Steady to his purpose - Chapters 1 and 2

Posted By: Joana S
Date: Wednesday, 9 August 2006, at 6:38 a.m.

Blurb: At the end of the half-hour in the Netherfield library, during which Mr. Darcy had studiously pretended to ignore Elizabeth, a note is delivered that would change the course of history…
A Regency story

DNA

Dear All,

I have discovered this site some two years ago, maybe more, and I have spent a great number of very happy hours thanks to you all. I wish there was a way to express what a delight it has been, other than by means of a very warm `thank you!' which somehow still does not seem to do it justice!
I have been privileged to read your thoughts, and felt it was about time I shared mine.
This is the product of a long-term obsession with a certain author and her books, as well as of the happy time spent on this site.
As others have said before me, I have been influenced by you all and once again, thank you!!!

As you will notice, I have taken numerous liberties with all sorts of things, including our favourite author's text and timing and bent it to my purpose, but I hope you will enjoy it.
Any comment would be greatly appreciated.

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RA

“…Elizabeth had been at Netherfield long enough. She attracted him more than he liked - and Miss Bingley was uncivil to her, and more teazing than usual to himself. He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea has been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half an hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.”

Pride and Prejudice, Chapter 12

Part One

Chapter 1

He would have been hard-pressed however to relate the contents of the pages he had so thoroughly perused with feigned absorption as, despite his best efforts, he could scarcely be aware of else but her presence. He would not glance in her direction - by God, he would not! - not that he needed to. He did not need to look to know that the sunlight was turning her beautiful auburn hair into hues of the warmest of autumns, that her brow would be slightly creased in delightful concentration and that every once and again she would bite the corner of her lip as she read, in a fashion that he could not help but find most endearing.

He held back what would have been a long exhalation and turned it into a cough. This would not do. It would not do at all! He turned another page and readjusted his position in the comfortable chair - not that it felt very comfortable at the moment. Nothing would.

Suddenly, the sound of a book being closed and placed on a table drew his attention and Darcy allowed himself to raise his eyes. She had indeed placed the book on the small table beside her chair and stood to leave. He was glad. He should be glad. The last half hour was uncomfortable at best, not in the slightest reminiscent of the inner peace he found in a library, even in the sparse Netherfield library. In that at least Miss Bingley was right. Netherfield's library was indeed nothing to Pemberley's. Not that it troubled him other than it became tedious after a time to peruse the same passages that one had read the day before - and the day before that.

The thought of the library at Pemberley brought back the picture of the familiar, comfortable place before his mind's eye and Darcy felt more at ease for a moment - before an unsettling picture intruded. Sunlight streaming through the great south-facing windows, lighting autumn fires in Elizabeth's auburn hair, as she would sit and read across the room from him. Elizabeth's smile - she had long since ceased to be Miss Bennet to him, or even Miss Elizabeth - as she would raise her eyes from her book and cast him a look of shared understanding… companionship… and love.

Darcy cast aside thoughts of a life that could not be and stood to bow to her as she passed him with a slight nod of her head. He was glad, he reminded himself, glad to have the library to himself again and not to have to force every fibre of his being to play the charade of ignoring her presence. It was for the best, he repeated, dismissing the acute sense of loss he experienced as she glided softly past him, for the ramblings of an ungovernable fool.

She was but a few steps away when the door opened and a footman appeared carrying a tray with a note, which he held out to her.

“This arrived for you just now from Longbourn, Ma'am”, the footman announced as he delivered it. “The lad who brought it said it was most urgent.”

Darcy saw her shake her head, and having been exposed to the joys of Mrs. Bennet's society only the day before, could easily conjecture the turn of her mind as she dismissed the footman with a `Thank you' and a gracious smile before she opened her note.

Would Mrs. Bennet insist that her eldest daughters extended their stay, as surely there could be no harm in their spending more time in the company of the most eligible bachelors in the environs? `Ten thousand a year, my dear, and very likely more!' rang in his ears, and a shudder of disgust which he could not fully suppress shook his frame.

With such thoughts occupying his mind, he would have missed her faint gasp, had she not been so close. Darcy could not see her countenance, for she was facing the other way, but could not miss her reaching to the back of the nearest chair for support as she whispered “Oh, dear Lord, no!”

Despite his earlier intentions, Darcy found himself at her side before he even became aware he had quitted his place.

“Not bad news from home, Miss Bennet, I hope,” he offered tentatively, and to his utter distress, her only reply was to burst into tears.

“Good God! What is the matter?” cried he with more feeling than politeness as he took her arm and guided her to the nearest chair. Unable to support herself, she sat down and unwittingly Darcy followed, bending down on his knee by her side for a few moments, until quite suddenly he became aware of his posture, so strikingly reminiscent of a proposal. Recollecting himself, he stood and attempted to remove himself to the other end of the room. She was looking so miserably ill however, that it was impossible for Darcy to leave her, or to refrain from saying in a tone of gentleness and commiseration.

“Let me call a maid. Is there nothing you could take, to give you present relief? - A glass of wine; - shall I get you one? - You are very ill.”

“No, thank you”, she replied, endeavouring to recover herself. “There is nothing the matter with me. I am quite well. I am only distressed by some dreadful news which I have just received from Longbourn.”

She burst into tears as she alluded to it, and for a few minutes could not speak another word. Darcy, in wretched suspense, could only say something indistinctly of his concern, and observe her in compassionate silence, as he endeavoured to fathom the cause of her distress. `Some dreadