through her body. One hand held her hips while the other moved forward to the spot, unlocking her bliss. His strong fingers sought and found her rhythm, and soon her hips bucked while grasping him within. When her orgasm came, he held her on top of him, waves of her bliss washing over him, thrilling him body and soul.

“Elizabeth,” he called to her, and she answered him.

“My love, yes, William, yes.”

His heart opened as his body released its pleasure and he climaxed with her. Their bodies fused in those moments beyond feeling, each experiencing a heightening of their senses and a blurring of their boundaries. He felt Elizabeth fall, and he caught her, pulling her close to his heart. She heard him whisper, “My love,” and gathering all the strength she could, whispered in return, “I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy and I always will.”

*--* *--*

When they awoke, they leisurely dressed and descended for an afternoon meal which they took in the library. Rather than waste the afternoon, they decided to explore the library to see which, if any, books Elizabeth would send to Pemberley. As they reviewed the shelves, they discussed their favorite works and their authors. Elizabeth, while not surprised at the depth of his understanding, was pleasantly surprised at the respect he afforded her when they disagreed. She remembered her father saying that one of the signs of a true gentleman is the grace with which he allows another to disagree.

Darcy tried to bring the conversation again to selling Longbourn. Elizabeth said, “I will think about it, Fitzwilliam, but you must see it is not my decision to make alone.” She watched him bristle, so she added, “I understand that you, as Master of Pemberley are accustomed to making decisions unilaterally, and as my husband… well that is another matter.” She turned to look directly at him. “I understand the legal aspects of this, that I no longer have as much... direct say in this…”

“No, Elizabeth. This is… your home.”

She smiled at him with love and gratitude. “I am glad you understand, Fitzwilliam. This is our legacy; and I will not let it be treated as anything less.”

Considering her words, which spoke of feelings beyond the yield of crops or tenants or responsibilities, Darcy heard her connection to the place as her connection to the people she loved, both those who lived, and those who lived no more. He nodded and decided to move on.

“What do you want done with Simmons?” he asked, eyeing her as he returned some first editions carefully to the shelves. Rather than respond immediately, Elizabeth helped shelve some of the books they had rummaged through.

“I…haven't given that much thought.”

“Really?” he asked.

“Yes. I had thought since you involved the Magistrate that…well that things would take care of themselves.”

“How so, Elizabeth?”

“That he would come to trial, or be charged with…” here she turned to Darcy with terror in her eyes. Her look was like a blow to him, echoing as it did the look of utter dismay in Georgiana when he found her at Ramsgate.

“Disorderly conduct… I will support whatever you want, Elizabeth…”

She could not speak. He held her gently as her tears flowed, releasing the emotions churning within her. When she could, she drew in a deep breath and pulled back from Darcy's shoulder. She looked up at him, seeing in his dark eyes, the love he professed in their intimate moments.

“Let us go with disorderly conduct,” she said finally.

He understood her choice, he would not argue with it. He understood the inclination to leave things alone, not make a fuss. In this case, it went against every fiber of his being, but if it brought her peace, he was willing to oblige. “So be it,” he said, laying kisses on her forehead. “I will speak with the Magistrate tomorrow before we leave.” He felt her nod, then pulled back to look her in the eye. “Elizabeth, I am so sorry.”

“William! If you had not intervened…”

“I should have, could have, sooner.”

She looked at him questioningly.

“I came to find you when I woke and you were not in my… our bed.” He sighed. “I heard you speaking and could not move. I needed to hear your answer.”

“And were you satisfied, Mr. Darcy?” Elizabeth's tone had grown cold, restrained.

“The sound of your hand against his cheek was one of the most satisfying sounds I have ever heard, Elizabeth. Along with the words, even if I did not love my husband.” Shyly he looked at her, with such innocence in his need for reassurance that her anger melted. “Hearing you avow your love for me in and of itself was intoxicating, Elizabeth, and it took a moment…entirely too long I confess, before I realized the situation had taken a decided turn for the worse. I am sorry, Elizabeth. I beg for your forgiveness.”

“Fitzwilliam, you were there, you prevented anything more from occurring.” She held his downcast face in her hands. “Before he took hold of me, everything happened so fast. I myself was unable to process it to react more forcefully. And by then you were already there, and Jam…Mr. Simmons was on the ground and I was safe, as I am now.”

“Then you forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive you for, my love.”

His face brightened. It darkened at his next utterance, “And what is to come?”

She sighed. “We shall face this together. Perhaps there is a way to just remove him from the country without the ordeal of a trial?”

Darcy looked up at this then hugged her closer to him. “You, my darling, are brilliant.”

She laughed and said, “I am glad you think so.”

“I will send an express to my solicitor tonight asking his advice. Perhaps we can persuade Mr. Simmons to leave the country and leave us in peace.”

Chapter Eight

Late March, 1812
Darcy House
London

Although Elizabeth had seen her new home the night before her wedding, returning as its mistress was overwhelming. Darcy watched carefully as Elizabeth acknowledged their housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, and Giles, their butler, and was introduced as the Mistress of the Manor to the entire staff. He marveled at her grace and charm as she spoke to each member of the household, giving a brilliant smile to one and all. They responded to her kindness, and Darcy knew all would be well in his home.

Darcy had monitored Elizabeth's behavior since the `incident' in Hertfordshire. She seemed recovered, but he suspected she harbored sorrow over the turn of events. He had believed her when she said her unease was not over Jamie as a lover, but that he had abused her trust so greatly. All vestiges of their life long friendship were wiped away in one morning. Of all circumstances in the world, this he understood. How ironic that Elizabeth has a Wickham of her own, he thought as his thoughts turned darker, only he wanted her, not her fortune. Darcy knew he was a possessive individual, a man who believed that what was his, was his alone; but the depth of emotion his jealousy engendered frightened him. While he thought he would kill Wickham if he ever encountered him again, he knew with certainty that should he ever see Simmons again he would kill him for attempting to harm his beloved Elizabeth, and for the suffering she endured because of it.

His musings were interrupted by Elizabeth joining him in his study. “Fitzwilliam? When does Georgiana return?” she asked after taking the hand he had stretched out to her. She came to him and they sat side-by-side on the sofa.

He looked at her, surprised at her choice of subject. “I thought to have her return early next week.” His wife's eyebrow shot up. “You think this unwise?” Elizabeth looked at him. He took her hand to his lips, “Then, my dear, when would you suggest?”

“I would like to have the Gardiners and Jane for dinner later this week, if that is agreeable with you.” Her husband nodded and she continued. “And I would like Georgiana to be present. I think she would feel more comfortable in her own home.”

After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Darcy responded. “Yes, I believe she would. I just thought you would like more time to … adjust to …” and here he looked longingly at his lover. “To being my wife.”

She blushed, understanding his meaning. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Fitzwilliam. However, I … I think Georgiana needs our support now, perhaps more than she has in quite a while. I would like her to know … to truly feel welcome; and that her home is as it has always been, here with you.”

“With us, Elizabeth.” He pulled her closer as he held her hands in his. He let one hand fall on his leg while taking the other to place kisses along her arm, from her palm to her elbow before being interrupted by Giles announcing that lunch was served.

*--* *--*

Later that evening, Darcy escorted Elizabeth to their rooms. Ascending the stairs, Darcy felt his heart pound in his chest. He drew Elizabeth close, relishing the feel of her, a devilish smile on his face. Seeing him smile, his eyes dark with passion, Elizabeth smiled in return. She longed for the part of the day when their door was closed to the world and time belonged only to them. His arm was firm against her back, sending chills up her spine. She licked her lips and heard her husband's intake of air into his lungs.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered, as if out of breath. She smiled at him, arching her brow.

“Yes, my love.”

There, on the first landing, Darcy kissed Elizabeth, his tongue forcing her lips to part, demanding access to her. She readily opened to him, and his hands wrapped around her, gliding up her side before pulling her tightly to him. She felt his erection through his trousers and pushed herself into him, rubbing urgently against him. He groaned, and she moved her lips from his mouth to his throat, mussing his cravat, lavishing kisses upon it. He bent towards her, lifting her into his arms to ascend the stairs all the quicker.

When they reached his chamber, he entered quickly, kicking the door closed. He brought her to the fireplace, where he set her down and stood, gazing at her, his breath ragged. He began untying his neck cloth, his eyes never leaving her, freezing her on the spot, as a tiger would intimidate his prey. He whipped off his coat, unbuttoning his shirt yanking it out of his trousers. He kicked off his shoes quickly as well. She stood there, her chest heaving with labored breath as she watched her husband strip his clothes, dropping them off to the side.

How I love his body… his chest as he lays upon me. She sighed, remembering what was in store for her. He comforts me, he is my safety, my refuge.

When he stood in only his trousers, he moved towards her with unhurried step. She had remained where he had placed her, mesmerized by his physicality. He touched her cheek with the palm of his hand, drawing it to the back of her head, hesitating only once, as if overcome with the feel of her skin on his. Using his hand as a guide, he moved to her, placing his other hand on her neck. His lips burned on hers as he kissed her once. Then, his lips moved along the right side of her neck. She gasped, throwing back her head and raised her arms to hold on to him. She needed his support as her knees felt unable to carry her. She leaned into him, her hips joining his, and he groaned. His hands moved down, sliding her dress off her shoulders as far as it would go. When he felt the fabric resisted him, he gently turned her around and attacked her buttons. Dissatisfied with the speed of his progress, he took her dress in his hands and tore the fabric, freeing her.

She turned to him as the dress fell off her body, firelight dancing on her skin. They stared at each other with longing and love.

“I love you, Elizabeth, with all my heart.”

“As I do you, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth then proceeded to demonstrate, in exhilarating detail just how much she loved him.

*--* *--*

Elizabeth woke surrounded by Darcy's arms as he slept beneath her in their bed. His face still held that beatific smile. Smiling herself, she kissed the flat, strong plane of his chest, running her hand lightly over his skin, still amazed at her abandon with him. They were utterly naked, in his bedchamber. A candle's light flickered on the dressing table. Folding her hands on his chest, she perched her head upon them, contemplating her husband and the turn of the last few weeks of her life. She chuckled to herself, thinking how her uncle's problems were now resolved, and her future that had at times seemed so bleak, was now filled with such dizzying emotion she could hardly believe it.

How have we come so far? What is it about him, about me, that allows me to act so… like such a wanton with him, with no compunction whatsoever? Mentally she reviewed what she knew of her husband, from meeting his sister and his relations, to what her uncle had said after inquiring among his acquaintances about him. He was known as a reserved man who flouted many of society's strictures, but was not known to be vindictive, or cruel, but rather a generous man, a just man, one who spoke his mind, but gave serious thought to his beliefs beforehand. It was said he was intelligent, even witty, among intimates of his circle. Those who knew him were loyal, knowing Darcy was the same. Yet, beyond all this, even though their acquaintance had been short, her heart was telling her this joining … this love was right.

She thought about Jamie, and examined her past. He had been her friend since childhood. She had trusted him up until the day he left for America. She still had trusted him for months after he had left, but with time, that trust faded. He was not coming back, he had sailed out of her life. And that was that. He was gone and, she inhaled deeply, it was over. With time her heart had mended, her pride recovered, the gossip in the village focused on some other poor individual. Her thoughts turned to other things, and her dreams had changed. In them she was often adrift on a raft out at sea. Many times she felt panicked at being alone, but never in any danger. With time, the panic subsided and she had begun to enjoy her `sea dream' as her sense of adventure returned.

But then her dreams had changed again when she came to town. The two months she was in London were filled with webs wrapping themselves around her, entangling her, dragging her to the ground. They were oppressive, dark. Until Fitzwilliam Darcy entered her world; then the web that had begun to frighten her evolved into a gossamer veil. Since her marriage, the web-cum-veil had grown large enough to wrap itself around Elizabeth and her husband. The night after she accepted his proposal, Darcy became a presence in her dreams. Each day, as she allowed herself to know him, his form became clearer there.

Their first night together at Longbourn, he stepped into her field of vision enabling her to see him clearly. It was then the veil floated down from the heavens to lightly land on their heads as he bent down kissing her fully and tenderly on the lips. As he lifted his head to look into her eyes, she could see his soul and heart open to her, and she felt her own joy overflow into the world. As they looked out from underneath the veil together, everything came alive around them. Darkness turned bright, flowers opened, birds began to sing and the skies went from cloudy grey to blue to the inky black of the star-lit night.

“What does my lady think of now?” he asked bringing his hand to trace lines upon her arm, and her thoughts back to the present.

“Only of you, and a dream I have had every night since the beginning of our life together,” she replied with a loving smile upon her lips.

“A good omen I hope?”

“Only the best.” Here she moved to snuggle into the embrace of his arms. “Where our love covered us, brightening our hearts and the world around us.”

“Elizabeth `tis no dream.” He looked into her eyes, wishing to convey the seriousness of his words. “`This is how I feel, in truth, with you.” He let his head flop back on the pillow. “Never before have I felt such peace. I feel happy, happier than I have ever felt. It is not exuberant, but an overflowing joy that fills my being. And it is you my love that gives me this joy, you being here with me.” He kissed her soundly until their passion overcame them again taking them both on a journey of love lasting until dawn lit the sky, and exhausted they slumbered once more.

*--* *--*

The next morning, instead of a letter explaining his dealings in Meryton, Mr. Sebastian Mercer, Darcy's solicitor, called upon Darcy, requesting a meeting. Eager to complete the business his honeymoon had forestalled, Darcy felt piqued at the unusual nature of such a call, but agreed to meet.

“Mr. Darcy,” Mr. Mercer said, his hand outstretched in greeting.

“Mercer. Good of you to call.” He accepted the handshake and brought Mr. Mercer to his seat in front of Darcy's desk.

“Not at all. May I offer you great joy on your recent marriage?”

“Thank you, Mercer. Mrs. Darcy and I are very happy, indeed.”

“Naturally, sir.” Darcy gave his solicitor a wary glance. The firm of Mercer & Alexander had been in service to the Darcy family for generations. However, Darcy had become hyper alert to disparaging tones embedded in placid remarks sent his way over the last few years.

“Indeed. What brings you to Grosvenor Square?” he asked, cautiously.

Mr. Mercer squirmed in his seat. The news he brought made him uneasy. “I traveled to Meryton, as per your instructions.” He drew in his breath. Darcy watched, alert that something portentous was about to unfold. “However, when I arrived, Mr. Simmons was nowhere to be found.”

Darcy's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “How can that be? We left but three days ago and he was in custody on my charge!”

“Apparently, Mr. Simmons has friends in high places. Very high places, sir.”

Darcy paced around the room, like a panther ready for the kill. He stopped to query his solicitor. “How high?”

“A Mr. Slocombe, sir, of Abernathy, Higgins, and Saltine.”

Darcy thought this through, as much as he could. Someone has convinced the Magistrate to release Simmons. Troubling indeed. “How can this be Mercer? How?”

“Apparently, working on behalf of his client, Mr. Slocombe produced a letter requesting a diplomatic favor on Mr. Simmons' behalf.”

“Impossible.”

“Apparently not, sir.”

“Who could write such a letter?”

“Anyone placed high enough in the Home Office or Foreign Office could request the favor. Or any of the diplomatic missions to St. James Court could as well.”

“I see,” Darcy released the breath he had been holding. “Thank you, Mercer. Is there anything else?”

“Only that once released, Mr. Simmons left the area, with no forwarding address.”

“Of course.”

*--* *--*

Darcy spent the greater part of the afternoon in his study, deep in thought. Elizabeth was visiting the Gardiners and Jane. He had sent word to Henderson and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Henderson came first and had been dispatched to both Meryton and London to find the current location of James Simmons.

There was a knock on his study door. Darcy called out, “Enter.”

Richard Fitzwilliam strode into the room, heading straight for the sideboard and a glass of brandy.

“By all means, Richard, would you care for something?”

“No thank you, Darcy, one is enough.”

Ignoring the glower radiating off his cousin, Richard took a seat opposite Darcy, who sat at his desk. “What crisis summons me away from my General, cousin? All seems quiet here on the home front.”

Darcy looked at Richard, waiting for the mirth to play itself out so Darcy could discuss his business.

“Richard, I need your advice.”

Fitzwilliam was shocked. He could count on one hand the times Darcy had come to him for advice, and neither of them had been for a pleasant reason.

“Hold on now, cousin. I know something about women, nothing about wives,” with that he chuckled loudly.

“It is not about wives, it is about their former suitors…”

“What has Blainard done this time?”

Darcy sighed heavily, “It is not Blainard.”

After taking a measuring glance at Darcy, Richard chuckled again. “Elizabeth is a beautiful, vivacious woman, Darcy. You would be a fool to think you were her first…”

“I will thank you to keep your thoughts on that particular subject to yourself, and for reminding me that my wife is beautiful and that I will spend the rest of my days fighting off potential rivals.”

“And how do you propose to do that?”

With a wicked smirk Darcy continued, “By keeping milady supremely satisfied.”

“They say the best offense is a good defense.

“I believe, cousin, the expression is the best defense is a good offense.” Darcy smirked at his cocky cousin.

Taking the jibe in good humor, Fitzwilliam noted how quickly the mirth departed his serious cousin's face. “Now tell me truly, William, what it is that troubles you?”

“Elizabeth…two years ago she was in love with a man, a neighbor, Mr. James Simmons.”

“That name sounds vaguely familiar,” Fitzwilliam muttered, mostly to himself as he tried to place it.

“While we were at Longbourn on our honeymoon, he returned from America.” Here Fitzwilliam jerked his head upright, his attention all seriousness. “He appeared to accept our marriage, and that she was lost to him.”

“Appeared to accept it?”

“Two mornings later he returned to Longbourn, Elizabeth's family estate. He found Elizabeth checking one of her mares, about to foal. He told her his feelings…”

“And Elizabeth? How did she react to this… ?”

Darcy smiled in remembrance. “Have you ever noticed how sweet the sound of a small hand striking the cheek of a large man can be?” Richard laughed outright at the image of Elizabeth Darcy slapping this unknown Mr. Simmons, until he noticed Darcy's face darken. “Then he meant to force a kiss, and God knows what else he would have attempted …”

“How did you stop him?”

“I awoke in time to witness her slapping him, and when my addled brain recognized her danger, I was upon him.”

Richard took in his cousin, noting that trouble still plagued him. “If you prevented any harm from befalling Elizabeth, what bothers you?”

“When we left Hertfordshire, Simmons was safely incarcerated… disorderly conduct.” Fitzwilliam nodded his approval. “I sent word to Mercer to travel to Meryton, and persuade Simmons to leave the country.” Fitzwilliam watched his cousin launch out of his chair to pace in front of the fire. “When Mercer applied to the Magistrate, to see if Simmons could simply be placed on a boat returning to America, he found that Simmons had been released, the result of a letter requesting a diplomatic favor on his behalf. His whereabouts are unknown. I have Henderson trying to locate him.” Darcy went to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port.

“Does she know?”

“No. Elizabeth is visiting her sister, and aunt and uncle. I will tell her upon her return. I intend on having one of our larger footmen escort her about town until further notice.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to know why someone with diplomatic connections would intervene on Simmons' behalf. Who protects him, and why?”

“Understood.”

“Where did you say Simmons is from?”

“Originally from Meryton, in Hertfordshire, the same as Elizabeth. Now, however, he lives in America, in New York.”

Fitzwilliam looked at Darcy. “I will make inquiries. What does the chap look like? Any distinguishing marks?”

“Tall, broad in the shoulders, blond hair, tanned skin and green, hazel eyes. Sits well in the saddle.”

“Very observant of you.”

“Faced with a rival, you take note of these things.”

“Touché!” Richard gulped the remains of his brandy before taking his leave.

“You will not stay for dinner?”

“No, cousin. I will not interrupt your honeymoon.” Richard began moving to the door. “Although I understand Georgiana is to return to Darcy House before the week is out.”

“Yes, Elizabeth insists on it.”

Richard knocked on the door he held in his hand, “Good. I think being in your and Elizabeth's company will do her a world of good. The woman has already raised your spirits to dazzling heights.” With a twinkle in his eye, Richard Fitzwilliam exited the door before his cousin could berate him and his feeble attempt at humor.

*--* *--*

When Elizabeth returned from the Gardiners' home, she wore a smile that failed to meet her eyes. Darcy noted this and tried to engage her, to get her to reveal the root of her sorrow, but she would not, could not speak. “Not yet, Fitzwilliam. It has always been so, I need time to work things out before I speak to anyone. Jane would get so angry with me, but I cannot help it. It is simply the way I am.” The smile she gave him melted his trepidation, encouraging him to speak.

“Is it anything I have done, Elizabeth, that upsets you?

She went to him taking his hand to her lips for a gentle kiss. “No, my love, it is not you. It is… all that has swirled around me before and… after our marriage that causes me such… it is not pain, not exactly, but doubt.” She sat and he joined her on the sofa. “I… I simply cannot understand what I did to warrant such treatment.”

“Nothing! You did nothing, Elizabeth. Blainard is a cur, he was born that way and will, undoubtedly die one. As for Simmons, I cannot say what brought about such shocking behavior. But I know you are blameless.” He looked into her eyes, seeing the confusion and pain.

“Am I?” she breathed her words. “I wish I could be so sure. Everything I thought I knew has been shredded by these events.”

“Everything, my heart? Even us?”

“No, you are the constant in my life, Fitzwilliam.” Her laughter sent fear through his heart. She read his face and replied, “I was thinking how odd life is. Only one month ago we were mere acquaintances and I thought fondly, mostly, of my first love and with amusement at my most recent suitor. Now, they are anathema to me, and you, who were but that tall, mysterious, somewhat dangerous Mr. Darcy, are now my beloved. Is it not strange to you?”

“Yes, strange and wondrous.”

“Indeed.” Their kisses precluded finishing this conversation until a later time.

*--* *--*

While they lay in each other's arms later that night, Elizabeth noted Fitzwilliam's distraction. She ran her hand along his chest. When he failed to respond appropriately, she asked, “What captures your mind, my love?”

He looked at her as if she had just entered the room. She smiled back at him in the candlelight, but worry caught the corners of her mouth. He saw this and ran his hands up her arms tightening his hold on her.

“Elizabeth, my solicitor, Mr. Mercer, came to see me this morning.”

“Why come here? Why not simply send a note?” Elizabeth felt agitation stir in her heart.

“When he went to Meryton, Simmons was gone.”

She moved to sit up. “Gone? What do you mean, gone? How can he be gone?”

“Lizzy, please,” he tried to hold her, tried to soothe away the panic he saw growing in her countenance. He watched as she took hold of herself and forced herself to face him calmly. She turned to him and he marveled at her strength, her courage.

“Tell me what happened.”

“There was a letter…” she quirked her eyebrow, “requesting a diplomatic favor.”

“A what?”

“A diplomatic favor.”

“What does that mean?” She pulled the sheet up to her chest. Involuntarily, Darcy had to touch her. “But how? How could someone…a diplomat? Rescue Jamie? How could they do this so fast?”

“I do not know, Elizabeth. But I intend to find out.”

She looked at him, assimilating this information in her head. He sat up, running his hand along the line of her jaw. “Elizabeth, I will not allow him to harm you or come near you. Until this matter is resolved, Clayton and Briggs will accompany you when you go out, agreed?” he tweaked her chin.

“Agreed,” she reluctantly replied. She shivered, amazed at how suddenly uncertainty had returned to her world.

“Do not despair, my darling. I am here with you. Whatever is to come, we will face together.”

She looked into his eyes for a long time before looking around what was once his, but had quickly become her chambers as well. When her gaze returned to her husband, she saw him sitting, leaning up against the headboard, his arms open wide to her. She settled down into their warm embrace.

“I will let no harm come to you, Elizabeth. I do not know if I could bear the pain.”

They held each other until early morning dispelled the dark night. The only sound heard was the crackle of the dying fire.

*--* *--*

Chapter Eleven

April, 1812

Rosings Park
Kent

“There you are, my dear,” Lady Catherine smiled crookedly at her frail child. “How was your ride? Do come sit by the fire, Anne. Would you care for some tea? Lord Blainard, something stronger, perhaps? Darcy will go fetch something for you.”

At this, Elizabeth felt the hair stand on the back of her neck. She looked at her husband who glared at his aunt. When she glanced at Richard and Georgiana they all shared the same, hard-eyed glower at their aunt. Even Anne looked embarrassed for her mother. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Blainard. He walked over to the fire before turning his predatory gaze upon Elizabeth. His hand came to his mouth, and he practically sucked the length of his finger as it brushed his lips. His gaze traversed her body, from her eyes which flared with defiance, to her bosom. There he lingered, his mind imprinting the image for future use. Overall, there was a wildness to him that clung to the fringes of his person. Perhaps it was the unruly arrangement of his cravat or the way he would throw back his head before affixing his eye upon Elizabeth once again. Whatever its root, it was unnerving, and hinted at danger.

Darcy looked at Elizabeth and felt himself calm down. Her eyes begged him to remain sanguine. With considerable effort, he nodded to her and turned to Blainard.

“No, nothing, Darcy. Tea suits me fine, along with the fair company.” Both Anne and Catherine smiled like school girls while Elizabeth stiffened in her chair.

“If you will excuse me, I believe I need to rest,” Elizabeth said to Darcy, as she put down her tea.

“Of course,” said Catherine, who had caught Blainard staring at Elizabeth. Her voice dripped of ice. Turning to her daughter, she said, “Anne, ring for Martins. He will show you to your rooms, Mrs. Darcy. Anne, come here,” Lady Catherine impatiently stood until her daughter returned from calling the butler. “Anne, this is…”

“My wife, Elizabeth Darcy,” Darcy spoke loudly, all the while boring holes into Blainard.

“A pleasure, Mrs. Darcy,” there was more warmth in Anne's response than either Darcy or Elizabeth expected.

“Thank you, Miss du Burgh.”

“Please, call me Anne. We are family after all.”

“Indeed,” replied Elizabeth. “Then you must call me, Elizabeth.” Anne's smile lit up her frail features. Elizabeth returned her smile, delighted by her warm reception, at least by one of the residents of Rosings.

“Very well, Anne, now, sit by the fire and warm yourself,” Catherine intruded. Elizabeth and Anne shared a last smile before she went to her cousin and kissed his cheek.

“Congratulations, cousin. I wish you much joy.”

“Thank you,” mumbled a dumbfounded Darcy. When Martins entered, Georgiana, Darcy and Richard also voiced their desire to freshen up before supper. Catherine waved them off before turning her attention to Blainard, who took a seat near Anne.

As they walked up the stairs, Darcy hissed at his cousin, “Did you know anything about this?”

“Not a clue.”

“Our country is in danger, indeed,” he grumbled. Richard clapped him on the back. Georgiana and Elizabeth were three steps ahead of them. “I want Elizabeth to be accompanied at all times by one of us, Richard.” The military man agreed.

“And Georgiana?”

“Let us hope she stays close enough to Elizabeth to make our lives easier.”

“Who shall tell her?” Richard asked.

Darcy looked ahead to his sister, then back to his cousin. “I will. After Elizabeth, Georgiana should be a piece of cake.”

Richard snorted, earning curious glances from his female kinsfolk. Once inside their chambers, Darcy addressed his wife. “Elizabeth, are you all right?” She smiled, but her hands were wrung one in the other, as if keeping them under regulation.

“As well as can be expected. I understood that you and the colonel were unaware of Lord Blainard's invitation?”

“I have shared the details of this Blainard business with Richard.”

“I see.” Elizabeth paced the floor, one curled fist on her hip, the other fisted hand between her lip where she bounced it less than gently. “I must say, I do not believe his sudden sociability is coincidental.”

“Nor do I, my dear,” he said as he strode to her, taking her hands to his lips one at a time. “But we have at least one advantage.”

She looked at him as if to ask and what would that be?

Her husband continued, “He is unaware that we know his full involvement with
Whitecastle. We are armed with that knowledge.” She smiled and nodded, relaxing as he embraced her and began kissing the lips she had recently abused.


When he felt her tension melt and her body sway in his arms, he nibbled her ear before softly speaking. “I want you to always have either me or Richard accompany you, Elizabeth, wherever you go.”

She tried to pull back, but he held her firm. “Elizabeth?” He looked directly into her eyes until she relented. “If possible, I would prefer Georgiana to be with you as well.” She arched her brow. “There is only Richard and me, and your cooperation will make things much easier. She pounded her fists against his chest, but lightly, mostly out of frustration.

“How I hate this, Fitzwilliam.”

“As do I, my love.”

She looked up at him. “When will it ever end?”

He closed his arms about her and said, “I do not know, Elizabeth. But I promise I shall do all in my power to protect you and keep you from harm. She tightened her arms around him. Looking up at him, her eyes drew his lips and he willingly obliged.

*--* *--*

Dinner was an extraordinary affair. Blainard was seated opposite Catherine, at one end of the table, stupefying her nephews as she actually deferred to his opinions. Anne sat at his right, Georgiana to his left, with Mrs. Jenkinson opposite Elizabeth, leaving Darcy and Richard to flank the Grand Dame herself. Both gentlemen were left speechless as Catherine preferred speaking across the length of her table to the suitor she most assuredly was pushing at Anne. For her part, Anne was as engaged in more conversation than Darcy or Richard had ever seen, paying a particular attention to Blainard's end of the conversation. A small, almost secret smile played upon her lips.

If I did not know better, I would think she has an understanding with him, Elizabeth thought. Then she remembered, I do not know better. She took a sip of wine, and feeling her husband's beautiful eyes upon her, she looked up and smiled. He relaxed and raised an eyebrow. Se smiled and hid her chuckle by wiping her glistening lips with her napkin. Darcy released his breath as a hiss, trying to quell thoughts of where he wanted those lips. Fitzwilliam, upon hearing Darcy, looked up and smiled. He, too, had to hide his chuckle after quickly glancing at Elizabeth.

Feeling the need to check on Georgiana, Elizabeth looked to her end of the table. Her sister was fine, but Elizabeth froze as she looked into the lust filled eyes of Darryl Blainard. He sat there, his two companions chattering about him, with his eyes devouring Mrs. Darcy. When certain he held her gaze, he slowly and deliberately licked his lips.

Seeing her frightened expression, Darcy followed her eyes with his own, landing on the source of her distress as the reptilian smile of Blainard returned to his pasty face. It was the sound of Colonel Fitzwilliam's voice that released the tension at the table. “So, Aunt, I hear your parson has a new wife. Tell me, what kind of woman is she?” With steadfast charm, Fitzwilliam engaged his aunt, allowing his cousins to regain their composure. Elizabeth looked across the table at her dear husband, grateful for the concern she saw beamed across the distance to her. She smiled, thinly, and he returned it with a nod.

*--* *--*

The next morning as Elizabeth and Darcy descended to breakfast, they noted the fine day. Darcy was eager to show Elizabeth the grounds beyond the manicured gardens. Knowing his wife's penchant for wild, deserted locales, he guided her into the woods.

“Fitzwilliam,” she hummed, bringing her head close in to his chest. His heart rejoiced at her nearness, still marveling that she was there with him at his harridan aunt's estate. “It is so lovely, is it not?”

“It is now, Elizabeth.” He bent down to kiss the top of her hair. A little further and we shall be beyond range for either Georgiana or Richard to ramble. And a rider would not hazard the wood. “There is a folly I wish to show you.”

“Truly?” she asked, her eyes alight with laughter.

“Truly, my love.”

Above their heads, a pair of falcons flew in intersecting circles. “A couple for sure. See how they hunt together? As a …”

“A team, Fitzwilliam?”

“Yes, a team,” he answered.

“That is how I wish us to be.”

He looked at her as she spoke. “Do you?”

“Yes, I do. I know it is a bit unconventional, but I have seen how beneficial it is for all concerned; as well as any children we may be blessed with. You do wish for children, do you not, Fitzwilliam?”

He thought of Pemberley, whose halls had been silent too long. “Yes, I do. I wish to hear the laughter of our children, Elizabeth, filling the halls of Pemberley.”

“Tell me about Pemberley. Is it grand like this?”

Darcy looked around the woods through which they walked. “No, not really. Here in the south everything is cultivated, tamed. In the north it is not so,” he looked at her, imagining her, untamed, at Pemberley. “Elizabeth,” he groaned and grabbed hold of her, kissing her passionately. She returned his kiss, but instead of continuing, she broke away, land ran ahead, laughing. Stunned, it took him a moment to collect himself before he ran after her. His long legs made short work of closing the distance, and within moments he took the lead, running until he reached the stone temple out on the top of a hillside. When he reached the summit, he doubled over, bracing his hands on his knees and leaning against one of the columns, his breathing labored.

She came up to him, standing so her bosom was eye level with his lowered head. She brought her fingers to his hair, smoothing the windswept curls by running her hands through them. His breath remained labored, but for a different, more appealing reason. He leaned into her, and she pulled his head to her, his growl muffled by her person now crushed against his head. Slowly he rose, capturing her in his embrace as surely as she held him in hers.

Their kisses rained over face, neck, shoulders, anywhere they could find skin. Soon Elizabeth felt her skirts being raised and her undergarments lowered. She pulled away to look her handsome husband in the eye. What she saw took her breath away. His eyes, normally dark and soulful, now sparked with flecks of passion consuming her. She smiled wickedly and busied herself with unbuttoning his breeches. He groaned again, redoubling his efforts to joist her upon his hips. This he did, and pushing her against the wall of the folly, he entered her quickly, pressing hard to fill her completely. She called out his name, and their coupling was fast and furious. Amidst all the finery and ostentation of Rosings, they needed to reconnect to each other in a way that defied all restriction. It was not until the sun was high in the sky that the lovers made their way back to the manicured existence that comprised life at Rosings.

*--* *--*

Darcy and Elizabeth rambled through the woods, making their way toward the gardens and pathways of Lady Catherine's design. Before they left the protection of the wilderness, they were stopped in their tracks by two voices heard off to their right. Before sense returned to them, a third voice had joined the duo.

“Come, Anne.”

Progressing to the source of their amazement, the Darcys saw Lord Blainard and Anne de Bourgh ride off together in his curricle. The third element of the mysterious trio was seen to be scurrying off to the left, away from the estate. When an inordinate amount of time had passed, the two burst into peals of laughter, poignant commentary on the stunned looks still hanging upon their faces.

*--* *--*

“Lady Catherine, a word,” Darcy beckoned his sixty year-old aunt into the seldom used library. She glared at him, upset for interrupting her progress to the drawing room where she hoped to waylay Lord Blainard.

“Very well, Darcy,” she huffed. Darcy bowed curtly. His arm indicated the open door. Her skirts switched impatiently, and not for the first time he wondered at her vehement displeasure. Ever since Wickham's exposure… no, perhaps she has only dropped the pretense since then, he thought. He watched her take her seat, her actions imperious, expressing her displeasure in the crisp flick of her fingers grasping the armrests, the sharp eyes hostile in their hold of his advance to a chair opposite. Darcy studied his hands, wondering how to broach a subject he knew would be ill received.

“Aunt, I feel it is my duty…”

“Duty!? You dare speak to me of duty, nephew? You who have brought nothing but shame and disapproval… and disappointment… and heartache to this family? And this latest round of shame? This chit? Is this all you could afford, nephew? Or is this what you have come to?”

Darcy sat dumbfounded in his chair, as if she had struck him in the heart. He clutched his hands until all blood drained and they turned white. “Aunt,” his voice was low, feral, commanding. “Desist.”

Their eyes locked in combat. The older woman faced her nephew, remembering her crushed hopes reflected in the band of gold wrapped around the fourth finger of ever present on his wife's left hand. A band of gold that should be on my daughter's hand!

From the silence, Darcy spoke. “Blainard is not a man of honor.” She made a guttural sound. “I insist you limit his access to Anne.”

“I will do no such thing! How dare you doubt my judgment on a suitable husband for my daughter!”

“Aunt, there is much about Blainard you cannot know.”

“I know enough to know he is good enough for Anne.”

“Good enough?” he asked, once again faced with the blatant emotional bankruptcy of his blood relation.

“Enough nephew. This conversation is at an end.” She rose and left the room. He watched as she strode indignantly out of the room. He hung his head, rubbing his forehead with heavy hands. The door opened, gently this time. He heard the gentle swish of a woman's skirt, and before he could breathe again, his Elizabeth was on the floor before him, her arms pulling him to her, lips pressing upon his hands which still held his hanging head. He felt her gentle hands hold his tenderly, as one would tend another returning, wounded from battle.

Her lips pressed against the skin of his forehead as she gently pried his hand away from his face. Her lips replaced them, as if washing away his pain, the loneliness, the emptiness of failure. He let her tend his wounds, accepted her kisses, the caress of her hands on his cheek, their gentle stroking, the pull of her arms as they wrapped around his upper body. He could barely move and she was there, wrapping him in her love, her understanding, her belief in what he tried to do.

“She would not listen,” he said before finally looking into the kindest, warmest eyes he had ever beheld.

“I know, my love, I know.”

They remained there, one on a chair, the other at his feet, pouring her strength into him, for a long, long time until Col. Fitzwilliam came to find them for supper.

*--* *--*

Blainard looked around the table before taking his seat across from Lady Catherine. Elizabeth watched him surreptitiously. Every fiber in her being wanted only to rip his calm façade to shreds. Her fingers twitched and her mind filled with a vision of her nails dragging across his flesh so deep as to draw blood. Even that gave her no solace. No, she thought. He needs to be destroyed. Publicly, horridly, completely.

“Eliz… forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, how utterly fetching you look this evening,” Blainard began. He watched her react as he took his wine to his lips. When her eyes focused on his, he rubbed the glass against the flesh of his lip, nuzzling it suggestively. Both Darcy and Fitzwilliam stopped mid-way through cutting their food.

“Yes, Elizabeth, that dress is charming on you. The color suits you well,” Anne offered. The rarity of her conversation diverted her cousins who turned to her.

“Thank you, Anne,” Elizabeth replied, quite happy for this piece of welcome acceptance.

“Blainard, what brings you to Kent?” Darcy glared at his foe.

“For years Lady Catherine has regaled my family with the beauty of Kent, and so, I came to discover it myself. And I must say,” he leered at Elizabeth, “the view is breathtaking.”

The sound of silver hitting china startled Lady Catherine from glaring herself, at Lord Blainard. “Darcy, what are you about? That china has been in the family for generations. Attend!”

Darcy's hands curled around his cutlery so fiercely his knuckles blanched. Elizabeth looked at Blainard, seeing his enjoyment of Darcy's humiliation at the hand of Lady Catherine. She looked straight ahead, into the eyes of her husband. Her look softened, and her smile warmed her face. She heard him release his breath, saw his shoulders relax, and a quick smile grace his lips as he regained his peace. Elizabeth then looked to Georgiana, finding her looking between her aunt and her cousin, Anne. I must ask Georgiana her thoughts on this evening's performance. She looks as though they are coming together into a novel conjecture.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rescued his cousin, diverting talk to the ongoing military skirmishes a field.

*--* *--*

The next afternoon, Lady Catherine found Lord Blainard in the drawing room and ordered tea. When the service was brought and served to them, Blainard initiated conversation.

“You nephew has married well, milady.”

“Humph,” said the Lady before sipping on her expensive tea. “She is a pretty thing, I give you that, but what are they about, marrying so precipitously? Really,” she drawled. “What is this country coming to when members of the first circle do not conform to societal standards? I ask you, Lord Blainard!”

“Well, madam, as you say, Miss… I beg pardon, Mrs. Darcy is a beautiful woman. Most attractive.” Lady Catherine, placing a rather large piece of raisin scone in her mouth missed the lascivious gleam in her companion's eye as he continued, “perhaps there was a reason for their haste?”

Lady Catherine loved gossip, even at the expense of her own family. And here this charming Blainard is dropping such a delightful morsel into my lap. And he is, after all, almost family. “Really? Do you think so, Lord Blainard?”

“I am not one to conjecture on matters such as these, madam.”
She gave him a searing look. If he is not conjecturing, perhaps he has facts? “Do tell what you have heard.” She gave him what she believed was a sweet and compelling smile.

He grimaced, but continued, “Nothing directly. However, it is known that Mrs. Darcy has, as of late, spent an inordinate amount of time at St. Magdalene's Home…”

“That… den of… of fallen… trollops!” Lady Catherine completed his thought with a knowing smile upon her cracked lips.

With wooden smiles upon their faces and fire within their eyes, the Darcys entered their room. The couple seated at their tea had been too engrossed in their conversation to note that the newlyweds had been standing in the doorway for the last five minutes of their conversation.

*--* *--*

When Darcy entered his wife's dressing room that evening, he was stunned to find her sobbing into the chaise.

“Elizabeth, what is it?” he was at her side as quickly as his long legs could take him. Her only response was to sob even stronger. “Darling, please,” he unwrapped her from the chair, turning her so she would wrap her arms around him instead. He held her tight, his lips pressing into her curls, his shoulder pressed by her face, wetted with her tears.

“”Fitzwilliam, they are so cruel!”

“I know, my love. They are not worth your tears.”

“But it is what all will say once we reach London.”

“No, not when time passes and there is no inconvenient birth a month or two ahead of schedule.” She pulled back to see his face, a small smile on her lips.

“I had not thought of that.”

“Elizabeth, if that were the reason for our union, I would still be the happiest of men. Your love is worth more to me than all the gossip in town, or country.”

“I agree, sir. And our reason was just. I would rather have my reputation dragged through the streets than allow my uncle to suffer; especially after all he has done for us. And the children.” Darcy looked puzzled. “I was thinking of my dear cousins, how they would have suffered, all because of that… that man, if not for you.” She looked at Darcy with such tenderness that his courage rose.

Pulling himself back from the emotion he found in her eyes, he asked, “Elizabeth, if it were that you were with child, that would not be so bad, would it?”

Thinking from the censure of society to the idea of a child made from their love, Elizabeth's countenance softened, “No, Fitzwilliam it would not.”

His face did not quite express joy at this thought, and Elizabeth pondered her next move.

“What concerns you, husband.”

“I simply wonder what kind of father I will make. I am not good with…” To his surprise she laughed at him and kissed him on each cheek. He grabbed her arms and hugged her.

“Elizabeth.” After he had kissed her, she pulled back, delight in her eyes, and laugher in her throat.

“Fitzwilliam, let me tell you the qualities I seek in the father of my children, shall I?” He nodded. “Let me see, the man must be sound of mind,” Darcy gave a quick nod,

“I may be able to manage that.”

“Tall,” Darcy stood. “Strong,” he flexed his arm muscle. “Courageous,” he looked flummoxed. She laughed again. “One who will stand up to the ton, willing and able to defend me against slander and disgrace.” He smiled warmly at her. “Kind, and of course, very, very handsome.” He blushed. “And since all these qualities are abundant in the only husband I have at the moment, I intend to keep him.” Her laughter was silenced only by the urgent kisses Elizabeth's generous husband thought to bestow upon her.

*--* *--*

Lady Catherine examined the woman sitting in her china blue parlor. She is a pretty enough girl, in a rather alarmingly unconventional manner, she thought watching as the woman painstakingly focused on the embroidery in her hand. “What is it you work on, Mrs. Darcy?”

“A smock, Lady Catherine.”

“A smock?” she exclaimed, surprised.

“Yes, madam.”

“How… unusual.” The lady before her only quirked an eyebrow. “Are you in the habit of wearing a work smock?”

Elizabeth held aloft the child's smock with lovely ivy embroidered on the collar. Lady Catherine gasped and rudely inquired, “You are with child so soon?'

Elizabeth was taken a back by the intimate and improper nature of the question. How rude, she thought, even taking into consideration the totally clueless and condescending nature of she who poses the question. “No, madam, this along with the others I work upon, are for St. Magdalene's…”

“The place for... for fallen women?” she asked incredulously, a fierce expression of disapproval on her face, as if her shoe had stepped in filth.

“For women importuned by unscrupulous, scurrilous men, yes.”

“How indecorous of you, Mrs. Darcy.” The woman's intense look of displeasure ripped through Elizabeth's calm.

“I beg your pardon, Lady Catherine, but how is that so?”

“Those… women… are responsible for their own downfall. They deserve no mercy.” The vitriol sputtered out of Lady Catherine's mouth along with her spittle.

Elizabeth gasped in shock. “You can not mean that, certainly?”

“I am not in the habit of saying things I do not mean, Mrs. Darcy. I can understand someone in your position feeling this way, but I assure you that families of the first set follow a more demanding standard…”

“Yes, merciless, cruel, hypocritical hoydens all!” Elizabeth muttered under her breath.

“Speak up, madam, clear speech is a sure sign of good breeding.”

“As is holding one's tongue,” she replied collecting her work to depart. “I fear a headache coming Lady Catherine, and feel a breath of fresh air is in order.”

“Of course. It is good to see some of you modern girls abiding by the more traditional methods of health care.” Lady Catherine made her feelings known. She wanted this gutter snipe out from her nose at once.

“Yes, madam,” Elizabeth said aloud and then to herself, like burning women at the stake. Elizabeth gathered her work and rose to leave the room. She felt Catherine's eyes burning holes in her back.

When Elizabeth exited the grand façade of Rosings, she was met by Lord Blainard learning against a column.

“Ah, Elizabeth.” His eyes surveyed her, finding her cheeks rosy with ire. Her chest heaved from the exertion of containing her fury. Blainard looked more than pleased. His movements were encumbered by the tightness of his breeches.

“Lord Blainard. What a surprise to see you out of doors.”

He laughed, his eyes continued to take her in. “I was wondering how long it would take before you sought solace in the bosom of nature.” She looked questioningly at him. “I saw you in conversation with Lady Catherine.”

“Oh,” was all she could reply.

“Will you walk with me?”

“I had not thought to stray so far. I fear a headache has ensued from too much gentile sensibilities.”

“Indeed. A short stroll then?”

Unable to find a suitable excuse for returning indoors, Elizabeth reluctantly agreed. Blainard offered his arm, but Elizabeth kept her hands firmly clasped behind her back. He smiled to himself and led the way. He kept a pace behind her, his eyes lingering on the sway of her backside. He had a difficult time keeping his mind focused on their paltry conversation. His mind was more agreeably engaged in what he would like to do with that pert backside, and perhaps one or two of the toys from his extensive collection.

From the second story of the great house, a pair of eyes carefully observed the pair and sent a hurriedly written note on its way.

Chapter Twelve

April, 1812

Ellsworth House, Kent

Colonel Fitzwilliam read the note before quickly passing it to Darcy. The colonel could track Darcy's progression by the alarm growing on his face.

“I apologize, Lord Darlington, an urgent matter requires our return to Rosings immediately.” Darcy had risen out of the comfortable chair he had been enjoying along with a fine cigar and snifter of rare brandy. “Cousin?”

The colonel rose and bowed to their host. “Thank you for the fine supper, milord. I will convey your best wishes to my father and mother.”

“Certainly. Fitzwilliam, Darcy? If you can spare the time, I would enjoy having you to dinner again, with your ladies in company. Rumor has it, Darcy, that you have captured a beauty, and a vivacious one at that.”

“Mrs. Darcy is a beautiful woman,” Darcy began, certain where these rumors originated, but wanting to redirect them, he carefully added, “but her appeal extends beyond her appearance, milord. You may even find yourself charmed when you encounter her wit.”

The elder nobleman quirked an eyebrow, “Truly?” Both young men laughed.

Colonel Fitzwilliam added, “Undoubtedly.”

“Then I double my plea to bring her, and Miss Darcy, to dine. Surely you cannot deny an old man the few true pleasures that remain to him.”

“We would not suspend any pleasure of yours, milord.”

“Good, good, now be about your urgent business. You must not keep the ladies waiting.”

The two men made haste to Rosings Park, their hearts full of dread.

*--* *--*

Rosings Park, Kent

Darcy took the marble stairs three at a time upon his return. Totally disregarding the bellowed invectives to attend his aunt, he had surveyed the parlor, and noting her absence made haste to find Elizabeth. Without knocking, he barged through the door, he found Elizabeth's abigail, Sara, removing a wet cloth from her mistress' forehead.

“Leave us,” came out of his tightened throat. Elizabeth's head rose from the chaise, where she lay, near the open window. “I will attend her, leave the basin.” Sara transferred the bowl to his able hands, gave a small curtsey and left the room. He carried the basin to the side table, placing it down before dipping the cloth in the cool water. Slowly he wrung the water from its folds, and placed the cloth on the tranquil forehead of his love. She held his hand upon her, dragging it over her eyes, to her cheek, where she held it in place. Her eyes smiled up at him in the fading spring light.

“You have come?” she asked in a whisper.

Searching her eyes for signs of harm or distress, he asked, “Are you well, Elizabeth?” She nodded and brought his palm to her lips to kiss.

“Yes, Fitzwilliam, I am.”

“What happened? I… Richard received word that Blainard had taken you out of doors. What… how?”

“I came upon your… Lady Catherine in the parlor. We spoke, and our conversation became insufferable rather quickly. I left for a respite of fresh air. He had seen me in the parlor with your… our aunt. Since I had escaped your aunt with a claim for air, I could not return immediately.”

“He lay in wait for you?”

She nodded. “We took a stroll in the front garden.”

“No further?”

She looked into his anxious eyes, deciding to interpret his question as concern rather than a determinant of her foolishness. “No further.”

“He made some remarks about the serendipitous nature of our being at Rosings together. Before he could become truly offensive, Georgiana came for me, and I escaped to our chamber, where I have been too fatigued to return downstairs.” She smiled.

“Good thinking.” He returned the expression with relief.

“Sara will bring a tray, will you join me?”

“Always.” He bent down to kiss her, and she opened her lips eagerly to him. His hands took hold of her, running along the length of her arms. His arousal made him squirm in his seat alongside her recumbent body. Her chest heaved as his kisses trailed from her lips, down her neck to the exposed skin of her breasts. Her hands were upon him, unfastening his waistcoat, his shirt, untangling his cravat. She pushed her chest eagerly toward his lips and he groaned in pleasure.

The knock on the door surprised them both. They looked like children caught with broken porcelain in their hands.

“Come in,” Elizabeth called out weakly. Sara came in bearing a tray of cold meats and cheese. With high color in her cheeks, she observed her mistress and master, quickly performed her duties and left the room.

“Hungry, my dearest?” he asked huskily.

“Very,” she said before attacking his lips. When they were both breathless, she held his cheeks in her hand, and pulled him from her lips. “Fitzwilliam, I have been reading that book you gave me. The one from India?” He nodded. “There are…” she was uncharacteristically embarrassed by her request. “There is something I wish to try.”

His eyes opened wide, and his throat became dry, very dry. “I would do nothing to suspend any pleasure of yours, Elizabeth.” A wicked gleam filled her eye and she pushed him off before sitting up and turning around so she was on her knees, her arms resting on the rise of the chaise. She looked back at him, one brow arched and a come hither look in her eye. He growled and climbed over her. He then pulled back so his hands could attach to the hem of her skirts, which he rubbed against her legs as he lifted it past her calves, knees then highs. There he rested momentarily, rubbing circles from inner to outer thigh. She rocked her bottom enticingly, and he felt his erection harden.

One hand raised her skirts higher, revealing her pert bottom to his hungry eyes while the other unfastened his pants, allowing his arousal to feel the skin of her smooth derrière. As he pushed into her, moving as slowly as he could, she felt him in a new way. She quivered in excitement. He bent over her, and she felt her breasts liberated from the neckline of her dress. The fabric allowed her nipples to peek out while pushing the bottoms of her breasts together. That she felt bound in a way excited her, and she urged him to move more swiftly. They both groaned in pleasure.

“Elizabeth, I do not think I can hold back.”

“Then do not, my love. Ride me as you do your horse, my husband.” And he did, pushing into her with force and abandon. She relished feeling him anew, as he touched places in her she had not known existed. Her body arched, and her pleasure exploded in new directions. His penetration was deeper, fuller, and his abandon complete. She rode him in unrestrained passion, her muscles massaging him anew. Within minutes, their bodies shook in ecstasy, their coupling complete. He fell upon her, and she lowered them onto the chaise as he embraced her and kissed the back of her neck and as much of her cheek as she turned toward him. When she arched her back in delight, he grabbed her breasts with both hands, reveling in the novelty of the position. Smiles graced their faces, and he quickly moved from behind her to underneath, opening his arms to receive her. She fell into them, and he held her as they both fell asleep exhausted.

*--* *--*

Three days later, at dinner, Colonel Fitzwilliam questioned Elizabeth about the upcoming presentation of Wellesley's horse.

“How is the little filly?”

“Roan?” Elizabeth asked.

“The one destined for Wellesley?” Blainard entered the discourse.

Elizabeth nodded, “She was doing well when we looked in on her, before coming to Kent.”

“You do not constantly attend such an auspicious animal?” questioned Lady Catherine disapprovingly.

Replacing her glass of wine on the overly fine tablecloth, Elizabeth replied, “The grooms are more than able to care for her at this time, madam.”

“I see,” Blainard added darkly.

“Hertfordshire is quite beautiful,” Georgiana attempted to change the direction of their conversation. “And Longbourn is a lovely home.” Elizabeth smiled in pleasure at her sister's comments. Darcy simply beamed, hearing his Georgiana return to some semblance of confidence. Only Lady Catherine scowled. Elizabeth allowed her glance to travel the table, noting the responses to Georgiana's comment. Anne seemed pre-occupied, and Elizabeth wondered for not the first time what the earlier, overheard meeting could mean. That Blainard is involved can only mean ill. But what of the third voice, what does that really signify?

“I for one look forward to seeing Longbourn for myself.” The colonel added.

“You travel to Meryton, Richard?” Darcy asked, surprise evident in his voice.

“Yes, I meant to tell you, I received word this morning. I travel with General Lessing, and he accompanies Wellesley.”

“Excellent Colonel!” Elizabeth's eyes sparkled with delight. Blainard watched, his fingers clutching the knife and fork he held in his hand. Darcy noted the extreme force the man used to slice his lamb.

“Will you be able to stay with us? Or will you billet with the General?” Elizabeth asked her cousin.

“I will most likely remain with the General and his entourage.”

“Pity,” Darcy replied as he sipped his wine. Richard chuckled. “You will miss a house full of females.”

“Females with a penchant for red-coats,” teased Elizabeth. Georgiana blushed, while Richard looked confused. “My sisters return from their studies two weeks I believe, before the anticipated presentation of our sweet Roan to General Lord Wellesley.” Richard blushed. Elizabeth and Darcy smiled at his discomposure.

The rest of the evening passed in almost pleasant discussion as Lady Catherine offered her seasoned opinion on proficient horse breeding, a subject in which she held no knowledge. She also spoke on the illustrious equestrian lines in residence at Rosings, Matlock, and of course, Pemberley. Elizabeth continued watching Anne, who seemed most anxious to get away. She supposed it was due to her lack of interest in horse flesh.

More than one eye caught Anne casting furtive glances at Blainard. Darcy noticed too, and stiffened. Boldly he asked, “So tell me, Lord Blainard what are your plans now? And how is your dear cousin, Countess Bleary?”

Lady Catherine had noted the furtive glances her daughter cast to Blainard and approved. She was exceedingly displeased when her nephew asked her soon-to-be-future-son-in-law how his cousin, the countess, fared. She had heard their marriage had been arranged when both were in the cradle. Yes, well, we know how well those things turn.

Colonel Fitzwilliam's attention alternated between Blainard and Elizabeth. He noted that Blainard's attention peaked whenever Elizabeth, not Anne, contributed to the conversation, especially when talk focused on the arrival of Lord Wellesley. Of course, that may be simple English pride in our conquering hero, he thought as he chewed the slightly overdone lamb, but then again, Blainard is not our typical Englishman, thank God.

*--* *--*

The next morning, Darcy, Elizabeth and Georgiana took a long walk along the wooded paths around Rosings. They wanted to clear their heads before visiting Charlotte Collins, nee Lucas, at the vicarage. Elizabeth and Charlotte had visited privately twice before and Lady Catherine had deigned to invite them to dinner once. Elizabeth wanted Georgiana to have a more private and extended visit. Darcy had agreed to escort them but refused to spend the morning with Reverend Collins, discussing, “God knows what, Elizabeth. I mean no disrespect, but I cannot.”

Elizabeth had laughed merrily at her husband's distress and kissed away the furrow of his brow. It was why they were twenty minutes late in meeting Georgiana, who waited patiently in the company of her cousin, Richard.

Now as they completed their amble, turning their direction towards Hunsford, the Darcys heard a sentry call out, “Quickly, someone comes.”

Instinctively, Darcy drew the women behind him as he stepped forward. They heard someone nearby run off, then the crack of the whip and horses started off in the opposite direction. Darcy ran after them while Elizabeth headed after the lone runner. When he realized Elizabeth was not behind him, as Georgiana was, he stopped, and turned to look for her. Georgiana noted the panic in his eyes as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Where is she?” he whispered more to himself than his sister. He quickened his pace, pulling Georgiana along. After retracing their steps, he saw her approaching, barely out of breath. In her hand, she held a glove, a man's glove, which she examined minutely. Georgiana giggled, seeing Elizabeth bringing the leather to her nose to sniff, then wrinkle it in a look of disgust.

“Odious mixture to be sure,” Elizabeth said out loud.

“What is?” Georgiana inquired as her brother interrupted all discussion, taking Elizabeth by the shoulders and shaking her.

“Do not ever do that again! Do you hear me, Elizabeth?” His eyes were wild. Georgiana stepped back in fright, seeing her normally composed brother so angry. Elizabeth froze in shock. Darcy then grabbed her in the tightest embrace. “Elizabeth, forgive me, I was frightened.”

“Frightened? I do not understand.”

“I turned and you were not there.”

She looked at him as if looking at a child. “I knew the riders in the curricle to be Anne and Blainard. I wished to know the identity of the third member of their party.”

Georgiana asked the question blazing through Darcy's mind as well. “How do you know it was Anne and Lord Blainard?”

“It is not the first time they have ridden together.” She looked at their incredulous faces. “Even Lady Catherine knows this,” she said, exasperated by their naiveté. “She favors the alliance, for reasons that escape me.”

“Me as well,” Georgiana added, increasing the look of disbelief on her brother's shocked face.

“Honestly, Fitzwilliam, you must learn to pay attention to the details.” He turned the famous Darcy glare upon his wife. She gently slapped the glove against his chest. “Or you will be as surprised as your dear aunt when Anne announces her engagement to another.”

“Another?” asked Georgiana. “I thought with all the looks sent to Lord Blainard, that it was he.”

“I thought so too, until this morning.” Her brow arched and she turned towards Hunsford. Darcy and Georgiana quickly fell in step with her.

“If not Blainard, then who?” asked Georgiana.

“And on what do you base this supposition?” queried Darcy.

“As to whom, the man missing his right glove,” she smiled at Georgiana stretching the glove between her two hands, before turning to her husband. “And as for how I arrived at this conjecture, it is by plain and simple observation, husband.” She continued to walk.

Darcy growled, coming up beside her, “Elizabeth!”

She giggled and took his arm, giving it a squeeze. “'Twas Blainard's voice we heard. He was the watchman… the lookout, not the lover.”

“You said you have seen them before? Together?” Darcy asked.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, Fitzwilliam, we have seen their backs, on several occasions.” No response was forthcoming, so she prompted him. “On our morning walks?” He blushed, and she shook her head, uttering, “Men!” Georgiana giggled, causing her brother to blush even more.

“My mind was more agreeably engaged.”

“A likely excuse!” Elizabeth's eyes danced in delight as she pulled his arm a bit closer, a bit tighter, letting him know that she remembered what had engaged his mind.

“Yet Elizabeth recalls the events,” Georgiana added, her eyes as full of innocence as possible, while trying to control the smile playing upon her lips. Seeing his sister so engaged in their conversation, Darcy smiled.

“Now we must detect what intent these secret rendezvous signify,” Elizabeth directed them to the task at hand.

Georgiana blushed as a thought took form in her mind. She stopped short, stunned at her conclusion. “Do you think Anne has taken a lover?”

“Why else would she meet so secretly in the woods? Certainly she did not count on our early morning ambles,” Elizabeth smiled up at her husband. He coughed.

“What concerns me, apart from the impropriety of it…”

“But they are chaperoned, Fitzwilliam,” Georgiana asserted.

“That is my other concern.”

Elizabeth nodded, the tenor of his statement washing over her. Georgiana remained confused at their reaction to her statement.

“But why?” she asked.

“Blainard is the chaperon.”

“That someone of his character would impose himself upon Anne is an abomination.”

“It is apparent you dislike the man, Fitzwilliam, but why?” Georgiana asked, curious at the strong reaction in both her brother and sister. They had become unusually quiet, and Georgiana could tell by the tight clench of his jaw that Darcy was truly upset.

“Because Lord Blainard attempted to harm my family, to later appear as our savior if…” Elizabeth took a deep breath and focused her brilliant eyes on her sister. “… if I gave myself to him, without the sanction of marriage.”

Darcy heard his sister's gasp and wanted to hit something, preferably a certain earl's face.

“No! Elizabeth!”

“Fortunately your brother heard of our distress and offered for me before Lord Blainard could act upon his plan.”

The three walked in silence until they reached the garden gate. “Georgiana, no one knows of this, and I… we, ask that it remain so.” Darcy addressed his sister. Georgiana nodded.

“Thank you, Georgiana. More than I faced ruin. Before we knew of this evil, your brother had convinced me to join my lot with his; and we have found that destiny has brought us joy and love.” Darcy took her hands and kissed them both before pulling her close to embrace her lips with his.

Georgiana looked on, processing through what appeared to be a happy union, happier than its beginnings would suggest.

“Elizabeth!” Charlotte called out, breaking the lovers apart. Elizabeth waved, then kissed Darcy quickly before releasing his hands and taking Georgiana by the arm.

“Elizabeth, either Richard or I will come for you when your visit is done.”

“Honestly, Fitzwilliam, do you think it necessary?” Georgiana teased. “It is only a small distance.”

“I do.” His look was grave. Elizabeth read his concern and nodded. Georgiana, assessing both, agreed.

“As you wish.” The two women joined Mrs. Collins for a lovely morning tea, staying on through the afternoon meal.

*--* *--*

That afternoon, Lord Aubrey came to call, along with Professor Quartermaine, one of his associates. Elizabeth, Darcy and the professor, along with Aubrey, had a lively discussion on irrigation and explosives, as well as military strategy and intelligence. While enjoying their conversations, Darcy did not approve of the way both Aubrey and the professor looked at Elizabeth, almost as if they recognized her.

Blainard's reaction was unusual. He looked down his nose at Aubrey, who was an Earl, after all. Blainard's disgust had been apparent when Lord Aubrey introduced Professor Quartermaine of Oxford, as one of the leading scientific minds of their time. Blainard remained quiet, and concurrent thoughts ran through Elizabeth, Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam's minds; that he had seemed too preoccupied to pay much attention even to Elizabeth. And yet, in unguarded moments, Darcy's blood boiled, witnessing the passion in Blainard's eyes while observing Elizabeth. Darcy had noted throughout the course of their visit, that when Elizabeth appeared for dinner, more often than not Blainard either shifted uncomfortably in his seat or moved behind a chair or table to obscure his growing arousal.

I do not know if I can bear two more weeks of that insufferable man, Darcy thought. At least he has not importuned Elizabeth. We may be grateful for small miracles. Of course, he knows that if he did, I would kill him. I would hunt him down and kill him with my bare hands. Darcy was immersed in thoughts such as these, when he heard Richard ask for some music. Sensing Georgiana's distress, Elizabeth offered to play first. Using the notion of avoiding comparison with her sister's superior talent, Elizabeth hoped to avoid exposing Georgiana to her fear.

The remainder of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation with only Blainard and Anne wishing the evening to come to a quick end.

*--* *--*

That night, a lone horseman rode across the fields of Rosings Park. Before he came to the finely manicured gardens, he dismounted and walked to the gazebo. A figure emerged from the shadows to greet him. The two walked back to the tethered horse. Silently, they mounted the steed and rode off into the night. Laughter would have been heard had any been near enough, or inclined to listen.

*--* *--*

Chapter Thirteen

April, 1812
Rosings Park, Kent

The next morning, Elizabeth and Darcy took their time descending the stairs for breakfast. Fortunately, only Richard was at table, looking as if he had hardly slept at all. With Darcy approached him with a wide smile, after seating Elizabeth and bringing her a plate. “Richard, old man, you look like you have been out carousing.”

Richard shot him an unforgiving, dark look. “It is not I that was actively engaged last night, all night, I may add.” Elizabeth gasped. “You may think the walls are as thick here as at Pemberley but with the warmer weather, many of us, I believe, leave their windows open at night, and were subjected to quite a bit of caterwauling of another kind.”

Elizabeth turned beet red, however Darcy was unrepentant. He simply arched an eyebrow and took a sip of his morning coffee. Before anyone could reply the trio heard a commotion upstairs, and within five minutes, a breathless Georgiana hurled herself into the breakfast room.

“What is it, Georgiana dear?” Elizabeth asked.

“Calm yourself,” her brother admonished.

“Anne is gone,” she gasped.

Elizabeth, Darcy and Richard were by her side immediately. Almost instantly the house was in uproar, maids fretting about and footmen organizing a search under Colonel Fitzwilliam's direction. Before joining his cousin, Darcy checked in with his wife and sister, who were undertaking a search of Anne's chambers.

“You will be well here, Elizabeth?” he asked, her hands firmly in his.

“Yes, William, I… we will be fine,” Elizabeth nodded toward Georgiana who was surveying the bookcases. “We will look here for any indication of where she may have gone.

“And Aunt Catherine?” he asked sheepishly.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and smiled then kissed the knuckles of Darcy's hands. “We shall see to her as well.”

“You mistake my meaning, Elizabeth. I am afraid she may be more… boisterous… than usual.”

“Fitzwilliam, her daughter is missing, and we know not where. I am sure both Georgiana and I will bear this in mind when dealing with your…”

“Our,” he added, returning her kiss.

“Our aunt.” She smiled into his eyes. “Now go. The sooner you begin, the sooner you may return, errant cousin in hand.”

“That is my intent,” with a final kiss to her lips, he made to depart.

“Fitzwilliam?” she called as he obtained the threshold.

“Yes?”

“You will leave word in which direction you head, in case we find something?”

He took a moment to consider this and nodded, “Of course.”

“Godspeed then, my love.”

“Godspeed, brother.” Georgiana added from the shelf she examined.

Once the men had left, Elizabeth and Georgiana focused on searching Anne's room for insight into her whereabouts.

“Georgiana, we must think like Anne, added to what we know about the situation.”

“Right.” Georgiana then asked, “Just how do we do that?”

Elizabeth took a lingering look around the room, which was singularly devoid of personality. “Right,” she added. “I was wondering that very thing myself.” She walked over to the dressing table before flopping into a chair.

“Her maid!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

“Rosemary!” Georgiana called out.

“Yes, ma'am,” came the tremulous voice of the young girl in service to Anne de Bourgh.

“Dear child, come sit. You look a fright.” Elizabeth spoke with great empathy.

“Yes Miss, I mean, Mrs. Darcy.” The grateful woman took the seat Elizabeth had vacated.

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Elizabeth asked.

“Yes, thank you,” Rosemary replied. Georgiana rose and rang for a pot of tea and some cakes to be sent up. When she returned, Elizabeth began the questioning.

“Rosemary, did Miss Anne… Was anything amiss last evening?”

“Amiss?”

“Yes, odd? Strange?” Elizabeth asked while the girl pondered.

“Did Anne do or say anything out of the ordinary?” Georgiana persisted. “She seemed in fine spirits this visit.”

“I could not say, Miss,” Rosemary replied. Elizabeth and Georgiana were surprised by her answer.

“Why not, Rosemary?” Elizabeth asked.

“I have only come into service this last month.”

“I thought you were new, but I had no idea you were so very new,” Georgiana replied. “I did not think anything amiss, Elizabeth. There is a great deal of turnover at Rosings.”

“I can only imagine,” Elizabeth said, more to herself, but all three women smiled. “Rosemary, do you know what happened to Miss Anne's last abigail?”

The young woman thought. “Well, my mum, who is Mrs. Collins' cook, said that all of a sudden, Maggie, she served Miss Anne before me, was called away sudden like.”

“Called away?” asked Georgiana.

“Aye. A letter, I believe, came for her and the next thing we know, she is packing, and my Mum says this is my big chance. So I come and speak with Lady Catherine.”

“Rosemary, before leaving, things were fine between Miss Anne and Maggie?” Georgiana inquired.

“Oh yes. Maggie was the talk of all us servants.”

“How so?” asked Elizabeth.

“Because she lasted the longest with her ladyship. It seemed that they actually got along, meaning no disrespect, Miss.”

“None taken, Rosemary.” Georgiana replied shyly, clearly embarrassed for her relation's behavior.

“How long… did Miss Anne's behavior improve when Lord Blainard arrived?”

“Oh yes, ma'am. It did.” Rosemary replied, enthusiastic as she finally had information to contribute. “She stayed in her chambers all afternoon reading her letter,” all three women looked up. “Her letter!”

“Lord Blainard wrote her a letter?” Georgiana exclaimed.

“More likely brought her one.”

“From a mysterious, one-gloved man,” Georgiana supplied. Elizabeth beamed at Georgiana's quickness of mind.

“Rosemary, I understand you have not been in service to Miss Anne for a great length of time. However, you seem like an intelligent, observant girl. Do you know where Miss Anne secrets away her special things? Tokens? Any bits and bobs that might mean something special to her?” Elizabeth asked.

Rosemary walked over to a chiffanrobe and pushed it away from the wall. Georgiana and Elizabeth rose to assist her. Together they moved the heavy piece of furniture away from the wall. There, built in the middle of the wall, was a small bookshelf, perhaps three feet high. A thick layer of dust covered most of the area, save for six inches that were clear.

“It was there yesterday!” Rosemary cried.

“Yesterday? Are you sure?” Georgiana asked.

“Oh yes. Miss Anne always needed help moving this away,” Rosemary brought a hand to her mouth. “Of course, something unusual…”

“What Rosemary?” asked Elizabeth, impatient for her answer.

“The chiffanrobe! Miss Anne asked for help moving it away last evening, before retiring. When I asked if she wished me to return to help push it back, she said not to bother.”

Elizabeth could barely contain her excitement. “And when you entered this morning, was the chiffanrobe where you had left it?” Rosemary mentally retraced her steps.

“`Tis a bit difficult. I knocked on the door, opened it and came in.”

“Had Anne's bed been slept in?” Georgiana asked. Elizabeth smiled approvingly at her.

“No,” replied Rosemary who then rushed to the closet. “Oh my!”

“What is it, dear?” asked Elizabeth as she came to join her at the closet.

“Miss Anne took her baby clothes.”

“Baby clothes?” Elizabeth asked.

“You don't think?” Georgiana could not continue.

“No, I do not.”

“Oh no, ma'am. Miss Anne kept a small trunk here, in the closet. She kept her best baby clothes. Said they reminded her of her father.”

Elizabeth thought long and hard before speaking, bouncing the knuckles of her curled fist against her pursed lips. “Her father has been gone a long while?” she asked Georgiana.

“I barely knew him, Elizabeth.”

Mrs. Darcy raised her eyebrow. “So, she was raised solely by Lady Catherine?” Georgiana nodded. Elizabeth shuddered. “Rosemary?”

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Did Anne look at these clothes often?”

“Yes ma'am, Mrs. Darcy, ma'am. At least once a week.”

“Indeed.” Elizabeth said to herself, gathering more sympathy for her wayward cousin. “Did you ever get a glimpse of what she kept in her treasure box?”

“Memory box, ma'am.”

“Pardon?”

“Memory box, is what she called it.”

“Of course.”

“Did you, Rosemary?” Georgiana asked.

“Did I what, Miss?”

“Ever see what lay within her memory box?” Georgiana asked.

“Oh, yes, ma'am. She, Miss Anne, that is, was ever eager to share its contents with, well I believe any one who showed interest.” The abigail looked at her hand. “`Tis not my place to say, but I believe Miss Anne was dreadful lonely.”

“I dare say you are right, Rosemary,” added Elizabeth.

“The contents, Rosemary, what were the contents?” asked an impatient Georgiana.

“Right. Let me see. There was a small portrait, of the late Sir Lewis, I believe. And a few medals with ribbons, and a baby rattle, and a bit of fabric. Not much else. Oh, and a few bundles that looked rather business oriented, if you know what I mean.”

“Did you notice any new additions, Rosemary? Even in the few weeks you served her?” Elizabeth asked.

“The letters,” gasped Rosemary.

“Letters!” exclaimed Georgiana.

“Yes.”

“Who were they from?” Elizabeth asked eager for her response.

“I do not know.”

“Do you…”

“I know how to read, Miss. It was just when the first one came, she stopped sharing her box with me. Said those memories were not made yet.”

*--* *--*

When Elizabeth and Georgiana returned downstairs from their interrogation of Rosemary, they found a rather unperturbed Lady Catherine partaking of a scone with coddled crème.

“Aunt Catherine!” Georgiana exclaimed, more alarmed at the woman's calm demeanor than anything. While Elizabeth shared this concern, she felt the Lady's behavior revealed more than was at first discernable. Georgiana continued, “I am so sorry about Anne.”

“Nonsense, child,” the Lady replied.

“Aunt!” Georgiana was aghast.

“She and Lord Blainard have obviously gone to Gretna Green.”

“No!” Georgiana again exclaimed.

“Yes, I am sure of it.”

“Forgive me, Lady Catherine, but how can you be so sure that this was their destination?”

Catherine gave Elizabeth a look indicating exactly what she thought of her nephew's new wife, and it was not pleasant. “I am always assured in my thoughts… Mrs. Darcy. And it is evident by the fact that just the other day I overheard Lord Blainard, the dear boy, inquiring about the travel distance between Rosings Park and the Scottish border. He wanted to know where the usual replenishing spots were; and there is the irrefutable fact that both my daughter and Lord Blainard are at present, not here at Rosings.” Lady Catherine glared down her imperious nose at Elizabeth, who held her steady in her gaze.

“I see,” was all the younger woman said.

At that moment, just in from his daily ride, Lord Blainard entered the breakfast room hungry for his morning meal. The only sound heard was the shatter of china, as Lady Catherine's coffee cup hit the floor, breaking into a hundred shards of fine porcelain.

*--* *--*

As Georgiana and a footman attended Lady Catherine, Elizabeth turned her attention to the man just sitting at the table. “Lord Blainard?” Elizabeth asked in a controlled voice, “Exactly who was in the woods with you and Miss de Bourgh yesterday morning, and on your other numerous rides about the estate?”

“Why whatever do you mean, Mrs. Darcy?” he asked with a mischievous gleam in his eye. The way he focused on Elizabeth concerned Georgiana, who quietly left the room to summon two footmen. One she sent after her brother, the other to the local pubs. She then returned to the table after plucking a small but hefty candlestick in the hand she held behind her back.

“I will ask you again, Lord Blainard, who did you meet? Who accompanies Anne?”

“Miss Anne? Has she gone somewhere?”

“You know very well that she has.”

“Oh my, without any prior notice? I say, the house of Darcy is rife with scandal, is it not?” Georgiana blanched.

Elizabeth kept her gaze steady, even as her fists balled at her sides. When she spoke, her voice was chilling in how calm and collected it remained. “Rather scandal than infamy, milord.”

He started at that, almost lunging across the table at Elizabeth, who held him in her steady gaze. “Perhaps you will reconsider withholding your information, Lord Blainard?”

“Why would I wish to do that?”

“Forgive me, for a moment I thought I was dealing with a decent human being. I forgot myself. Let me rephrase my question. Rather than having your involvement in the ruination of any upstanding member of the community sent to the papers…”

“No one would believe it.”

“No?”

“No decent paper would publish that tripe.”

“Who said anything about decent? I speak of the rumor mills that feed the curiosity of those who populate the gambling dens.” They glared at each other. “I am a woman of many sources and connections, milord. And I know how to use them.”

“You would not dare!” She arched her brow. Blainard looked between Elizabeth and Georgiana, both holding him in their gaze, both filled with contempt, but little fear of the man and what he could do. Blainard drummed his fingers nervously on the table. “Merriweather,” he said as if throwing slop to pigs.

“Of course,” exclaimed Elizabeth, upset with herself that she had forgotten Anne's snubbed suitor.

“And your part in this, sir?” Darcy's voice boomed throughout the room. Blainard visibly cringed as the tall, imposing physiques of both Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam entered the room, filling it with an alarming flush of testosterone.

Lady Catherine roused from her faint to hear the regrouped Blainard hiss, “Me? I am but the simple agent that suggested to Merriweather the idea of eloping with the woman he loved. Miss Anne is of age, and he was more than receptive.”

“You! You blackguard!” Lady Catherine raged out of her chair and tumbled onto the stunned Blainard, the two of them crashing to the floor. Within a minute, Blainard had reversed their positions and he was on top of her. Georgiana, the closest to them, took the candlestick she still held in her hands and brought it forcibly to his head. He looked up at her briefly before collapsing.

Colonel Fitzwilliam rolled him off their aunt and chuckled, “Well done, Georgie, you saved both our aunt and Blainard from a horrible fate.” His compatriots looked at him without comprehension. “I mean, it is a most scandalous position they find themselves in. They would be forced to marry, do you not agree?”

Lady Catherine regained her consciousness, if not her conscience, to the raucous, unfettered laughter of her younger relations.

*--* *--*

Two days later, Mrs. Anne Merriweather sent word to her relations of her safety and location. She and Mr. Merriweather would reside in London where they had been married by special license. They would remain at the de Bourgh townhouse until Lady Catherine could remove herself to the Dowager House. Being a lawyer, Mr. Merriweather had assured his wife that Rosings Park and the de Bourgh fortune were hers upon her twenty-first birthday now almost a decade past. It was by Anne's charity, not the reverse, as Anne had been led to believe, that Lady Catherine lived on the estate.

In the privacy of their chambers, both Darcy and Elizabeth could find little fault in the finale of the preceding events. “I only wish things were less… dramatic,” Elizabeth said as her husband slowly guided the straps of her nightgown off her shoulders.

“I thought you enjoyed a dash of drama and a bit of excitement,” her lusty husband said before attaching his lips to her neck, where he proceeded to trail down to her collarbone.

In a whisper barely audible, Elizabeth replied, “I prefer my drama on the stage and my excitement here, with you.” And then, all thought beyond the scene unfolding around her slipped right out of her head.

*--* *--*

[b]Chapter Fourteen[/i]

Rosings Park, Kent

The Darcys made arrangements to trim weeks off their sojourn in Kent, allowing Catherine her privacy to adjust to the abrupt change in her life and collect her dignity. Blainard had departed as soon as his head was bandaged and his headache subsided. Georgiana had regained her spirits somewhat, feeling that she had contributed significantly to her family's security.

Lady Catherine was uncharacteristically subdued, busying herself with her removal to the Dowager House. To their delight, the Darcys and Colonel Fitzwilliam had Rosings Park mainly to themselves and were enjoying discovering its charms left totally to their own devices. Their departure set for the next day, they took one last ride through the meadows and woods surrounding the estate. They would picnic, providing ample time for discussion of recent events. While they debated their new relation and his role in their lives, attention focused mainly on Georgiana.

While the men tried their hands at fishing, Elizabeth and Georgiana strolled along a little stream they had discovered. They walked in silence, each lost in the sunlight glinting off the running waters fed by the winter rains, only recently turned to sunshine. While retaining a calm exterior, Elizabeth knew she wanted to broach the topic of Merriweather now being a member of their family, and as they lived in London, the chance that they would most likely meet. To her surprise, Georgiana was the first to speak.

“I know you and Fitzwilliam worry about me…” began the shy woman gathering pebbles to toss in one of the tributaries they wandered along. “But honestly, I feel… relieved in a way.” Elizabeth looked at her sister, seeing a new side to her sister. Wisely, she remained quiet, gathering her own store of pebbles and stones. “Aunt Catherine was wrong to separate Anne from her beloved.” A pebble ruptured the calm of a babbling side stream. “I mean, it was not that suitors were knocking down the doors at Rosings to court Anne; and she truly cares for him. She wrote of him to me, and was distraught at her mother's handling of him.” Another stone plopped into the brook. “When he... when news of my….” Elizabeth wanted to speak, but knew it was vital for Georgiana to purge the words from her soul, “involvement with Ge… with Wickham was made public, Anne wrote me a long letter saying how sorry she was that things had turned so… wrong.”

Silence surrounded them; there was only the passing of water beneath their feet, smoothing more than just molecules of rough stone away. Elizabeth looked over to see Georgiana in profile, tears glistening on her cheek. Rather than a piece of linen, Elizabeth held out a stone towards her sister. After a long moment, Georgiana reached out her open palm into which fell the cool pebble. Georgiana rubbed her fingers along the smooth surface, its coolness quieting the emotions boiling in her breast. “As difficult as the last years have been, so desolate and alone… I feel… I cannot feel they were not for the best.” The women looked at each other. “I have changed, become something unforeseeable before… Fitzwilliam has changed… we both have found the courage to be ourselves, who we are without the trappings society had heaped upon us.” Georgiana kept the pebble in her hand, but kicked another stone into the water. “I am well, Elizabeth, more than well.” She smiled at her sister, and the women continued on their way, meandering with the stream until the sun's progression informed them of the need to return to the men. They would leave for London on the morrow, and wished to spend a little time with their aunt.

Dinner that evening was a strained affair. As disagreeable as Lady Catherine had become over the years, she was still family, and the shock of the last few weeks had taken its toll. Her face sagged, as if the iron-will which animated her and dominated her surroundings for so long had unceremoniously evaporated. She was left alone, undeniably by her own hand; but witnessing it could not but affect her relations. Her niece and nephews held vague recollections of her laughter and folly, as if wisps of dreams glimpsed only from the corners of the eye. Colonel Fitzwilliam had sent multiple and successive express letters to his father regarding his concern for their aunt. With the promise of Lady Eleanor and Lord Michael coming to visit in the next few weeks, did they allow themselves to leave Lady Catherine in the care of Mrs. Jenkinson.

As they departed in the early mists of morning, Darcy and Fitzwilliam looked out at the receding manor with trepidation. Elizabeth had informed Darcy, who then had reassured Fitzwilliam that Georgiana was well with Anne's elopment and that with time, they could welcome their cousin and her new husband. Although they would have chosen a more traditional wedding, neither man was mean enough to deny Anne her happiness and would welcome the man she loved into their family.

*--* *--*

Darcy House

Grosvenor Square, London

Two days after settling back in London, the Fitzwilliam cousins reconvened in Darcy's study on a fine spring afternoon. The ladies partaking of port, the gentlemen, brandy.

“What I fail to comprehend is why Blainard would involve himself in Merriweather's cause,” Fitzwilliam stated to the audience at large.

“I admire his tenacity,” Elizabeth said, taking a sip from her crystal goblet. When silence surrounded her, she looked up at her husband's insistent eyes. “Merriweather, not Blainard.”

“Tenacity?” asked Darcy.

“Yes! To defy Lady Catherine twice in one's lifetime indicates a certain tenacity, do you not agree?”

“I see your point,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said with a smile. The more time he spent with his new cousin, the more he appreciated how good a match Darcy had made.

“While I concur with your assessment, Elizabeth, the material point remains, why?” Why would someone of Blainard's ilk bother with the romantic inclination of one such as Merriweather?”

“Perhaps he is a romantic?” Georgiana stalled at the dropped jaws on the faces of her three companions. “At heart?” she added, fighting her timidity.

Elizabeth sent her sister a disbelieving look, and Georgiana recalled the discussion they had had regarding Lord Blainard. Unbeknownst to her, what Elizabeth had said did more to restore Georgiana's confidence than any other single thing done on her behalf by any member of her family. That Elizabeth could be entrapped in such a situation released some of her feeling that she, Georgiana, was a weak, silly woman, attracting abuse from scurrilous men. No. Men are men, and they want what they want. Elizabeth was… is tougher than me, and so Lord Blainard increased his attack. And she, too, was able to fend him off. Georgiana thought some more, with help. As did I. These musings pleased her and nourished the seeds of hope judiciously planted by her family.

“What is, I wonder, what is the connection between Merriweather and Blainard?” Darcy asked.

“What do we know about Blainard?” asked the colonel.

“That he is despicable, unscrupulous, deceitful…” Elizabeth provided.

“Yes, he is all that. However, I was speaking of more mundane qualities. Such as with whom he associates? Who are his friends? His relations? Merriweather is second cousin to some Duchess, is he not?”

“Yes, although I cannot recall exactly which one.”

“Perhaps there is an association through her?” Elizabeth chimed in. “Or perhaps they are schoolyard friends, and Blainard took it upon himself to aid an old friend.”

“More likely the old friend had something to leverage Blainard's assistance,” Darcy answered back. Elizabeth nodded her agreement.

“But what?” asked Georgiana as she rose and left, to the amazement of her family. When she returned, she carried a copy of [url=”http://www.debretts.co.uk/about.php?category=1”]TheCorrect Peerage of England, Scotland and Ireland[url], the social registry tracing aristocratic bloodlines.

“Blainard, Blainard, Blainard,” she mumbled as she searched the tome. “Here, Darryl Robert Witherspoon Blainard, thirteenth Lord of Beltanon, related to the Westock, Baimbridge, Alsop and Carthbrut families.”

“Are not the Carthbruts from Pembershire?” asked Colonel Fitzwilliam.

“Yes, I believe they are, Fitzwilliam,” added Darcy. “Why?”

“I remember Anne speaking of Pembershire a few years back, before… well, before Lady Catherine exploded the first time.” His friends looked expectantly at him. “And I remember thinking it unusual for Anne to… well to express an interest in anything. And so, it made an impression, I suppose.”

“I see. What other estates are there in Pembershire?” asked Elizabeth.

Darcy went to a bookcase and pulled out an Atlas of English counties with the principal estates listed and detailed.

“Really, brother, I did not think you were so… concerned about the landed gentry,” Georgiana smirked while giving her voice a mock innocence.

“I am not. However, a friend from Cambridge publishes this rag and…” he blushed becomingly. Elizabeth rose and took the book from his hands over to the desk. Seating herself in his large armchair, she began searching for Pembershire, oblivious to the stares directed at her husband. Georgiana harrumphed, and crossed her arms in front of her, while Richard chuckled and drained his brandy. Darcy simply blushed at his relations' reactions and following his wife, leaned over her shoulder where his attention varied from the book in front of her to her beautifully displayed décolletage.

“I take it tis a grave offense for a mere mortal to sit in the seat of the master?” she said in a low tone.

“Ah, yes, my dear, however you are a mere nothing.” She looked up at the end of his whisper. He blushed. “I mean, you could never be considered mere in any category.” She smiled at his embarrassment until Richard coughed from the sidebar where he refilled his glass.

“Back to work you two,” he chided.

Elizabeth blushed and returned her fine eyes to gaze at the book in front of her.

“Here it is! Pembershire, seat of the Wilcox family. Estates of note: Willimington, Slocomb Manor, Driscoll, and Etheridge. And here, Etheridge was acquired two generations ago by the Merriweathers when one Lydia Agatha Gladmore married Allan Merriweather. The estate was a gift of her grand aunt, Countess Anabelle Blainard.” The four looked at each other, astonished at the connection.

“There it is,” Colonel Fitzwilliam said at last breaking the silence that had been filled with private conjectures.

“Yes, but what does it signify?” asked Georgiana.

“Exactly,” reiterated Elizabeth. “It is a specious link at best.”

“Unless there is another, more recent link,” countered Darcy.

“Such as?” asked Elizabeth leaning back in her chair, her hands in full possession of the arm rests.

“School? A club?” Darcy offered.

“Illicit habits?” added Fitzwilliam almost as an afterthought. All eyes focused on him. He took another swallow of brandy and began. “After the… incident at Longbourn…

I made some inquiries regarding Mr. Simmons in town, and found that he, along with both Merriweather and Blainard are frequent revelers at Madam Southeby's.” Looking at the women he added, “an infamous den of iniquity, gambling.” A look of horror spread across Georgiana's face. Elizabeth only grasped Darcy's arm locking her eyes on his. There but for the Grace of God, and Fitzwilliam Darcy, go I.

A knock on the door announced Giles bearing a salver with an express letter addressed to Elizabeth Darcy. With a raised brow, she took the surprise offering and broke open the seal. All conversation stilled until she called out, “It is from Jane.” She continued reading in silence.

May 12, 1812

My Dearest Lizzy,

I am glad to hear that you and Mr. Darcy are well and continue to enjoy good health. I have heard from our sisters, and they are eager to return to Longbourn. While appreciating your offer to relocate further north, I find it difficult to contemplate leaving home and all this place holds for me. Even with the removal of the stables to Pemberley, I believe I will remain in Hertfordshire. Mr. Bingley has been very kind. He was in the area recently looking at estates with the idea of settling in the area. As you know, it is one of his fondest wishes to find an estate to make his own. To this aim, Netherfield appeals, but as the current tenant holds the lease until after the harvest, he remains uncertain. His sister Caroline was unable to join him in this venture, as she has been indisposed. He hopes her physician, doctor Morneau, will be able help her regain her health.

The neighborhood sends its greetings. Aunt Philips was taken ill last week, but seems to be on the mend.

Elizabeth, I fear I have distressing news. Mr. Hill found Jamie Simmons loitering about the stables this morning. He spoke quite sharply to him and escorted him off the property. I must confess, I was rather shaken by this and spoke with Mr. Hill about hiring an extra hand or two, to increase my sense of security. For the first time in my life, I am a bit uncomfortable being alone here at Longbourn. I am sure we shall all be safe here but I had not thought Jamie would return to Meryton.

Your loving sister,
Jane Bennet

Elizabeth leapt from her chair heading toward Darcy who was conferring with Fitzwilliam by the fire.

“Elizabeth, what is wrong?” he asked, concerned by the stricken look on her face. Georgiana and Richard took note.

“Jane!”

“She is not ill?” asked Georgiana.

“No, no. Read this,” she handed Darcy the letter.

“Home,” he grumbled at her preference for remaining at Longbourn. “Netherfield, Bingley,” he smiled at the idea, “Jamie!” He stopped reading to look at Elizabeth.

“She is alone and he… he is there!” she cried, distraught, looking to him for guidance. “Jane says she will hire another hand, hopefully a burly lad, but Fitzwilliam! What can this mean? I do not want her there alone. What can we do? I wish to go to her.”

“No. I will not have you in the same locale as that… animal.”

“But Jane!”

“Do you think he will harm her?” he asked, taking hold of her hand. Contemplating the idea of Jamie harming her beloved sister brought tears to her eyes. He saw her despair and he opened his arms to her and she rushed into them and he wrapped her close.

“Who? Who will hurt Jane?” Georgiana was frightened.

Looking at his cousin, Darcy replied, “James Simmons has returned to Meryton!” Both Georgiana and Fitzwilliam were aghast. Richard went to the sideboard and poured himself another glass of brandy.

Elizabeth answered her husband's question. “I do not know if Jamie will attack Jane, but the thought that she may be in danger terrifies me.”

“Of course. I will send Hodges and Wittles to Longbourn immediately as personal guard for your sister.” She looked up with gratitude. “That will buy us time to sift through this, and find the right solution.”

“Thank you, my love.” He went to the desk to draft his letters. Georgiana did her best to calm her sister.

Darcy called for Giles and issued his instructions that Hodges and Wittles travel to Longbourn with a note of explanation to both Jane and Mr. Hill. He then came and sat alongside Elizabeth and took her hand. When he was assured she was calm, he turned to his cousin. “What think you, Richard?”

“Wellesley.”

Richard paced in front of Darcy's desk. Darcy turned to him and asked, “Surely you do not believe one lone man will come storming through and capture our illustrious war hero?”

“No,” here he felt exasperated. “However, one lone agent, familiar with the area, familiar with the stables and the people,” here he bent his head in the direction of the door, “could do irrevocable damage.”

*--* *--*

Elizabeth and Georgiana divided their time between St. Magdalene's, Madame Lestart for their ball gowns, and the other Bond Street shops for their summer wardrobe, and the Gardiner's residence. They were busy, and each was delighted in the company of the other. Georgiana's confidence grew to the point that she was able and willing to attend the upcoming ball given by family friends. It would be her first social appearance since her fall from grace. Taking what she had learned from her experience, what she saw on her visits to St. Magdalene's and the loving support from Elizabeth, their aunt Eleanor and Mrs. Gardiner, she felt brave enough to face the ton. Her gown had been chosen with extreme care, to be flattering but within the bounds of decorum. Elizabeth's gown was outstanding; Madame Lestart outdid herself costuming her two favorite customers as the nobility she felt they were.

Every time one of the Darcy women came to their shop, Clarice would find time to converse with Georgiana. Their mutual curiosity over the wilds of America and the freedom of a new society led to many discussions, often with their visits extending to tea taken in Madame's private room and removed from the bustle of her office. When the gowns were nearing completion, Clarice sat alone with Georgiana.

“Miss Darcy?” she asked.

“Yes, Mademoiselle Bonhomme?”

The young woman of about twenty studied her hands that lay clasped in her lap. “I just wished to tell you how brave I believe you to be, and how much… how much I admire you.”

Georgiana blushed scarlet hearing such words of praise for herself. “I assure you, I am not so brave, nor… so admirable.”

Clarice looked up, and Georgiana could see unshed tears collecting in the corners of her crystal blue eyes. “But you are! Mademoiselle, you are like the phoenix, rising from the ashes created by… that man.”

Georgiana looked away. Will it ever end? Will I never be free from this? Silence blanketed the two women.

Finally Clarice spoke in a very small, very timid voice, barely above a whisper on the wind, “I, too, know…” she took in a deep rush of air to fill her lungs she took in as if needing the support of the elements themselves to brave the words that had haunted her for years. “When I was but fourteen, I was… the Marquis returned to our village… to my mother. My mother… she thought she was safe, but he came back. That is when she told me… what had happened to her… before I was born. That is when she… after she died, I came here, to my aunt. So, you see, Mademoiselle Darcy, I too know the heartlessness of man.”

Georgiana sat, stunned, looking at the woman before her, her head hung, unable to rise. Across the gulf of class and nationality, Georgiana extended her hand, taking the trembling one that still lay in Clarice's lap.

Clarice stared at the pale skin of the hand that lay on top of her own. It held on to her, not in a grasping clutch, but one that spoke of compassion; of understanding and strength. When she heard words being spoken to her, she looked up into deep brown eyes that begged her to hold on.

“Thank you, Clarice, for telling me. While not wishing anyone to suffer, it gives me great strength to know I am not alone, and that others have recovered… enough to find happiness, and might I hope peace?” The older woman nodded. They sat with tremulous smiles.

“You must not let them intimidate you, Mademoiselle. They are nothing to you! Their airs are… are like… like dust. You are true quality. Your graciousness and strength are what signify. Do not bow your head to anyone. There is no one superior to either you or Madame Darcy. You have proved beyond a shadow of a doubt the goodness of your character. My aunt and I have said so many, many times.

Georgiana blushed, and wisely changed the subject. They were discussing the latest books they had read on America when Elizabeth came to fetch Georgiana for the ride to Darcy House.

*--* *--*

At the theater one week later, Elizabeth and Darcy sat side by side in their box. Across the theater, in Lord Blainard's box, sat his lordship, Anne and Mortimer Merriweather, and Caroline Bingley. Elizabeth turned her head to see if Mr. Bingley, who sat next to Jane, had noted the unusual conference. Noting his steely gaze on the vision in orange, still visible as the houselights dimmed, she discerned that he had. Elizabeth focused on Caroline as well, noting the edgy behavior on display by this woman who, it seemed to her, would rather cut off her right arm than be seen exhibiting unseemly behavior. Yet, there she was, ravenously looking around, semi-leering at men in her environs. Her hand seemed never to be at rest. When Mr. Upschtart entered the box, carrying a glass of champagne and handing it to Miss Bingley, Elizabeth thought it odd that there was a glass for no one else in the box.

Miss Bingley took the glass, draining it in two gulps, as if she were parched. She sneered at her benefactor and betrothed. Elizabeth could not tell his reaction, caught as she was by the sharp movements of Miss Bingley as Mr. Upschtart reached behind the chair in which he now sat to fetch the opera glasses. Soon Elizabeth could see Miss Bingley roaming the boxes of the quality until she saw the woman focus on the Darcy box.

“Excuse me,” Bingley said, as he rose to exit. Elizabeth watched as Miss Bingley focused the glasses on her own proximity, guessing that it was the handsome man sitting to her right claiming the woman's attention. Within moments, the door to Lord Blainard's box opened, and Charles was seen addressing his sister. Voices were raised, almost audible across the theater, even though the actors had begun their performance. Elizabeth looked to Darcy who had turned his attention to his wife. He took her hand, bringing it to his lips to kiss. Elizabeth squeezed his hand, then turned her head back to assess Jane's state of mind. As expected, Jane's attention was on the box directly across the theater. Elizabeth returned her eyes to see Mr. Bingley grabbing Caroline's hand, before bending on his knee before her. He whispered in her ear and she shook her head.

Anne Merriweather then rose, as did her husband. Reluctantly Mr. Upschtart rose as well, and he indicated to Miss Bingley that their evening at the theater was over. Mr. Bingley exited the box with the two couples, leaving Lord Blainard sitting there alone. In the diminished light, Elizabeth could just make out a strange smile across his lips.

Within minutes, Bingley had returned to the Darcys' box to explain that he intended to see his sister home. Elizabeth and Darcy both looked to Jane, who smiled, glad she sat in the back row. Ten minutes later, the door of their box opened, again, and Bingley stepped inside. When the Darcys turned with surprise on their faces, Bingley answered, “When I returned to the lobby after making my regrets to you, they were gone! I dare say Caroline will be home when I return, or with Mrs. Merriweather. In either case, it was dam… pardon me, extremely impolite of them to leave when I had expressly stated that I would accompany Caroline. She was in quite a state.”

Jane took his hand, calmly, and they all settled in to enjoy what they could of the performance.

Chapter Fifteen

May, 1812
St. Claire House, London

The room was brilliantly lit, both with abundant candles, and jewels adorning the ladies attending. The Darcys along with Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley made their way through the maddening crowd. Madame Celeste had created a gorgeous gown of lilac, with organza and embroidered flowers. Amethysts hung around Elizabeth's neck, interspersed with diamonds. Her smile was broad, her eyes, clear and full of life and love.

All who approached were kind and pleasant, some were even sincere, such as the friends who had stood by Darcy, and had already met Elizabeth. The Gardiners, restored in confidence at reorganizing their business to Gardiner & Associates, attended as well.

All went splendidly until the end of the evening, when James Simmons approached Elizabeth requesting a dance.

“I think not, Mr. Simmons.” She looked around the room for her husband.

“Miss…I mean Mrs. Darcy, surely there can be no harm in one dance.”

“That depends upon your understanding of the word harm.”

He looked at her, not understanding her meaning. He yanked her hand, pulling her onto the floor as the musicians struck up a waltz. Simmons smiled while Elizabeth's face registered horror. Finch and Bingley, who were conversing nearby, witnessed the entire episode.

“I do think Darcy will be upset when he sees how that man handles Mrs. Darcy,” Finch said, unsettled by what had just occurred.

“I think I shall go find him. Keep your eye on Mrs. Darcy, will you?” Bingley asked, before heading to the refreshment table where he had last seen Darcy.

Jane Bennet met him there, “Have you seen my brother, Mr. Bingley?” she asked, concern evident in her voice.

“No, not yet. I seek him as well.”

“Then let us find him together.” Her smile did not reach her eyes. Bingley followed her eyes to the dancers, her gaze locked on Elizabeth. “My friend, Mr. Finch, will keep watch on your sister, Miss Bennet. Let us focus on finding Darcy.”

She looked at him and said, “Agreed. I believe he will not be pleased with Mr. Simmons.” Bingley reacted to the name of Elizabeth's dance partner, as Darcy had taken him into his confidence.

In the second room they searched, they found Darcy speaking with his uncle, Lord Fitzwilliam.

“Ah, Miss Bennet,” Lord Fitzwilliam began.

Jane looked at Bingley, who nodded. Jane began small talk with Lord Fitzwilliam while Bingley led Darcy back to the ballroom.

“Darcy,” Bingley began.

“Bingley, calm yourself. My uncle is a happily married man with no designs on Jane.”

“I am glad to hear that.” Bingley got his friend's attention. “Darcy, Simmons has Mrs. Darcy on the dance floor.”

Before he could say another word, Darcy bolted from the room to Elizabeth. Bingley followed.

“Why did you not stop this?” he growled at his friend.

“One moment Mrs. Darcy was refusing to dance, the next thing I see her being dragged off on to the floor.”

“I will kill him,” Darcy was enraged.

“Calm yourself, Darcy. It is but a dance, a public dance.”

“I will not have that scoundrel near her one moment longer.”

They arrived at the dance floor as the couples whirled about. Darcy caught sight of Elizabeth, revulsion written clearly across her face, as Simmons pressed his body to her.

Elizabeth had a difficult time keeping her stomach from emptying its contents onto her dance partner.

“A little conversation is due, is it not, Elizabeth?”

“I do not believe we remain on familiar enough terms for such informality, sir.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, before I am done, we shall be on quite intimate terms,” he pulled her closer to him, fighting her resistance.

“You overstep yourself, sir.”

“Do I? How we have come up in the world, you minx. Oh, the pleasures we would have known…”

“I think not, sir,” she remarked sharply.

“Oh? You will find, my dear, I have ample sources of persuasion.”

“Yes, I have heard of your persuasion, sir, and it suits me very ill, indeed.” Fortunately for Elizabeth the music ceased, so she would be able to leave the dance floor. “I pray this is the last time you importune me. With a cold look at Simmons, she turned on her heel and walked away.

Jamie simply smirked, then turned and walked off in the opposite direction.

Darcy moved towards her, divided between concern for Elizabeth and the desire to pound his fist repeatedly in Simmons' smug face. Elizabeth won. She looked at him and smiled, once again grateful he had come into her life. He held out his hand to her, which she gladly took, and escorted her to a private spot on the balcony. The early summer night was refreshing to their troubled souls. When he was assured they were alone, he spoke.

“Are you well, Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Fitzwilliam. He was odious but not harmful.”

“How is it you came to dance with him,” he asked afraid of the answer. “How could you?”

“He dragged me to the floor! One moment he was speaking to me the next, I was pulled onto the floor. I could see no way out that would not escalate things beyond the control of reason.” She looked up at him as she placed one hand upon his cheek. “We leave London soon, and he will fade from us like a bad dream in morning's light. Darcy kissed her hand, then bent his head and kissed her lips. Playfully she bit his lower lip and he pressed her to him. She eagerly accepted his embrace.

“Madame, I believe I would enjoy one more dance, and then perhaps we may venture home?” he leaned close to whisper in her ear and nibble on her neck. Her sigh inspired him, and he drew even closer, his lips more insistent and lower on her neck. He felt her shiver, and his blood lit on fire.

“Elizabeth,” he panted.

“Yes?” she sighed, caught up in her own feelings of lust for this man who was her husband. She found it hard to move, she was so enthralled in the sensations he engendered. She wanted only to shed their clothes and enjoy the love they made. After minutes of straightening their clothing and becoming presentable, the Darcys re-entered the grand hall, where it was obvious they had missed the very late arrival of an important personage. The room was abuzz with conversations, highly animated for the second half of an evening.

Jane and Bingley rapidly approached them.

“Lizzy!” Jane exclaimed.

“Darcy! Wellesley is here!” Bingley burst out enthusiastically. Both Darcy and Elizabeth were diverted enough to push recent events to the back of their minds. Their eyes grew large as children's meeting their hero. As much as both would decry hero worship, they could not deny their admiration for the leader of their country's military assault against the French tyrant.

“Major General Lessing is here as well, Lizzy. He wishes to offer his congratulations to you…”

“Personally, if I may, Mrs. Darcy?” a distinguished looking man in his early fifty's stood behind Jane, beaming in amusement at her being caught out gossiping. “Forgive me for startling you, Miss Bennet, but I knew you were the shortest route to Miss Eliza…I mean Mrs. Darcy.” The Major-General took her hand and kissed it, after offering a gentlemanly bow. “Congratulations, madam on your recent marriage. May you have all the joy possible.”

“Thank you, Major General,” Elizabeth positively beamed. “May I introduce my husband, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy? Mr. Darcy, Major-General Lessing.” The two men bowed to each other, General Lessing then offered his hand.

“Congratulations, Mr. Darcy, you have captured an amazing woman, a rare jewel and a credit to our country.”

“Thank you, sir. I agree wholeheartedly with you,” Darcy replied most pleasantly.

“Should you ever decide, with that attitude you would go far in the military.”

“Oh, I think not, sir, my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam regularly disabuses me of that notion.”

“Fitzwilliam? Ah, yes. Richard. Fine man, excellent commander.”

“Thank you, sir, we are all very proud of him.”

“Is he here this evening?”

“No, I am afraid his General….”

“Whiting.”

“Exactly, General Whiting has called him to service.”

“Pity. Missing a capital event. Miss… forgive me, Mrs. Darcy, may I present you to General Wellesley? He has specifically requested the introduction, should the occasion arise.”

Elizabeth, whose eyes had grown even wider at this pronouncement, agreed. “It would be an honor, sir.”

“Then, shall we?” he offered his arm, and with a quick look at Darcy, she accepted. “Come, all of you, the general will not bite any but the French, or Italians, or Spanish for all that.” The general chuckled at his own joke, and the merry party strode across the room to a mélange of people gathered around the medaled leader, ensconced in crimson and the regalia of rank. When there was a brief interlude in the conversation, General Lessing interrupted.

“Sir, if I may?”

“Yes, Lessing, what is it?” the great man boomed. Side conversations stilled.

“You had mentioned your intent to meet Miss Bennet, should the opportunity arise.”

“Yes, the filly mistress,” he chuckled.

“General Wellesley, may I present the Miss Bennet that was?”

“Was? Clarify, Lessing.”

“I am recently wed, General, to Mr. Darcy.” Elizabeth replied with mischievous glee in her fine eyes. Darcy came forward and bowed to the national hero.

“Ah, well then, may I kiss the bride?” he asked before leaning in and placing a chaste kiss to Elizabeth's cheek. He then bowed and kissed her hand. “Congratulations, madam. May I wish you, and Mr. Darcy here, great joy.”

“Thank you, sir,” Darcy practically stuttered. Wellesley struck out his hand to Darcy, who shook it. “A great honor, sir.”

“Yes, yes, the honor goes to our troops, man. Finest in the world.”

Darcy nodded.

“Tell me, Mrs. Darcy, how fares my filly?”

“Very well, sir. She awaits your arrival impatiently.”

“Excellent. Contrary to public opinion, female horses are the best in war. Very little spooks them. And Mrs. Darcy, Lycea, Chestershire's mare, continues to amaze me.”

Elizabeth blushed again. “I believe Roan will please as well, sir. She shows great spirit.”

“Splendid. Lessing is in contact with you, am I correct?”

“Yes, sir,” replied the Major-General.

“I wish to have my horse as soon as may be. Make it so,” he commanded his subordinate. “Arrange the details with Mrs. Darcy. And now, madam, I believe I must dance the last set with my wife. Pray, excuse me? Mrs. Darcy, a pleasure.”

The general strode off in search of Lady Wellington while General Lessing took Mr. Darcy's card. He then left in search of Lady Lessing, leaving the stunned and happy Darcys to dance the last set as well. Not wishing to fall short, Mr. Bingley requested the same from a very compliant Jane Bennet, and all bitter memories of the evening were swept away on the swish of their skirts.

As the couples moved in rhythm to the music, James Simmons, leaning on a pillar, had reflected on the events that unfolded before him. His amusement grew at each twirl of his fair prey.

*--* *--*

Madame Lestart's Dress Shop
Bond Street
London

Georgiana was halfway through her fitting with Madame Celeste when a great commotion could be heard in the back of the shop. Trying to hide her chagrin at the interruption of two of her favorite clients, Celeste turned toward the hem she was inspecting.

C'est incroyable, she thought. I will have someone's head for all this noise! Her turbulent thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the fitting room door. “Entrez,” Madame called out with irritation clearly evident in her voice.

“Pardonnez-moi, Madame, Madame, Mademoiselle,” the clerk nodded to each of the fine ladies, “mais c'est une circonstance critique, Madame, et la votre présence est exigée.”

About to chastise the woman's impertinence, Celeste looked up and noted the concern on her face and the urgency in her eyes. Looking twice to assess the situation, she rose, making her excuses to the Darcys. “Pardonez-moi, s'il vouz plaît.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth replied. We shall still be here in awe of the miracles you have created for us, Madame.”

“Merci, Madame Darcy. Perhaps you would help Mademoiselle out of this gown and into that one,” she pointed to a beautiful periwinkle blue linen gown. “We are done with this.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth rose to assist her sister out of her gown. Before Elizabeth could turn around, Celeste had exited the room.

It wasn't until Georgiana was fully resplendent in her new frock that Elizabeth became impatient and concerned. She knew that only the most extreme conditions would keep Celeste from her business, and Elizabeth wished to know if she could be of assistance.

Elizabeth had a rough idea of the passageways leading to the back rooms. Following the amazed shop girls and seamstresses, Elizabeth knocked on the door of Celeste's private office. She knocked twice before impertinently opening the door. She was unprepared for the scene meeting her curious eye. There, stretched on a divan was a beautiful woman. Or at least what Elizabeth thought was a beautiful woman, for the lady was covered with bruises. Across her once perfect skin were red welts the width of a leather strap.

“My lord,” she exclaimed; and three pairs of eyes focused on her as she advanced towards the woman. “Have you summoned a doctor?” she asked.

Uncertainty reigned for a moment until Celeste said, “No.”

Elizabeth retreated only to return a few minutes later.

When a serving girl came in with fresh water, Elizabeth took it from her and bathed the woman's face and arms herself. At first the woman looked away, ashamed even in her misery, to be seen so distraught. Celeste and the woman exchanged glances before turning their eyes to Elizabeth. “Madame Darcy, this is Antoinette du Marche.”

Elizabeth was stunned, and while her face betrayed the emotions this name created, her actions did not. Elizabeth took up a clean cloth, dipped it in the basin, and rinsed Mademoiselle's fevered brow with cool, clean water. Celeste took the cloth when Elizabeth was done; her hand on Elizabeth's conveying her thanks. Elizabeth inhaled deeply and spoke in a soft voice to Mademoiselle du Marche in perfect French. “I am so sorry, Mademoiselle. Who did this to you?” “Je suis très désolé, Mademoiselle. Qui vous l'a fait?”

Mademoiselle Du Marche closed her eyes for a long time. “I have been acquired by a new patron, Madame.” She wheezed as she took her breath to continue, her voice a raspy whisper. “He beat me because I did not keep Darcy from you.”

“Who? Mademoiselle, who beat you so viciously?”

“Lord Blainard,” she whispered before closing her eyes to the exhaustion that overwhelmed her.

*--* *--*

Darcy uncomfortably entered Madame Lestart's, fully aware of the impertinent looks he received from the ladies entering and leaving the surrounding shops. Clarice, Celeste's assistant, led him to a deserted dressing room. Awkwardly looking around, he was relieved when Elizabeth entered the room moments later. He was struck by her demeanor. Fear, sadness and upset played across her face as she twisted a handkerchief in her hands. He wondered mightily at the cause of such emotion in his wife.

“William…”

“Elizabeth…” they spoke simultaneously.

“Georgiana?” he asked.

“Miss du Marche…”

Regaining his composure, he spoke. “She approached you?” His anger replaced concern. “Elizabeth, you know that is entirely in the past.”

“I know, Fitzwilliam. It is not that, dearest.”

“Then what? What does Ant … Miss du Marche have to do with us?”

“She is here.” Darcy gasped. “She is no more than fifty feet away from you, lying on a divan, beaten nearly to death.”

“What? What has happened?”

“Blainard…” Darcy froze. “…acquired her at the gaming tables. He beat her … because she did not keep you from me.”

“What?”

“That is what she said.”

“The devil. I swear the damage that man …I shall kill him.”

“No. No you shall not, Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth's voice was low, and controlled. “Do you love her so, that you would leave me a widow or the wife of a murderer?”

He looked at her and saw her vulnerability.

“No.” He took a moment to collect his thoughts. He knew what came next would be crucial in their relationship. “I do not. I admire Antoinette… very much. But Elizabeth, I have never loved her. It was not in our… arrangement.” Darcy felt the shame implicit in his statement. He shuddered, then straightened his spine.

Elizabeth nodded before finding her voice again. “I would like,” she stopped to gather strength, “I would like to take Miss du Marche home with us, Fitzwilliam.”

“No.”

“She cannot remain at her home. She must be protected. It is … it is my fault Blainard attacked her so.”

“Elizabeth. Antoinette cannot come to our home.” They looked at each other, frozen in a standoff. Seeing her resolve, Darcy relented. “However, I agree with you, she cannot return to her residence.” Darcy began to pace, slowly thinking of the arrangements that could be made. “I know of a place she may reside in safety.”

“I shall go with her.”

“Impossible.”

“She needs care, William!” He looked at his wife, recognizing the set to her chin, the flint in her eyes indicating her iron-clad resolve.

“What of that place…?” Darcy tried to remember the endless chatter about the home that both Georgiana and Elizabeth stitched clothing for. “The one you and Gigi are constantly toiling for?”

“St. Magdalene's?” She thought about it turning it over in her mind before deciding it was a good idea. “That is brilliant. I shall send a message telling them to expect us.” Elizabeth left the room to write her note. Surprisingly, Darcy followed her.

“She will be safe there, Elizabeth. I will see to it.”

Elizabeth stopped walking, turning to look at her husband. “That is good of you, Fitzwilliam.”

“I could do no less.” The look of despair on his face touched Elizabeth. She gave his arm a squeeze.

“Are you well, Fitzwilliam?”

“As well as I can be.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It is complicated, is it not? I never thought Blainard would take things… so far.” Their eyes locked. “I love you, Elizabeth. Every new twist of his character reminds me that it could have been you.”

“But it is not, my dearest. I am safe with you.” She looked into his eyes, needing reassurance herself. While feeling compassion for the woman beaten and clinging to consciousness, Elizabeth could not help but feel vulnerable herself. This is the woman he made love to, countless times before me, she thought. Seeing her pained face, Darcy took her in his arms.

“Think no more on it, Lizzy. I love you, and there is no other but you.” He pulled back to look her in the eye. “What was between Antoinette and me was not love, Elizabeth. It was carnal… it was lust, that is all. My heart was not engaged. And once I… even when… after I first saw you, I could no longer visit her.” He looked at her with such love and tenderness that Elizabeth was reassured.

“Thank you, my heart.” The approach of a clerk halted their discussion, and Elizabeth left to return Madame Lestart's office to write her letter. Darcy remained in the dressing room, uncomfortable with his surroundings and recent events.

With her letter dispatched, Elizabeth turned to her husband. He kissed her in reply. As she pulled away she whispered, “Thank God for you.” They embraced again for quite a while, realizing how close they had come to living dismal lives. Elizabeth kissed him passionately, to which he eagerly responded. Tears fell from her eyes while they gathered in his. She pulled back and searched his eyes.

“Elizabeth, Antoinette? How bad … how bad is she?”

She took a deep breath and her hands gripped his arms which still encircled her. “She rests now, but her body is covered with bruises.” She felt her husband tense. “From what we can tell, he took a strap to her arms and her face.” Darcy looked helpless as he imagined the beautiful woman, beaten and bruised. “When she fell,” and here she hesitated, having a difficult time forming the words, “he kicked her, repeatedly.”

Darcy felt as if he would retch. All his instincts were to hunt Blainard down and kill him, both for hurting Antoinette, and the implicit threat to Elizabeth. When he felt somewhat in control of his emotions, he looked at his wife. “Elizabeth,” he clasped her to him, afraid that if he let go she would be snatched away. Still holding her, he spoke softly. “Do what you can for Antoinette.” He felt Elizabeth nod. Before speaking again, he held her tighter to his body. “I am afraid for you, my heart.” He heard her sob, and he began kissing her madly, claiming her. “I swear I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, Elizabeth. I could not bear it if you came to harm.”

“Nor I you, Fitzwilliam.” He felt her arms grasp hold of him before she pulled back, her eyes locked onto his. “We must be careful, Fitzwilliam. Lord Blainard is rich, but he is not terribly clever. Vindictive, cruel, yes, but not terribly clever.” There was fire in her eyes and Darcy knew his spitfire would not let the blackguard destroy her. “He shall not win, this I swear to you, love. This I swear.”

*--* *--*

Late that night, Darcy stared at the fire burning in front of him. Henderson had left almost an hour before, after being summoned to Darcy House at a much later hour than usual for calling upon a gentleman. Darcy rubbed his hand over his eyes, trying to rub out the strain of the day. What had begun as a beautiful morning with Elizabeth bestowing her favor upon his eager body, had turned upside down. His former mistress, Antoinette, now lay between life and death in St. Magdalene's Home after her wounds had become infected, creating an unusually high fever. All under the command of my bride. He shook his head. She had been adamant that they were responsible for Antoinette's safety and her return to health. As much has he hated to admit it, he felt she was right.

Darcy had reluctantly shared the information Henderson had gained about Blainard's obsession with Elizabeth. Darcy had wisely continued the surveillance on Blainard since their return from Rosings, fearing for her safety. Blainard had become more and more unstable. His manner had a wildness to it that had progressed, threatening his standing in society. Of course his magnificent fortune prohibited exclusion from polite society, but there were rumors at White's and Brook's that his erratic behavior had caused the withdrawal of his cousin's consent to marry. This had unnerved Blainard even more. He was known to ride recklessly through the seamier sides of London, and had run over more than one urchin. He callously sent monetary remunerations, but was known to laugh off the incidents after a long night of drinking and wenching. Henderson reported that Blainard had taken to walking the docks late at night, picking up the most wretched of the poor and using them to satisfy his basest inclinations. Rumor had it that more than one young girl had gone missing after being seen last with Blainard.

That he had taken up with Antoinette bothered Darcy greatly. He cared for Antoinette, now as a brother, or perhaps a cousin, no longer as a lover. That Blainard had acquired her from Withers, as repayment of a gambling debt disgusted him. That he would beat her for failing to hold Darcy's interest, took his mind in dark directions. Despite his concern for Antoinette, Darcy knew the source of Blainard's obsession was not Darcy himself, but Elizabeth. It was her safety in jeopardy not his.

That is the material point, he thought, propelling himself out of his leather armchair. He began pacing in front of the fire, his hands clasped behind him. What will he do, next? he asked. And how do I protect Elizabeth? He paced more furiously, his thoughts running even quicker through his head. If he did this to Antoinette, what would he do to Elizabeth? Murderous thoughts raged through him, as he thought his Elizabeth might come to harm. He stormed to the door and called out, “Hawkins?” The elder butler came quickly at his master's call.

“Yes, sir?”

“The guard still accompanies Mrs. Darcy, does he not? And Miss Darcy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want them accompanied at all times. Do you understand? Even in the house.” The butler nodded. “And I want their guards armed.” If the aged retainer was surprised at this request, he concealed it well. Mr. Darcy was not one to react rashly to any situation, and Hawkins trusted his judgment.

“Yes sir, anything else, sir?”

“Keep your eyes open, Hawkins. I want no harm to come to either Mrs. Darcy or Miss Darcy.” Hawkins was about to speak, but at the look in his employer's eye, he held his tongue. “That is all.” Hawkins bowed before leaving. He went to speak with Davies, the coachman, who he knew was still awake. Between the two of them, they would arrange guards for the ladies of Darcy House.

*--* *--*

May 30, 1812

Longbourn, Hertfordshire

After days of preparation and surveillance, Wellesley's caravan approached Longbourn. Standing outside were Elizabeth, Georgiana, Darcy and the Bennet sisters. Charles Bingley and his sisters had been invited as well. The entire entourage had arrived in Hertfordshire days before, allowing ample time for the Darcys to meet and acclimate to their new relations. After the initial flush of shyness, Georgiana accepted the three younger sisters as her own. Not quite as taken as Lydia and Kitty were with all the redcoats and gold braid that had invaded Longbourn, she still felt a thrill from all the men bustling about. Security measures were tight, and the officers were more than focused on their duty. If they noticed the pretty women multiplying around them, they schooled their countenances not to betray any interest.

Major General Lessing had ridden out with Colonel Fitzwilliam to welcome Wellesley and escort him to Longbourn. The hope of the nation dismounted and strode to Elizabeth and Darcy. Taking her hand, he placed a gentle kiss on Elizabeth's glove before turning to her husband and shaking his hand.

“Welcome, General Wellesley. We are most honored,” began Elizabeth.

“Thank you Mrs. Darcy. Ladies, gentlemen,” he bowed to all present. “I am all anticipation at meeting my new filly.” General Arthur Wellesley smiled, and extending his arm to Elizabeth, they headed off to the stables. As they approached the fenced yard, they felt the earth erupt, and the air filled with the smoke of gunpowder exploding nearby. As soldiers ushered the distinguished general into the stable, a lone rider came barreling through the lane, a torch in his hand, which he threw at the bales of hay stacked nearby. Instantly the fire spread, and the horses' agitation grew, along with that of the humans. They snorted and stamped, and as one, began jumping the fence, stampeding out into the open fields.

Pandemonium broke out as the women shrieked and ran about while the rider drew up to Wellesley himself. The rider had drawn his sword, but Elizabeth, thinking quickly, had pulled the general to the ground, and out of the initial assault. The rider drew a pistol, but Elizabeth was too quick for him. Grabbing a stone, she aimed at the horse's rear flank, and he instantly bucked, rearing his front hooves to the air in front of him.

As Elizabeth yelled “roll” to the startled general, a shot rang out and Elizabeth felt her shoulder explode. She tried to sit up and take stock of her situation. As the rider gained control of his horse, he looked at his carnage. When he saw blood streaming down Elizabeth's arm, his heart grew cold; when she crumpled to the ground, it broke in two.

*--* *--* [center]

Chapter Sixteen

June, 1812
Longbourn, Hertfordshire

In a flash, the masked rider kicked his horse and was off, as soldiers, alerted by the gunshot moments before, gained their mounts. He rode through the fields, heading for the forest, soldiers in hot pursuit. They gained on the lone assailant as his horse jumped the last stone fence before entering the woods. There he would make his escape. He would, as he had practiced countless times as a boy with jump onto a high branch on the fifth tree, allowing his horse to run where he would, while he waited for the cavalry to ride through. He would then find his second horse hidden away, and ride to London, and his safe house.

Whether it was the adrenaline pumping in his veins or the tears clouding his vision, he would never know. The low hung branch met him quickly, breaking his neck as it threw him from his horse. He was dead by the time he hit the ground.

When the soldiers returned to Longbourn with the body, it was Mr. Hill who made the identification. There, unmasked, muddied and bloodied, his neck at an unnatural angle, lay the body of James Simmons.

[center]*--* *--*

While the cavalry pursued the unknown villain, Wellesley and Lessing quickly took charge organizing a fire brigade to quell the advancing flames. Darcy, Georgiana, and Jane flew to Elizabeth immediately. Darcy scooped her in his arms as Jane applied pressure on her shoulder to staunch the blood flowing down the paling skin of Elizabeth's arm. Attending the presentation was a military surgeon, Major Bruce Tidwell, who had seen too many such wounds in combat. Assessing the situation, he ordered the dining room table cleared and water boiled. While his aide went to their camp for his tools, he prepared his patient for surgery.

Clean linens were brought in and laid under Elizabeth, once Darcy was convinced to release her from his embrace. He stayed by her side, holding her hand, wiping her brow when Mrs. Hill brought fresh, cool water and soap to clean her face. He attempted to keep her comfortable as the doctor ordered, while Jane, Georgiana and Mary ripped the sleeve off her shoulder and ever so gently cleaned the blood off her skin. All, save the doctor, had tears falling unheeded from their eyes. None degenerated into hysterics, but the sight of their Elizabeth, lying helpless on the table, pale skin, eyes filled with pain, slashed at their hearts. Silent prayers were whispered, and as news of the fire and shooting spread through the town, people came to Longbourn offering whatever they had, in order to help.

Elizabeth had a difficult time regulating her breath. Darcy's arms held her firmly, yet more gently than she could have imagined; still she hurt. Her upper body was wracked in waves of agony. She dared not look at her shoulder for the sight of her ruptured skin, with the muscle beneath, exposed. Doing so sent her into an abyss of panic. Watching the faces of those she loved around her increased the rate of her breath, and it was making her head swoon. Sweat beaded her forehead, and she was having a difficult time focusing her mind. She could see Mary and Jane moving about, but it was as if a wall of silence surrounded her, distancing the rest of the world. Even Fitzwilliam, who held her desperately, felt a universe apart from her heart.

Elizabeth screamed when her shoulder was pressed. She heard Darcy whisper of the need to stop the bleeding, but the pain destroyed her control. Tears cascaded freely down her face, and her sobs shattered those in the room, breaking their hearts. Their brave Lizzy couldn't control herself, her fear and agony pouring out, wetting her husband's coat relentlessly. She felt her sister's gentle touch, wiping the sweat off her brow.

“Lizzy, Lizzy, I am here!” Jane cooed gently in her ear. She and Darcy exchanged concerned glances over her head. Kitty returned to the room, handing Jane a bottle of lavender oil. Quickly and expertly, Jane wetted a cloth to dab behind Elizabeth's ears, a quick dab under her nose, and at the base of her throat. Instantly the air filled with the scent, and Jane watched as Elizabeth began to breathe deeply. Her eyes focused on her husband, who kissed her profusely, as if his life depended upon it. She relaxed in his arms, her head falling onto his shoulder. Jane dipped a clean cloth in a basin of cool water and washed her face again, changing out the cloth that was pressed against her sister's wound.

Finally the lieutenant came with the surgeon's bag, and the doctor began his grizzly work. After giving Elizabeth a generous dose of brandy, he gently and meticulously probed the wound, picking pieces of gunshot from the delicate shoulder.

“She's lucky, our Mrs. Darcy,” said the surgeon as he dropped another piece of bullet into the dish his assistant held at the ready. Darcy shuddered, hearing the shrapnel fall into the porcelain dish.

“Lucky?” demanded Darcy, angry at the ludicrous supposition that Elizabeth was lucky to be suffering so.

Without looking at the man speaking, the doctor continued evenly as he worked. “Yes, her bone is intact; and more importantly, the bullet missed the major arteries. A few inches further up and her aorta would be severed. Then there would be nothing I could do.”

For the first time in his life, Fitzwilliam Darcy felt he would faint. Only the precious woman lying in his arms, as she had countless times, yet like no time before, kept him upright. She needs me, he repeated to himself. Dear God, please, do not take her. Let her heal and be well.

As of one mind, Georgiana, Mary, Kitty and Jane gasped as the implications of Dr. Tidwell's words filtered in. His optimism implied she would live and be well, but still she suffered before them. They looked from one to the other for hope. None, save Jane, could bear looking at Fitzwilliam, his pain so plainly written upon his face. They could hear him whisper “I love you, Elizabeth,” over and over, interspersed with, “I will not leave you.”

“Stilton?” the surgeon called out.

“Yes, sir,” the young officer replied.

“I am nearly done here, prepare the kit.”

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant Stilton quickly left the room for the kitchen, where he had set up his preparations.

Mary quietly came in, asking the lieutenant what he was about.

“Preparing the needle for Dr. Tidwell,” the young officer said as he opened the bag of medical supplies, retrieving a needle and some thread.

Mary was horrified at the filth that was visible on the needle. “You cannot tell me you intend to use that… that thing on my sister!” Her voice was shaking with revulsion.

The lieutenant shook his head at the emotional female before him. And this is why women will never be soldiers, he thought to himself with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Sir, cleanliness is next to godliness. I insist that you clean that… thing before using it on my sister.” She stood with her arms folded across her chest. She and Mrs. Hill who was likewise repulsed by the needle, blocked his exit. He stood there, glowering at them; but they were used to that having lived with Elizabeth. The only indication Mary gave of the passing time was the shift of her weight from her right foot to her left.

“Stilton!” bellowed Dr. Tidwell from the front rooms.

Mary raised her eyebrow. The lieutenant realized his position and shrugged. Mary pointed to the pot of boiling water, and Tidwell dropped the needle into it.

“And the thread, too, if you please.”

Capitulating, he dropped the entire spool of thread into the bubbling caldron, and stood aside. Mary and Mrs. Hill busied themselves fetching tongs to retrieve the needle and thread, and something clean to transport them to the waiting surgeon. Fishing the medical instruments out of the boiling water, Mary asked, “What is the nature or function of these…?” There was great concern and curiosity etched upon her features.

“Sewing needles and silk, Miss Mary,” Mrs. Hill responded with a skeptical look upon her face.

Seeing the incredulous look upon the women, the medical apprentice felt compelled to explain. “Major Tidwell is a highly acclaimed field surgeon, madam. He is nearly done cleaning the wound of the debris, and will soon stitch together the lady's skin.

“Like cloth?” Mary asked, horrified.

The young man nodded, trying desperately to hide his amusement at her reaction. “I am afraid so.”

“That is barbaric!” she exclaimed.

“Hardly. But it is effective, Miss,” the officer said.

As they worked, Mary whispered, “I knew Fordyce would come in handy in some practical fashion.” When Mrs. Hill looked questioningly at her, she replied, “He always stresses the force of righteousness in the face of ignorance.” Both women laughed at the confused and sheepish Stilton, who stood wondering how he would explain his tardiness to his superior.

With tools laid pristinely in clean cheese cloth, Lieutenant Tidwell carried the still hot implements into the makeshift operating theater.

The two women looked at each other, flummoxed at the ways of men. They remained with their stunned expressions until they heard a roar outside the window. Rushing to the kitchen door, the women asked the nearest person what was happening now.

“The fire's out!” Mr. Aldersman, one of their tenants, exclaimed. “Had so many hands sending buckets that the fire did not stand a chance.” His glee was unmistakable at their communal triumph. Seeing Mary, he added, “The barn itself will most likely not stand, and need to be redone. But there is no more danger to the main house, Miss Mary.”

“Thanks be to God,” she said, greatly relieved.

“Mr. Aldersman, please tell everyone I will have fresh water and towels ready, oh, and something cool to drink as soon as I am able.”

“Do not worry about us, Mrs. Hill.” Aldersman stilled his excitement. “How is Miss Elizabeth?” he asked. Seeing the distress return to the women's faces, he said, “We will find our way to food and drink, ma'am. You just return to Miss Lizzy.”

“The doctor is still with her. We shall tend to you, instead,” Mary said. “Just give us a minute to organize.”

Seeing the wisdom in keeping them occupied, Mr. Aldersman agreed. “I will just tell the lads, then.” The women nodded before returning to their kitchen.

“I will take the food I had prepared for the General and offer it to our neighbors,” sighed Mrs. Hill, wiping tears from her cheeks.

Putting her arm around the gentle-hearted housekeeper, Mary replied, “An excellent idea, Mrs. Hill. I could not have said it better myself.”

*--* *--*

Inside the dining room, Elizabeth tried her hardest not to cry out. Her body felt more pain than it had ever felt before, in her entire life, and the doctor was piercing her skin with a rather large needle. She could feel the silk moving through her flesh, could hear as he pulled it and her skin tightly together.

“Doctor, may I not ask one of my sisters?” she cried out, tears falling from her panic-filled eyes, “Jane perhaps?” her cries transformed into stuttered words wrenched from clenched teeth. “To do the fine stitching? Please?”

The man felt his lips twitch, but stilled his hands. I am used to the rough shoulder of a soldier. Perhaps letting one of the women finish might not be such a bad idea. He looked at Elizabeth, then looked at his large, rather ungainly hands, and could see it was not just her vanity speaking. “Why not? Who knows, I may learn something, here.” He nodded at Lieutenant Stilton. “Which sister is it, madam?”

“Jane!” Elizabeth called out, tears streaming down her cheeks. Darcy held her hand, squeezing it tightly. She looked up at him, then buried her head in his chest. While miserable at seeing her pain, he was grateful he could offer some comfort. Jane came rushing in.

“Miss Jane?” the doctor began.

“Yes? How may I help?”

“Please, thoroughly wash your hands and then, if you feel able, would you stitch your sister back together?”

She looked mortified, searching the eyes of first the doctor, then Darcy, and finally Elizabeth. What she saw told her first that he was serious in his request. Her brother beseeched her to ease Elizabeth's pain, and the pain filled eyes of her beloved sister helped overcome her trepidation. Taking a deep breath, she said quietly, “Of course.”

She went to the kitchen with Lieutenant Stilton. With a glance to Mary, he waited while Jane washed her hands. She waited patiently until he opened the door for her. Demanding her body to stop shaking, she returned to the operating table and took the needle from its place on the cloth. Gently she pierced her sister's skin where the doctor directed her, and urged the needle to make a small, precise stitch. She felt Elizabeth flinch, and Jane had to steel herself to remain focused on her task. I must be strong, for Lizzy! Gently she eased the silk through the flesh of her sister, her lower lip securely held in place by her teeth. Dear Lord, please help me now. Help me help Elizabeth. Though tears wet her cheeks, Jane continued her work under the guidance of the combat surgeon, and under the watchful gaze of Fitzwilliam Darcy.

After what felt like hours, Dr. Tidwell patted Jane on the shoulder and said calmly and sincerely, “Very well done, Miss Jane. Well done indeed. I will finish up now. Thank you.”

Silently, Jane rose from her seat, giving way to the doctor. She felt the room sway, but held on to Bingley's hand. He had come into the room when he had returned from helping outside. He moved her to a chair by the window where she could rest, yet watch over Elizabeth. Deftly, the doctor tied off the thread binding the wound, and taking a candle, burnt the threads, pulling them to separate from the silk that united Elizabeth's flesh. Mrs. Hill came in with a fresh basin of cool water and a clean cloth. She began to wipe Elizabeth's brow, but Darcy stopped her, taking the cloth in his own hands. She looked at him and understood he needed to tend his wife. She nodded and took his place holding Elizabeth's hand.

Elizabeth turned her head into the cool cloth wiping her brow. Her lips were parched, her eyes glazed in pain. “That feels so good,” she whispered. “Thank you. And thank you doctor.”

Doctor Tidwell stopped collecting his implements. “I am not used to my patients thanking me, Mrs. Darcy. You are most welcome. You have been a delight. Usually, those who are conscious at this point are yelling at the top of their lungs, things I feel it would be improper for me to repeat in present company.”

“They must not have had the benefit of Mr. Darcy's fine brandy,” she intoned with as much mirth as possible for a woman who had only recently been shot.

“Indeed. I will remember to requisition more cases of French cognac.” The surgeon stood a moment, trying to digest that this slip of a woman was exercising her wit after he had poked around her open wound, and then stitched her back together. “You are an amazing woman, Mrs. Darcy. I commend you.”

“You do not know the half of it, Major.” Darcy said gently, more to his wife than the man standing opposite him. The doctor looked at Darcy as he tended Elizabeth.

You are a lucky man, indeed, Mr. Darcy. I envy you such a woman. “Mr. Darcy, Mrs. Darcy, I will be with the general, should the need arise. I will take the liberty of calling upon you later in the day, just to see how you fare. Of course,” he looked at Darcy directly, “Should there be any need, any question of a need, summon me and I will come immediately.”

“Thank you Major. I appreciate your attentiveness.”

“Not at all.”

The doctor gave his instructions for care of his patient, staying to oversee her transport upstairs and settling her into her bed to rest. He left explicit instructions for her care, and the infusions he wished her to drink. Jane and Mrs. Hill were attentive students, but it was Georgiana who had the foresight to write down every word the man said. It was a good thing, as the women were too distraught to rightly focus on the detail of his instructions.

It took Darcy and Jane almost half an hour to settle Elizabeth and get her to sleep. It wasn't the substantial amount of brandy that had seen her through the operation, it was sheer exhaustion that finally brought her rest. Darcy remained with her until he was assured she rested peacefully. Jane had gone to wash and see to the rest of the house. Darcy continued to stroke her cheek, her hair, or the back of her hand. He couldn't pull himself away from the reassurance of her flesh. He needed to touch her to believe she would be well.

*--* *--*

The first thing that Colonle Fitzwilliam did once the body of James Simmons was identified was to secure Simmons' rooms. He sent soldiers to Beyford, the Simmons' estate, and the local inns in case he had wished his stay to escape local notice. Waiting for the initial reconnaissance to return, he waited with the military party stationed in Longbourn's parlor drinking Darcy's fine brandy with Generals Wellesley and Lessing. Both men, and their attending colonels, looked grave, none happy with the fact that Elizabeth, a woman, took the bullet meant for their leader. His mind was divided between his duty and his cousin, who remained with Elizabeth.

“Damned brave woman,” said Lessing.

“Quick as a whip. Before we knew what was what, she was nicking a stone at the man's horse. Knew just where to aim to get him to buck up and away from us.” Wellesley returned to his silent perusal out the window after making this remark.

“It is her business, sir, to understand horses,” said Colonel Fitzwilliam after filling a glass for himself. Both of his superiors looked at him as if he was speaking Chinese.

General Lessing spoke again. “Fitzwilliam, you are blood relation to her husband….”

“Darcy? Yes, sir, I am.”

“Go and find out how she fares. Tidwell was with her for almost an hour.”

“Yes sir, at your command.” Fitzwilliam drained his glass and went in search of Darcy. After inquiring of the bustling house staff, he found his cousin upstairs in the master bedroom where he and Elizabeth were staying due to the explosion of house guests. He stood at the window, his hands tightly clasped behind his back. A half empty glass of brandy stood on a side table. Fitzwilliam could see Darcy in profile, the tension clearly running through the man's body.

“William,” he began. When Darcy turned his face towards the door, his anguish almost floored his dearest friend. “How fares Elizabeth?”

Darcy's countenance remained impassive. “She sleeps.” Fitzwilliam nodded in understanding.

“If it makes you feel any better, I have heard Tidwell is the best field surgeon we have. He attends Wellesley himself.” Darcy nodded before returning his gaze out the window. Silence hung in the room as both men dealt with their fear.

Darcy felt numb within his heart, so recently freed from its bonds. He could not grieve, not yet, for hope still lived. A hand flew to his eyes as they shut in agony. Tears ran down his cheek. He heard Fitzwilliam approach, felt his hand on his shoulder and the two men stood with unseeing eyes focused on the half burned stable off to the right, and the blooming gardens to the left.

After what felt like a long time, a knock came upon the door. Richard answered for his cousin, “Enter.”

“Colonel?” asked the sergeant.

“Yes, what is it?”

“The major is returned with word. They have secured the rooms.”

Both men turned to the door.

“Where?”

“At the Peacock Inn, on the outskirts of town, sir.”

“Very good. Tell Clarkson I will be with him shortly.”

“Yes sir, Colonel, sir.”

When the door was shut, Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy. “I am off, William, to see what can be found about Simmons.” Darcy nodded. “Take heart, my friend. Elizabeth is young and strong and …”

Darcy could only nod before turning again to the window. Fitzwilliam turned towards the door. Before he could put his hand to the knob, Darcy spoke in controlled fury. “Thank you, Richard, for bringing his body back so I could see with my own eyes that he is dead.”

Not knowing what else to say, Fitzwilliam opened the door. Before leaving the room, he said, “Send word when Elizabeth wakes.” Darcy nodded his head, and Richard was gone.

*--* *--*

When Richard entered the dingy rooms of the Peacock Inn, he set about searching through the effects of James Simmons. There were travel papers, newspapers, a trunk and valise on the shabby chair and bench. His quick search revealed nothing extraordinary, or informative. The bed was made, but after a quick perusal of the sheets, Fitzwilliam found that the linen needing changing. Noting the rather tidiness of the rest of the lodging, he wondered why the linens would be so neglected. He dropped to his knees, running his hand underneath the mattress. He pulled back immediately when the side of his palm ran into a sharp object. Using his unharmed hand, he pulled back the linen and pushed away the mattress.

There lay a square made of eight shaving razors. Two at a time were bound together like double edged axes. Clever bloke, Simmons. Clever indeed. He sucked the blood off his hand and shook it to relieve the pain. He then bound his hand with his relatively clean handkerchief and pushed the mattress further on to the floor. Midway across the mattress lay a leather encased packet. Fitzwilliam's eyes glowed at the treasure. Taking a quick, preemptory look for potential hazards, he broke the seal and undid the wrapping. Embedded in the leather casing were a series of needle-like protrusions and Richard was glad he had exercised caution with the security measures of James Simmons.

He emptied the packet, and a bundle of papers slipped on to the tabletop. He sat himself down on the rickety chair and began to read. He remained there until the light of day failed. Quickly gathering the papers, he stuffed the bundle inside his coat. Issuing strict instructions to both seal the room, and take note of who came to inquire after Simmons, the colonel made haste back to Longbourn. The look on his face as the colonel left the inn was dire, indeed.

*--* *--*

It was nearly evening before Darcy was able to release his sleeping Elizabeth into the care of her sisters and Mrs. Hill. He returned downstairs to assess the damage to the stables, and for an update on the source of all the turmoil. He had known the identity immediately, as he had seen the look of recognition and horror when the assailant realized where his bullet landed. It is good he is already dead or I would kill him with my bare hands! He went to the parlor where his valet had provided ample spirits for the day's festivities. That seems like a lifetime ago, he thought as he entered the room, surprised to see Wellesley and Major General Lessing seated in front of the fire, their heads bent in conversation. He walked over to the sideboard and poured himself an ample portion of brandy. He took a long, healthy gulp before turning to his guests.

“How fares Mrs. Darcy?” Wellesley spoke calmly, but obviously shaken by the day's events. “I am used to my men being willing to… take a bullet for me, but…” he took a moment to gather his emotions before speaking. “She is quite a woman, Darcy. Spectacular! Quick thinking, brave… outstanding.” He raised his glass in salute to Elizabeth. The others in the room, that Darcy now realized were many, raised their glasses in salute to the quick thinking woman lying upstairs.

“Thank you, General.” Darcy humbly, yet proudly, replied.

“Darcy, I am happy to report that the fire is out. While the stable will have to be rebuilt, it is the only building that was damaged. I believe all the horses have been rounded up and brought to… what was it Elling?”

“Netherfield, sir.”

“That is right, Netherfield. I believe your friend, Bingley saw to them.”

“Yes, sir.” Darcy replied, silently thanking Bingley for being so generous. Taking a deep breath, he continued, “And Simmons?”

“Simmons? Who is Simmons?” General Lessing queried.

“The… monster who…”

“Ah, yes, that's it. I believe Mr. Hill made a preliminary identification. Would you care to view the body?” Arthur Wellesley asked.

“Yes, sir, I would,” Darcy replied, gritting his teeth.

“Very good, then.” General Wellesley rose and headed out the door. Darcy finished the last of his drink, and followed. Lessing was not far behind. The rest of the officers, not willing to miss the excitement, followed suit. They walked the brief passage to the ice house where the assailant's body lay. Darcy felt the goose flesh rise on his skin as the cold air hit him. His eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, and he walked in controlled rage towards the body strewn across the blocks of ice.

He stood, rejoicing that the man who had harmed Elizabeth lay dead before him. If he could, he would tear Simmons' flesh apart with the pointed tongs used to haul the ice blocks. Controlling his fury, he spoke briefly without turning his head away from his adversary. “That is him. That is the body of the miserable excuse for a human being, James Simmons of Meryton, Hertfordshire.”

*--* *--*

After making a brief return to Longbourn to inquire after the health of his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam headed towards Netherfield, which the Generals had commandeered. When he reached the library, only his superior, General Lessing, was awake, sitting by the fire, hands folded around a half-full glass of brandy. He was lost in thought, staring blankly at the fire. As the door closed and Fitzwilliam's boots clamored against the wood of the floor, the general regained his composure.

“How fares things at Longbourn?”

“Elizabeth… Mrs. Darcy sleeps, sir. She has a slight fever, but they remain hopeful it will pass by morning.”

“Good, good. The general… we all are deeply upset by her injury, Fitzwilliam. Our thoughts and prayers are with her family and with your cousin, in particular. They are newly wed, are they not?”

“Yes, sir.”

The two men looked at each other before returning their eyes to the fire. Lessing first broke the heavy silence. “What have you uncovered?”

Fitzwilliam pulled out the bundle of papers placing them on the table along with their leather carrier. General Lessing first took up the leather packet, attempting to examine it. Fitzwilliam stopped him. “Please, sir, allow me. The cur has it rigged.” The General's eyes shot up in surprise.

“Rigged?”

“Pins and razors, sir. I cut myself on one in discovering the packet.” Here he held up his bandaged hand.

“Did you have Tidwell look at it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did he treat it for any of the usual suspects?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Nothing. But that was a blade stored ' neath his mattress. Perhaps he just wished to scare off any chambermaid who might chance upon it.”

“Perhaps. Well, go to it, son.”

Fitzwilliam carefully unwound the leather strap, and taking a letter opener from the desk, unrolled the bundle onto a small table. There, gleaming in the firelight, were rows of steely points prickling the surface of the leather.

“Ingenious,” General Lessing said in begrudged admiration. “Apparently he had something to hide.”

Moving to the letters themselves, the general took a handkerchief from his pocket to gingerly lift the documents and more closely examine their content. His brow crinkled in consternation the more he read. More than once he looked up at his colleague, who only nodded his understanding of the situation. After studying the papers before him, the older man looked at Fitzwilliam, deep concern etched upon his face. “I want you to write your report and submit it to Headquarters. Then I want you to take these to Oxford. Professor Quartermaine needs to see these, as does Lord Aubrey.”

“Sir, do you think that is wise?”

“Indeed I do, Colonel Fitzwilliam. Indeed I do.”

Chapter Seventeen

June, 1812
Brigham Place, London

When the colonel returned to his family's London home, Brigham Place, a note from Lord Edwin Aubrey had already arrived requesting his presence the following day for supper. He sent off a reply before heading to his chamber, the events of the last few days filling his mind.

What a nasty piece of work Wellesley's visit turned out to be. Poor Darcy. Good God, Elizabeth! What she has suffered! I swear, if Simmons wasn't already dead I would kill him again with my bare hands! He chuckled to himself, Of course, I would have to wait until Darcy finished with him. Then after he pulled him to shreds, I could sweep up the pieces and pulverize him. Fitzwilliam poked the fire burning in the grate. So much turmoil in one family. Somehow it does not seem right. When will they have peace?

It was quite a while before the peace of sleep visited Richard Fitzwilliam. More often than not, he stared at the fire burning rather than study the papers lying across his lap. The military had been very good to the youngest son of the Earl of Matlock. He had found discipline, and respect from both his superiors and the men he led into battle. He had also discovered an uncanny ability at intelligence work, otherwise known as spying.

He was unsure what to make of these Oligarchs operating out of New York. The former colonies, now the United States of America, had beaten the best funded, most highly trained military force in the world at that time. Now, they were raising their rabble again, taunting their former protectors and challenging the right of England to patrol the seas. What good would it do to kill Wellesley? he thought, rubbing his hand across his now stubbled jaw. Granted, he is brilliant and audacious militarily, but there are other generals, commanders who could lead us just as… perhaps almost as judiciously. They could get the job bloody well done! No, there is something else, something still out there… that eludes me.

These thoughts kept the young intelligence officer awake into the morning hours. When sleep finally did come, it found him still seated in his chair, the fire in embers, his papers now fallen, scattered about his boots.

*--* *--*

The morning after the incident, Darcy woke next to Elizabeth who still slept. Dressing quickly he left a brief note and word with the maid attending his wife. Then, he went walk the grounds and clear his head, and he hoped, his heart. All the horses were now at Netherfield, where arrangements had been hastily made with the current tenant, one Mr. Withersby. Not for the first time in his life, Darcy thanked the heavens for the easy and friendly manner of Charles Bingley.

The cool morning air cleared his mind as he headed toward what was, as of yesterday, the stables. Charred beams were strewn about the yard. The smell of burnt wood, leather and hay overwhelmed with the feel of destruction, violence, chaos… all the things I have striven to keep at bay. My work was to protect, persevere, and maintain; but now it is gone, all gone. He stood, silently surveying the destruction wondering what would come next. Elizabeth's fever has abated, thank God, but all else? Shall we rebuild? I would be happy to quit Hertfordshire and never return. He kicked a piece of wood, and it crumbled in two.

He began walking, as if movement could exorcise the demons dogging him. I told Elizabeth I would protect her. It was my promise, and I have failed! How can I face her when a deranged man can just ride up and take a shot at her? Who could ever believe someone, who claimed to love her would take a shot at her? My God, what could possibly have possessed him? He pushed back a low hanging branch. Unthinking, he walked to the wood that had taken Simmons' life the day before.

He stopped before another tree with low branches and wondered if he'd found the spot where justice had triumphed. I would build a shrine if I knew where he fell. The woods Elizabeth loved have avenged her, even if I could not. “But I swear by all I hold sacred no one shall ever harm her again. Ever!”

*--* *--*

Jane entered the master bedroom. The curtains were drawn and her sister still slept. Silently Jane approached the bed, her hand gently touching Elizabeth's brow for signs of fever. Feeling her skin cool to the touch, Jane's shoulders relaxed. She turned and opened the heavy drapes, the sheers beneath diffusing the gentle morning light to fill the chamber. Elizabeth looked peaceful. The doctor had given her a mild dose of laudanum the night before, allowing Elizabeth's body to rest. Defying custom, Fitzwilliam had remained with his wife. His attentive care enabled Jane to search the family journals, finding her great-grandmother's formulas to fight infection and pain. Her research had impressed Dr. Tidwell enough, so that if Elizabeth was willing, he would allow her to use them rather than the laudanum he was accustomed to prescribing.

As if he could allow Elizabeth anything, she thought. I cannot recall the last time anyone allowed Elizabeth to do anything! The Bennet women had been raised on the herbal remedies formulated by their ancestors and proven through time to be effective. Jane was impressed by Dr. Tidwell's acceptance of these older methods and had told him so during their discussion the night before. He had stopped by to check on Elizabeth, and Jane presented her treatment plan.

Rather than dismissing it outright, which she was accustomed to by visiting medical professionals, he deferred, even requesting to read the aging journals. When she expressed her surprise, he replied, “Miss Bennet, one does not experience the horrors of the battlefield without recognizing the limits of our so-called modern medicine. If you have proven methods to alleviate pain and fight infection, I am willing, nay, eager to learn of them. I have seen too many men scream in agony at our hands to dismiss anything out of hand.”

Seeing the scars of experience in his eyes and in the timbre of his voice, Jane could only nod and promise to copy out the formulas of those found most effective. Thinking of the soldiers she had recently met, Jane had spent half the night scouring the volumes left to her for the most effective fever reducers and pain alleviators, both for Elizabeth and to give the good doctor.

“Jane?” Elizabeth called, her throat parched. “Have you something I may drink?” Jane smiled and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher standing at the ready. “Where is Fitzwilliam?” Elizabeth asked her voice still weary and tinged with pain.

Handing the note to Elizabeth, Jane replied, “I believe he needed some space to clear his head, Lizzy. Here, he left this for you.”

“Can you read it? My head feels rather like a ball of cotton this morning.”

“It is the laudanum.”

“Ugh.” Elizabeth tried to rise, moaning as pain wracked her shoulder. Unable to rise under her own power, she settled back on the pillows, asking, “Must I take any more?”

“No, dearest, not if you do not wish to. Dr. Tidwell and I have agreed to try some of Grandmamma's potions, if you are willing.”

“Oh, yes, I much prefer them. They may not taste any better, but they have never made me feel like this.” Elizabeth tried to turn on her side, shielding her eyes from the light as she did. “Will you make the one you made when Cervantes threw me?”

“If you wish.”

Elizabeth nodded. Settling in to avoid moving anymore, she said, “Now, tell me what my darling husband has to say.”

Concerned about the strain in her sister's voice, Jane unfolded the note and read aloud, “Dearest Loveliest Elizabeth.” Jane looked up at Elizabeth, who had a relaxed smile on her lips, her eyes looking at something only she could see.

“Forgive my early departure, but I must ease this restlessness. I go to survey the damage in the clear morning light and wrestle with the demons of anger and futility which beset my mind.

Will you ever find it in your heart to forgive me, my dear heart, for failing you? I am beside myself with guilt at your injury. I would give all I possess that it were me forced to endure the pain you suffer.”

Jane heard Elizabeth muffle a groan.

“How I will remedy this, I know not; but I pledge to dedicate what is left of my life to loving you and keeping you from harm.

Yours forever,

Fitzwilliam”

Jane looked at her sister, who scooted sideways into a sitting position to lean against the headboard. Once there she lost herself in thought. She did not look happy.

“That man can be so… obtuse at times,” was Elizabeth's unexpected outburst. “It is a good thing for him I am abed, and unable to traipse after him…”

A smile curved Jane's lips. “He feels responsible for you, Lizzy. That is all.”

“Jane! Were you not there? Did you not see there was nothing, absolutely nothing anyone could have done! Who ever thought Jamie would try something so… desperate as that! There was nearly a battalion there guarding the general… and granted they were not the most battle-seasoned troops… still… there was the fire and the horses stampeding… and well… everything happened so quickly. How can he blame himself? I certainly do not…”

“Because he loves you, Lizzy, and feels responsible for you.”

“Harrumph!” Elizabeth grunted before rubbing her forehead. “I believe I need some of your herbal assistance, sister dear.” She attempted a smile, but it was more a grimace.

“Elizabeth!” Fitzwilliam stood in the door, looking contrite. “I am sorry if I caused you additional pain.”

Jane smiled, cautioning her sister, “Be kind!” She smiled at her brother as she crossed the doorway.

“Fitzwilliam.” Elizabeth called out, her hand raised to receive him.

He was at her side before she could speak another word. She leaned forward grasping his hand.

“This is not your fault. It is no one, save Jamie's fault. His actions alone are responsible. Please, do not take this upon yourself. It will not do.” The look in her eyes melted the wall of guilt he had built throughout the morning. She held his hand in her free one, refusing to release it until he nodded. “Truly?” she asked, knowing he would say anything to make her feel better, but would then torment himself privately. “I will not rest until I know you have released this from your soul. I will recover from this, both the doctor and Jane have said so. I want you to recover as well.”

“But I have sworn to protect you.” Darcy could not look her in the eye.

She flopped back on her pillow unable to maintain her forward position. She pulled his hand along with her own, forcing him to refocus on her. “You cannot protect me from life, dearest. I would have thought both of us had learned that lesson. All we can do is comfort each other as best we can.” When he was able to look into her eyes, he felt her love reach out and embrace him. She smiled gently, encouraging him to do the same. He felt the layers of self-condemnation melt in the warmth of her smile and love. Sensing his reluctance to forgive himself, she held onto him, forcing him to remain with her until he released his guilt and fully accepted her forgiveness and redemption.

When she saw his smile, she squeezed his hand and asked a bit more wearily than he liked, “Now, Mr. Darcy, what have you planned for my entertainment today?”

*--* *--*

Treemore House, London

Colonel Fitzwilliam rode to Treemore House to meet with Lord Edwin Aubrey that afternoon. The elder man's reputation preceded him, and he was both honored and piqued to be called to a conference, feeling like a schoolboy called into the Head Master's office. Fitzwilliam knew that only the toughest cases were referred to Lord Aubrey who had bested the French on more than one occasion at espionage. He was met at the door by Winters, Aubrey's butler, who ushered him into the maple lined study.

“Ah, Fitzwilliam. Good of you to come.”

“Lord Aubrey,” the colonel bowed respectfully.

“Come, sit. May I offer you some refreshment? Supper will be served shortly. I thought we could partake of our repast in here.” He indicated a fine table partially covered in books and journals.

“Of course.”

“Brandy? Port?”

Thinking it was early, even for him, he replied, “A glass of wine, if you please.”

“Certainly.” The elder man moved to the sideboard and poured two glasses, handing one to the military man. “To Mrs. Darcy.”

“Mrs. Darcy.”

“Have you heard any more from… Longbourn, is it?”

“Yes, I mean, yes it is Longbourn, and I have received no word on my cousin's progress.”

“Let us pray for the best then, shall we?”

Fitzwilliam nodded, and the two gentlemen sat. He felt uncomfortable under the older man's gaze. When the silence became unbearable, Aubrey spoke.

“Colonel Fitzwilliam. I asked you here at the express instruction of General Lessing.” Fitzwilliam squirmed in his chair. “I understand that you are heading the… inquiries… into the past dealings of James Simmons.” Fitzwilliam nodded. Aubrey took another sip of wine. “Before I ask about your endeavors, I will add that General Lessing has requested I share what little I know about a certain organization with operatives…”

“Operatives? Plural? I thought…” Fitzwilliam was surprised at this revelation.

“That Simmons worked alone? Oh no. They, this Oligarchy, is very, nay, extremely active in the Americas. However, they do not restrict their mischief to their own shores.” Fitzwilliam took a hefty gulp from his glass. “These men have amassed fortune, great fortune, from any number of means, nefarious and legitimate. Their main aim, it appears, is to… mould, shall we say, governments to their own liking.” Fitzwilliam was incredulous, and it showed on his face. Aubrey laughed. “It is not so mysterious, Colonel. I assure you, we are not dealing with the Masons.

Fitzwilliam looked shocked at Aubrey's statement. “Surely you do not believe that the Masons contemplate taking over the world, Lord Aubrey.”

Shaking his head, Aubrey replied, “I only wish they were the ones attempting to… not so much take over the world… shall we say, manipulate events to their liking? Colonel, these men are at the top of their game, and their game is domination.” Here he leaned forward, his voice achieving a grave timbre. “Just think what would have happened if this Simmons was successful in his mission! Not only would our military lose a master in logistics and tactics, but think of the morale of our people! Wellesley gave us our first victory against the French tyrant. To have him cut down in his prime, on home soil! The people… our troops would have been disheartened. It would take great effort, a great marshalling of our communal spirit to return the unity people are feeling right now.”

“But surely, Warren, or Albington could replace Wellesley in the field…”

“In the field, perhaps. But I am speaking of public opinion.”

“What does public opinion mean to the field of battle?” he scoffed.

Taken aback, Aubrey continued, “Young man, public opinion is always a factor… a key factor in waging war. I would think recent history would show you the truth of that! Just look at the last French king! The people are the foundation of any… of every government. If you have the will of the people, you can accomplish great things. It is when they lose faith in their leaders… to provide the basics: security, opportunity,” he ticked off his list on the long, nimble fingers of one hand. “Order, stability… that is when trouble foments. Revolution, sedition, civil war.”

Fitzwilliam leaned back in his chair, digesting the man's words. He felt his understanding deepen. “I have never considered this before.”

“Of course not. You… and I mean, most young men, especially military men, are not taught these things. That would lead to questions that perhaps your masters would prefer you learn not to ask.” Both men sat in silence.

The footman knocked on the door before entering, announcing that their meal was ready. They walked over to the table. Aubrey went to a portfolio on his desk, searching through a cache of documents. When Winters had finished laying the table, Aubrey walked over and handed a lengthy document to Fitzwilliam. “Take a look at this.” Fitzwilliam sat, allowing his eyes to read through a list, its entries varied: a change in a politician's position on various issues, the withdrawing of funds in another's bank account, the building of a factory in America, the commissioning of a naval ship.

After reading through, Fitzwilliam asked his host, “What is this?”

“What do you make of it?” Aubrey was seated at the table, tucking a napkin onto his lap. He gestured for Fitzwilliam to join him.

“A scattering of random events.”

Aubrey smiled wistfully at the man. “Yes, so it would seem. However, these events, on three continents, are directly traceable to known members of this Oligarchy.”

“But to what end? I have not had a chance to study this extensively, but at first glance I do not see a connection.”

Aubrey shook his head in acknowledgement. “That is the root of the conundrum.” The man began cutting his beef. “We, my associates and I, are of the firm mind that these random events, the ones that we know about, are to the aim of destabilizing England's claim to rule the sea.” Fitzwilliam looked as if Aubrey had slapped him in the face. Aubrey chuckled at his reaction. “Absurd, I know, however, when taken in the light that it does not have to be a total collapse, just a shifting… just enough of an opening for the Oligarchy to advance.” Aubrey was excitedly gesticulating with his knife and fork in the air.

“Advance?”

“This is not a military battle, my young friend.”

“No? Then why…”

“Why pay attention?”

Fitzwilliam nodded. “Because, Colonel, most wars serve an economic end.” Noting his companion's skepticism, he continued. “What else is national security?” He paused before answering his own question. “The ability to protect our economic viability. If we cannot take in raw materials or export products, what happens? People lose their livelihoods, they grow hungry, ragged. They see their loved ones reduced to poverty and pestilence. That is when people take to the streets, my friend. You will find very few well-fed revolutionaries.” The older man tucked into his meal. Fitzwilliam just stared at him.

“What of Napoleon? His aggression cannot be reduced to a problem of economics, can it?”

“Perhaps not so readily. But why does he march across Europe? To gain resources, monies for his coffers, markets for his country's products. You must remember, young man, that these individuals… these Oligarchs plan for the long term, the extremely long term.”

“To what aim?”

“To make their endeavors dominant. To make sure their interests advance. They are parasitic. They manipulate governments to do their bidding. Surely you need not be a student of history for very long to decipher how easily some governments are persuaded, and not always for the common good.”

“Who are these people?” Fitzwilliam asked, exasperated.

Lord Aubrey put his utensils on the table and looked Fitzwilliam directly in the eye. “That is the quintessential question, Colonel. We know that they are prominent men, in business mainly, who have banded together, more in a federated manner than a tightly woven organization, to act as one to the benefit of each other.”

“Can you not be more specific?”

“I wish I could. It acts more as a brotherhood, all with the aims of keeping certain individuals at the top of their game.” Aubrey rose abruptly, heading back to his desk. He rifled through more papers. Returning to the table, he offered it to Fitzwilliam. “Here. Take a look at this.” When Fitzwilliam shot Aubrey an inquiring look, the elder man said, “It is a list of those we believe are members; politicians, merchants with interests in shipping, trade, textiles, porcelain, mining, even some members of our own peerage, and representatives from institutions of higher learning! Men seeking to possess the future, Colonel Fitzwilliam, men willing and able to manipulate whatever stands in the way of serving their ends.”

Fitzwilliam reviewed the list, noting that some of the names, or at least their initials matched entries in the papers he had found in Simmons' packet. “Simmons' papers concur with some of these, sir.”

“Excellent. You will make note of those, will you not?”

Fitzwilliam nodded, then returned his attention to the document in his hand. He sat silently for a while longer, until he had to ask the question burning in his mind. “Forgive me for playing devils' advocate, sir, but is this not what governments attempt to do?”

Aubrey thought for quite a while on this, turning the key fob he held in his hand. Fitzwilliam noted he had kept it near since releasing the papers over an hour ago. “Yes, it is. However, in governments there is more or less, some level of accountability. With this group, they are self-appointed, with no checks or balances to their power. That is the problem, in my humble opinion, and that of our government. They make no promise to defend our borders, no claim to serve the common good. They seek to establish their own borders based on their needs, not those of the people. It is just as odious for that Frenchman to march all over Europe and declare, `today you are French and you owe allegiance to me.'” Aubrey slammed the fob on the armrest of his chair.

“What is that, Lord Aubrey?” Fitzwilliam asked.

“Ah, meant to show it to you earlier. It is the only known identifier for this Oligarchy.” He smiled at the younger man's look of surprise. “Until we cross reference the names in Simmons' papers, the names we have are conjecture, only. Yes, I know, so much for the depth of our intelligence on our former colonies. However, these men know their business. They know how to keep their secrets. This…” he handed the trinket to Fitzwilliam…“this appears to be an ordinary fob, none of the usual adornment typical of civic organizations, crests, seals, whatnot. What are your observations, Colonel?”

While not enjoying the test, Fitzwilliam applied his observational skills to the task at hand. “A plain field of blue… stars...”

“Look around the edges, what do you find?”

Fitzwilliam held the small object to the light. The intricate design eluded him, so he went over to the window for illumination. “Seems like…” he searched the object hoping to unlock its mystery. “Like a row of T's worked into the design on the edge...”

“Exactly.”

Fitzwilliam looked at Aubrey. “And they signify?”

The older man shrugged. “Haven't the faintest.”

“Then how are you certain it is an identifier…?”

“We do have some tricks up our sleeves, Colonel. Means of uncovering men's secrets, that are best left undisclosed.”

Fitzwilliam surmised those secrets were of the female persuasion, as he returned the fob to Lord Aubrey.

“All we are certain of, is that all the men on that list I showed you, have one of these in their possession, and that they wear it,” here he leaned over the arm of his chair, “incessantly. It's the strongest clue we have.”

The rest of the meal was spent in discussion of how to proceed in preventing the Oligarchy from obtaining their objectives.

*--* *--*

Longbourn

After the initial night of fever and laudanum, Elizabeth's recovery progressed at a rapid pace. While still in pain, it lessened daily, and her spirits were buoyant. In addition to Dr. Tidwell, Darcy sent for his personal physician, requesting that anything Dr. Aimes felt necessary be found immediately. There was a great meeting of medical minds in the library at Longbourn, as the learned gentlemen discussed advancements in the medicinal arts. They chuckled at the solicitous nature Mr. Darcy displayed over his obviously independent wife. While their fear for her recovery had long passed, Darcy continued to hover, insisting she take things much slower than her spirit would like. Fortunately, her doctors concurred with her, and she was allowed to walk the grounds within a week. They had the perfect leverage to insure she followed their prescribed limitations. If she did not, they would abandon her to the care of her husband.

Georgiana and the Bennet sisters were occupied with nursing their brave sister and debating among themselves what to do with Longbourn. While the main house was left untouched, the tragedy had scarred their sensibilities. The younger sisters, having been in Meryton all their lives, longed for change and adventure. Aligning themselves with the Darcys could only prove advantageous as they made their way in society. Georgiana had taken an instant liking to both Mary and Kitty, and the three of them would walk, sometimes with Elizabeth, sometimes on their own, discussing the concerts they would attend, the exhibits they would see, and the music lessons they would enjoy together. Mary was finished with her studies, and would spend the coming autumn with Elizabeth, Darcy and Georgiana.

When faced with the defection of her three youngest sisters, and the need to relieve the Darcys of another concern so far from Derbyshire, Jane capitulated to sibling pressure, agreeing to lease Longbourn, for the time being. She was out in the herb garden, tending the lavender her mother had cherished. Frances Gardiner Bennet had been a student of herbs. Family lore included stories of wise women who healed with the herbs. Great-grandmother taught grandmother, as mother taught daughter to harvest the blossoms, leaves and seeds, keeping the strength of the plants alive. As more modern methods of healing took root, the Gardiner women's services were not as popular, yet still they kept their plants, and teas and tinctures, to ease the pains women most often endure.

The herb garden was Jane's sanctuary. As the eldest daughter, it was given to her with the knowledge that had sustained generations. What her mother did not have time to impart due to her untimely death, Jane gleaned from the journals and notebooks her great great-grandmother spent her winter nights writing. These became reference guides that the Gardiner women relied upon. Jane was lost in thought on how to harvest the seeds and transport the plants to Derbyshire, based on what her brother was able to relate of its soil and climatic conditions. Her thoughts were interrupted by footsteps on the neat gravel path leading from the house to her sanctuary.

Startled, she turned as Charles Bingley strode forth to meet her. She could tell he was nervous, yet he also looked committed to his course of action. Jane wondered greatly what could be of such importance at such an early hour.

“Mr. Bingley! How good to see you, sir.” She greeted him warmly, eager to hear what he had to say.

“Miss Bennet.” His smile brightened her world. Jane found herself particularly predisposed to like Charles Bingley. His kind attention to her in London had eased her acceptance of Mr. Darcy as worthy of her beloved Elizabeth. Quickly she found that her ease in his company had blossomed into warm feelings for his person, and she blushed, thinking of the scenes her imagination had created; visions focusing on his eyes, his neck, how the fabric of his waistcoat moved when he breathed. She also found herself dwelling on the shape of his lips, the endearing habit his lips had of hitching on the left side when he teased Mr. Darcy. How readily he laughed! His voice took on a husky quality when his hand would brush against her body, as if by accident. All these morphed into tableaux which entertained her nightly as she lay in her bed, her body afire. She would allow her hands to enact her wishes, her mind placing Mr. Bingley's face, his lips, his touch in her fantasies as they expanded from prodigious use.

“Miss Bennet? Would you walk with me?”

Jane looked at him sharply, forcing her mind to the man who stood before her. He had an inquiring look on his face, and he stood very close to her. “Of course,” she replied, before moving past him. As she did, her breast brushed his arm, and both stopped where they stood. Their eyes met, and Jane felt the rest of the world fade away. Bingley's hand rose to her arm, where he held her gently, but firmly.

“Jane,” he whispered. “There is so much I wish to say to you.”

She looked at him, then glanced at the windows of the sitting room. Looking him in the eye, she replied, in the same-style whisper, “The orchards are in bloom. They are quite breathtaking.”

“As are you.”

“Shall we?”

“Indeed, we shall.” He released her arm, only to take her hand and thread it through his arm. Gathering courage, he altered the nature of their conversation. “I have news, Jane… Miss Bennet.” She looked up at him, a question in her eye. “Yes… my sister has announced the date of her marriage to Mr. Upschtart.”

“Really?!” Genuine surprise played upon her face. After all Elizabeth had told her, the sisters believed that Caroline's nuptials would never truly materialize.

“Indeed. She… they plan to wed in September.”

They continued to talk of the happy couple, until Jane led them to the small apple orchard, where the sisters had played as children. The blossoms were full out, the air heavy with their scent. Even the heavy pong of burnt wood was neutralized by their glorious display of rebirth. Jane gratefully drank in their perfume.

“Miss Bennet, you know what they say… that good things come in threes… well, I was wondering, if you thought that…” Bingley grew greatly distressed, pacing off for a moment to regroup his thoughts. It is too much! The heady perfume of the blossoms… the turmoil of these past days. I cannot think clearly. He kicked at the roots of one of the trees. Jane patiently stood, her hands clasped in front, waiting, and watching the man gain control of himself. I will just tell her. She is so kind, so understanding. I must know if she feels the same. “Jane, ever since we met, almost two months ago, I… you are constantly in my thoughts. And these visions of you… your beauty, your eyes as they look at me, they warm my heart. I love… I love you Jane Bennet, and beseech you to have mercy, and say you will be mine. Please, marry me, Jane. To live without you would be my undoing.”

Jane felt her heart burst wide open. She raised her hands, opening her arms to the man who was now on his knees before her. He grabbed her hands as he rose to his feet, his eyes locked onto hers.

“Yes, Charles. Yes. I love you, and will most whole-heartedly be your wife.” Her smile lit her face, and before she could inhale another breath, he clasped her to him, his lips crushing onto hers. She felt them press firmly, pressing her plump lip into her teeth. She gasped in surprise, offering the opening he had dreamt of. His tongue slid along the perimeter of her mouth, its tip running along the tops of her teeth. Her tongue met his, mirroring his action, and she heard him groan. He moved his body, aligning it closer to her, and her hands grabbed his arms, running up along them to his neck. She felt the strength of his neck muscles, felt her knees buckle as her fingers touched the skin above his cravat. Her fingers raked through his silky hair, teasing out the curls at the end. The next moan came from her own mouth, and their kisses doubled in intensity.

His hands were on her back, pulling her into his body. He felt hard against the softness of her chest. She enjoyed how her breasts felt pinned against him. She felt heat rush through her body, pooling between her legs. She leaned into him, and he almost stumbled back.

“Jane? Jane?” Mary's voice was heard coming from the house. “Jane, where are you? Mrs. Hill says she's out of Lizzy's tincture.” They could hear Mary approaching them at a rapid pace. “Jane, where are you?”

The lovers pulled apart, guilty grins spread across their faces.

“I will ride to London to speak with your Uncle,” Bingley whispered before releasing her from his hold.

“There is no need. He… they arrive this afternoon.” Their joy increased, witnessing the smile of the other sharing such good news.

“Excellent!” He grinned like a cat. Offering her his arm, he said, “Shall we, my dearest beloved?

She smiled her acquiescence, and they emerged from the orchard to bear with happy hearts, the scolding of her younger sister.

*--* *--*

Felicitations were made all around when Jane and Bingley announced their good news. Elizabeth and Darcy offered to host a mid-summer's ball at Pemberley in their honor. This occupied the younger ladies with discussions of lace and ribbon and fashion. Darcy rolled his eyes to Mr. Gardiner, who was too busy in his mirth watching Bingley enjoy the first day of his engagement to a Gardiner-Bennet female.

This works to my advantage, Darcy thought. I will speak with Bingley about purchasing an estate in Derbyshire. We can keep Longbourn to lease, and settle the younger Bennets between us.

“I wonder what amuses you so, sir?” Elizabeth asked her husband.

“I was thinking of the pleasure two sets of newlyweds, happily situated could bring…” he leaned in close to his wife's ear, his breath tickling her neck, sending a flush down her breast. “In Derbyshire.”

She turned her head sharply and he took advantage of the proximity of her lips, brushing his against her. She gasped and he chuckled. “I am all astonishment, sir. How your mind does turn.”

He chuckled again before brushing his lips once more to hers.

*--* *--*

Chapter Eighteen

June, 1812
St. Magdalene's Home
London

Antoinette du Marche had been able to walk the grounds of St. Magdalene's Home for almost three weeks without assistance. Along with her wounds, her spirit healed under the careful ministrations of the women with whom she now lived. By their example she saw another way to survive in the world, without selling her body to the highest bidder. Now that most of the inflammation and redness had faded, she was as she would be and Antoinette realized her days as a highly coveted courtesan were over. Her figure was still desirable, her cheekbones still as high, but her face was marred by the lines of Blainard's whip, as were her shoulders, and most telling, the light in her eyes was a mere flicker, no longer a flame.

She and Miss Adams had spent many evenings talking of their past long into the night noting the similarities, and where their paths had fundamentally diverged. Antoinette had taken the sensualists' path, creating a life easy to enter, but hard to live. Miss Adams had been forced on a path initially more brutal, but one that had led to dignity and inner peace. Antoinette knew she would give all her jewels, all her satin and silk, to possess a fraction of the tranquility she witnessed in Miss Adams. So severe was Antoinette's regret and shame, for many a night Miss Adams was concerned for her safety. The women of St. Magdalene's knew she was at a pivotal crossroads -- she would either survive and continue living, or succumb, finding a way to end the pain. They hoped and prayed for the former, but knew all too well the lure of the latter.

Antoinette was watched constantly, albeit surreptitiously. She was never alone, and was given chores to perform in the garden, or nursery, where life was overflowing and unsullied. Slowly, the new growth of the flowers and herbs soothed her spirit, and she began to hope that this type of regeneration could, and would happen within her.

Madame Lestart and her niece, Clarice, were frequent visitors. They told how the Darcys were investing in Clarice, setting her up with a modiste's establishment in Quebec City in Canada. Offered the chance to accompany Clarice and join in the venture, Antoinette balked outright, until one afternoon Madame Lestart came to tea alone. The two women sat in the garden enjoying their refreshments under the shade of a linden tree. Madame Lestart had been very quiet while Antoinette poured the tea. They sat in the afternoon sun, with only an occasional bird's song rippling on the wind. The bustle of the street was buffeted by the tall walls of the former convent.

“Mademoiselle Antoinette, did you, by any chance, know of a Marquis du Lac while in Paris?” Celeste Lestart asked gingerly.

Antoinette's hands shook as she placed the teacup and saucer back on the wrought iron table. She looked away, images of her early years as mistress to the Compte de Slaturn playing in her mind. “Yes, I did,” she replied in a tremulous voice.

Madame Lestart nodded. “I thought you might.” Antoinette gave her a sharp look. “My sister, Marie, was… intimately acquainted with the beast,” Celeste continued in a whisper as grief and anger choked her. Antoinette stared disbelievingly. “My niece, Clarice… is his… daughter.” The two women looked into each other's eyes, layers of understanding silently unfolding. Celeste looked away, staring into her past. A chill breeze returned her to the present. “When she… took her…” Celeste faltered. Rallying herself, she finished her thought. “When she died, Clarice was sent here: to me.” She turned to Antoinette, tears in her eyes. The recovering woman took her hand, holding it gently.

“I understand, Madame. I will take care of her as if she were my own.”

“Merci, Antoinette. May God bless you for this kindness.” They spent another half hour in pleasant discussion of the upcoming journey.

*--* *--*

Oxford College

Colonel Fitzwilliam found little in Simmons' lodging in London. There was the odd book and the expected billet of transport to America. What he did find was of interest for personal reasons; or so he thought. Looking almost out of place among the sparse, but newly furnished rooms, was a smallish, musty trunk -- more of a lock box. Fitzwilliam's examination of its contents indicated the presence of a false bottom. Recalling Lord Aubrey's emphatic vehemence that all such devices needed to be brought to Professor Quartermain, at Oxford, Fitzwilliam hoisted the vessel to the back of his saddle and headed off to the university where the professor easily opened the complicated locking mechanism without spilling the hidden acid on the papers it was intended to destroy.

“Clever lad, this Simmons. This particular failsafe mechanism utilizes the latest discoveries in chemistry.”

“Really?” Fitzwilliam was impressed that a country gentleman had access to scientific discoveries.

“Must be the Oligarchs. Only they can afford to maintain the minds who come up with these devilish gadgets.”

Looking around the room, Fitzwilliam chuckled. There, scattered around, like toys in a nursery, were devices concealing daggers, explosives and sleeping draughts. “Looks like they're not the only ones; unless you are working both sides, Professor.” Fitzwilliam chuckled as the older man blushed.

“No, er, well, I guess his majesty's government is able to afford the latest innovations as well.” The ruffled looking older man moved with alacrity. “Please, put that down! Gently!” the scientist was at Fitzwilliam's side trying to extricate a copper band from the younger man's grasp. “Do not drop it!”

“What is it?”

“Exploding bracelet,” was all the man could say as he carefully took hold of the cuff and placed it gingerly on the bench top. “I have not worked out the right formula; a bit unstable, that.” Fitzwilliam lost all color in his face, and put his hands behind his back. The two returned to the black box. “Here you are, son. The papers test negative for trace chemicals. You should be safe to read them.”

“Should be safe?”

“Yes, well, I am assuming your man relied on the strength of the box.” Quartermaine indicated the lock box, “And its failsafe mechanism. If correctly opened, the pages should be unaltered, and therefore ready for his use. Or yours.”

Fitzwilliam moved to retrieve the pages from the testing chamber. “All the same,” Quartermaine continued, absentmindedly, “I would wear gloves if I were you.” Fitzwilliam's hand shot back. Professor Quatermaine was searching in a disorderly drawer full of gadgets, notes and quills. “Ah, take these.” A cotton pair of gloves was offered and gratefully received. “You may take the papers. Send on your report when you have had a go at them. Actually, if you don't mind, I would like the originals when you are done. I have a few theories I would like to try out.”

Fitzwilliam wondered if Aubrey would allow such a breach in protocol, but nodded his head in agreement. Let the bureaucrats work that out, he thought.

“Mind if I retain the box?” the professor spoke again. Fitzwilliam nodded. “Damned curious about their technology across the pond!”

Fitzwilliam had no response, so he took his leave, grateful to be out of range of the inventive genius. Glad he is on our side, was all the colonel could say as he mounted his horse for the return to London.

*--* *--*

Darcy House, London

When Elizabeth was strong enough, the Darcys returned to London. Elizabeth wore her arm in a sling fashioned from lengths of silk, always well coordinated with her gown. Darcy ensured she followed Dr. Tilton's regimen of exercises to keep her arm strong, but when walking about, he bound her arm to her body, personally. Dr. Tilton had been greatly impressed by Jane's knowledge of medicinal herbs and amended his own ideas of tinctures, seeing as Jane had kept her sister's infection from spreading and prolonging fever.

When she felt able, and Darcy felt comfortable enough for her to go about town, Elizabeth made a visit to St. Magdalene's. Warring thoughts raged within Elizabeth's breast. Antoinette is not my rival, she repeated to herself as the carriage made its way cross town. I will not think like this, she admonished herself again. Yet, the thoughts of the beautiful woman lying in her beloved's arms would not leave her. It was one thing while the woman lay unconscious… but… now… Now doubt ran over her sensibilities. I know he no longer… but what does he feel for her? Does he feel anything? These and darker thoughts tormented her as the carriage made its way through the busy throng of people.

Her earlier discussion with Darcy had begun the day on an unsettling note. “Why, Elizabeth? Why must you be the one to visit her? Send your aunt, if you must…”

“Miss Adams has asked… as a special favor, Fitzwilliam. They are very worried over her…” When he turned to her, Elizabeth searched Darcy's face for the depth of his concern. She stared, openly, shocked at the care she found there. It took her breath away, dread filling her heart. “You love her,” she whispered, more to herself.

“No, Elizabeth! We have been through this many times before. Please,” he was at her side, his arms wrapped around her, trying to wipe away the fear he saw in her eyes. “You may doubt me, my Lizzy, but never doubt my love for you. Ever. Your love has wiped away my sorrow.” He held her tightly to her, as if he were afraid she would disappear. His discomfort grew when she began trembling, sobs racking her body. All the tension and pain of the last few weeks washed over her, breaking through her fortitude. She wept uncontrollably, until she could cry no more. Darcy held her, absorbing her pain.

“I love you, Fitzwilliam,” she said when she could finally speak. Her head now pulled back, looking into his dark brown eyes. She spoke in a half-frightened voice, the voice of vulnerability when you can no longer deny that you love someone else, and there is no way nor point in pretending otherwise. She was afraid, in that half-hidden place in her soul, that were he to see how she felt about herself, how she deserved all the pain that had come her way, he would flee in revulsion. “I would die… inside… if you were ever to take your love away… You are what is good and beautiful in my life.”

The carriage jolted, the driver hastening the horses to stop, avoiding a collision when a child ran across the street, closely followed by what looked like his nurse. The jolt brought Elizabeth back to the present, and she turned her thoughts to the woman waiting at St. Magdalene's. Antoinette du Marche would soon be out of their lives for good, and more importantly, she believed that her husband's feelings for her had diminished into regard, but were no longer those of desire. Elizabeth smiled to herself, thinking of the range her emotions had run throughout the morning. She felt fragile since her injury, the air of invincibility she once wore was rent, and that feeling disconcerted her. But without feeling so puny inside and letting Fitzwilliam see that, I never would know, truly know that he loves all of me; even those parts I cannot seem to love myself.

Elizabeth arrived at St. Magdalene's; Clayton and Briggs, still armed and ever alert, steadfastly in place. The ladies of St. Magdalene fussed over her injuries, assuring that everything she needed was provided. Miss Adams led Elizabeth to the front workroom where Antoinette sat at her easel. Sketches of ladies fashions hung on a wire strung across the room. Elizabeth was amazed at the color, variety and elegance of the gowns displayed in such dazzling array.

“Mademoiselle du Marche, how wonderful! I was not aware you had such talent!” Elizabeth began as she walked in the room.

“Madame Darcy!” Antoinette looked up from her work. She was startled when she saw Elizabeth's arm bound to her waist. “Mon Dieu! What has happened?” She was at Elizabeth's side, guiding her to a chair. The two stopped as Antoinette asked the question weighing heavily on her mind. “Not Lord Blainard?” The look of fear and guilt in her eyes saddened Elizabeth.

When will we ever be free of this? Elizabeth asked herself. “No, not at all. Rest assured Mademoiselle, this was from an entirely different source.”

“I do not know whether to be grateful or not?” the woman smirked.

“My sentiments exactly.” Elizabeth smiled and crooked her eyebrow. The women allowed a chuckle to break the tension in the room. Elizabeth then retold of her adventures at Longbourn. Antoinette sat back, re-assessing yet again, the character of the new Mrs. Darcy. Tears began falling down her cheek, unbidden.

“Mademoiselle, what is it?” Elizabeth rose out of her seat. She knelt in front of the upset woman, trying to calm the emotions roiling through her.

“It is nothing,” Antoinette finally gasped.

Elizabeth felt shame at her previous thoughts against Antoinette, when before her stood a woman who had nothing, and whose wounds would not heal as easily as Elizabeth's. “Mademoiselle, please, tell me what troubles you.”

“Your kindness is too much, Madame,” she said, in between sobs. “I do not deserve such…”

“Of course you do,” Elizabeth said, shocked. “It is because of me you are in this position, and even if it was not, you are as deserving of kindness as me, Mademoiselle Antoinette.”

“No, no, it is not so.”

Elizabeth quirked her eyebrow, but remained silent, as Antoinette let her tears flush the turmoil from her heart. Finally she was able to speak. “When I see you, Madam, I think of what my life could be…”

Elizabeth pulled back instinctively.

“Oh, no, not with… non, it is not what you think,” Antoinette put her hands on Elizabeth's arms as Elizabeth withdrew. “No, no. I mean… my life… in France, what it could have been, if… if things had been different.” She hung her head. “I am so ashamed… of what I have become.”

“Oh, Mademoiselle! No! You are alive! There is nothing to be ashamed of in that.” Elizabeth tried to gain her attention. “Look at me, Antoinette, please. Look around you. There are scores of women here who have suffered what you have suffered…”

“And have turned away from that life. But me? What have I done? I have gone from man to man… sold… myself to the highest bidder, and look what it has done to me.” She held out her arms, still bearing the red scars of her beating. She then pulled away the neckline of her dress, “Look!” And she forced Elizabeth to see the jagged line across her shoulder down to her breast. “And these are only the marks that may be seen.” Defeat was in her voice. “It is what I deserve, it is what I have done to myself.”

“Antoinette,” Elizabeth tried again.

“No, I will not listen,” and then she pushed herself out of her chair, pacing over to the window. “These women deserve better, they saved themselves. I… I did not. I embraced that life, and now, even that is gone.” Antoinette turned to face away from Elizabeth.

Mrs. Darcy gingerly pulled herself to a standing position. She studied Antoinette's back, trying to decide how best to convince this broken women to heal, and choose to live. Elizabeth thought of the methods her own sisters would use to convince her when her mind was steadfast in a contrary direction. Perhaps it might work, she thought. “Very well. If that is what you wish, I will inform Miss Adams that you wish to be let go.”

“What? Non!”

“Why not? You just said that you are not worthy of the effort they, that we, have put into helping you heal. You wish to go on your own and face your fate. No hope for redemption, no hope for another chance.” Elizabeth stared down the defiant Antoinette. “That is what you said, is it not?”

“No, that is not what I mean… I… I…. agh!” she turned again to the window saying, “Vous êtes très aggravante!”

“Yes, yes, my family mentions this constantly,” Elizabeth allowed herself to chuckle. Antoinette turned again to face her. “Now, Mademoiselle, let us look at this rationally. Please, shall we sit? I still tire rather easily.”

“Of course,” Antoinette was immediately apologetic.

They sat again, and Elizabeth continued. “I believe that as long as we live and breathe, we have the chance to redeem, reform our lives, if we have but the courage to do so. I believe this very place is a testament to it.” Elizabeth adjusted her seat. “It will not be easy, but you strike me as a strong, formidable woman.” The woman sitting across from her let loose a rueful laugh.

“C'est vrai.”

“Then, shall we discuss possibilities? What is it you wish to do… with your life, Mademoiselle?” Antoinette was shocked at the question. “Mademoiselle, my husband, as you know, is a very generous man.” Antoinette blushed, but remained silent. “Both he and I wish to help you into a new life. Madame Lestart is willing to send her niece, Clarice, to America… to Quebec. As you are aware, there she will establish a modiste's shop. Henri Bastillon will travel with her. He is a friend of their family and wishes to establish himself in the New World. I understand you have agreed to accompany them, as a partner in the business?”

It took Antoinette quite a while to respond. When she did, her breath came in short gasps. “Madame, you are too kind!”

“No… I am not. Nothing could repay what you have suffered because…”

“Because of a deranged man, Madame, not because of you.”

Elizabeth's voice was a barely a whisper, “It could have been me…” Antoinette turned and stared at her. Then she moved quickly to Elizabeth's side and took her good hand.

“I will not hear any more of such nonsense.” Antoinette took a deep breath, and a sly smile graced her still beautiful, though marred face. “I would, however, enjoy hearing more of these plans to travel to America.”

When a young girl came carrying their tea, she found Elizabeth and Antoinette in earnest conversation, enough to lay the foundation for the French woman's future.

*--* *--*

Colonel Fitzwilliam took out the papers he had found in Simmons' London lodgings. Most of the entries made veiled reference to his contacts and endeavors in New York, and Fitzwilliam felt the information would greatly forward and substantiate Aubrey's claims. There is time enough for that,[i] he thought as he glanced through the pages. It wasn't until he reached the last dozen or so pages that he felt his pulse begin to climb. There, in the entries from January of that year, Fitzwilliam began seeing the initials, “LS,” and then “LB,” “RM” and finally “U”. All three were linked by Lady Southeby's gaming table. [i]We were right; they did know each other! He traced the evolution of their acquaintanceship, realizing that Simmons' was more an observer of the local activities, and the characters frequenting such establishments. What he was surprised to find was that the oily toad, Upschtart, held markers on both Merriweather and Blainard. Fitzwilliam's blood froze when he read the last entry.

“…very surprised last night at LS's. U there, fidgeting as usual, only this time, the stars caught me. Came round for a closer look, and as if expecting me, U flashed the fob, running his finger around the edge. I almost spilled my snifter when I saw that it was lined with tea…”

*--* *--*

June, 1812
London docks

The sun had barely risen that morning when Elizabeth, Georgiana and Fitzwilliam Darcy descended from their carriage at the Exwell Dock. The large passenger ship, Quicksilver, was a bustle of sailors and footmen loading trunks and making last minute preparations. As they walked along the wooden pier towards the ship, they eagerly sought out their friends who were this day embarking on the voyage of their lives. Antoinette du Marche, Clarice Bonhomme and Henri Bastillon were heading for Quebec City and were now eagerly searching for the Darcys.

Georgiana first caught sight of them, “Clarice!” she called enthusiastically, before running off to embrace her friend. Darcy and Elizabeth looked at each other and smiled. They hastened to join their sister. Darcy clasped Bastillon's hand in a hearty shake before bowing to Mademoiselles Clarice and Antoinette and Madame Lestart. He looked at Antoinette, whom he had beheld so many times before. His heart stopped for a moment, in shock of the violence she had suffered. The women had not let him see her after her attack. Now, over a month later, the scars were still what men saw first, not the allure, nor the intelligence behind her façade of seduction. He thanked God she had accepted their offer, and could begin her life again. In Canada, her physical disfigurement would be enough to cope with without the taint of her past to degrade her.

The women bowed to the imposing man, and Antoinette looked at him, while a thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. This was the first time she had seen him since he had left her five months before. So much has changed since then. I have died and been reborn. It is as if that life… that woman no longer exists. She smiled and curtsied to Elizabeth. They exchanged a look of acceptance and forgiveness before Elizabeth opened her arms and embraced the woman.

Antoinette was shocked at the gracious gesture, astonished when she heard Elizabeth whisper, “I am so grateful for your recovery, Mademoiselle, and pray for your happiness.” She pulled back, looking deeply into Elizabeth's eyes, tears welling in her own.

“Merci, Madame Darcy. And I for you and yours.” Both women composed themselves, and as the warning bell rang in their ears, Madame Lestart ushered the émigrés onboard. The Darcys remained on the pier, waving as the little party made its way up the plank. Darcy had come beside Elizabeth, his arm pulling her close to him, his lips gently kissing her hair. She heard him whisper, “I love you, Elizabeth Darcy, with all my heart. I always will. You never cease to amaze me.” She looked up at him lovingly, until Georgiana alerted them that Madame Lestart was returning to the dock, hastily wiping tears from her eyes.

“Mon Dieu,” she repeated as she approached the Darcys. “I never thought it would be so trés difficile to part with that little chick.” Elizabeth put her arm around the saddened aunt. “She is all I have left, you know?” She felt Elizabeth squeeze her shoulder and sigh.

“May we take you somewhere, Madame?” offered Darcy.

“Merci. That would be most kind.”

As the Quicksilver headed out to sea, the Darcys and Madame Lestart returned to the street and the Darcy carriage elegantly awaiting them.

Approaching the carriage swaggered a slatternly dressed Lord Blainard. As recognition claimed them, all four tensed, preparing for the unpleasantness they were sure would come. Blainard stood waiting, blocking entrance to the barouche, instantly alerting the footman that trouble was nigh. Darcy gripped his walking stick, dropped Elizabeth's arm, and stepped in front of the women, who banded together behind him and to his side. Instinctively, the women maneuvered Georgiana in between their more seasoned bodies.

Before any could speak, Blainard slurred, “Now I see where my little French trollop has been hiding.”

“What do you want, Blainard?”

“Oh, I believe you know what I want, Darcy.” Blainard indicated his intoxication by his breath and the slur of his speech. “The question is what I will accept in exchange for my little pastry escaping before my pleasure is sat-i-ated. What have you to offer that will appease me?” He looked lasciviously over to Elizabeth and then Georgiana.

“Enough, Blainard! This ends now, once and for all.”

“No!” was heard from all three women.

“In two days time. My second will contact you.”

Blainard practically stumbled in his exaggerated bow, “I await his arrival with bated breath.” He tried to take Elizabeth by the arm, but felt the hard wood of Darcy's stick across his chest instead. The ladies quickly moved into the carriage, where the footman stood, ready to assist them; his eyes never leaving the man facing his employer.

“Be on your way, Blainard,” Darcy spoke with controlled rage. He entered his carriage as the footman kept watch. When Darcy was installed within, his man climbed aboard and the driver urged the horses forward.

*--* *--*

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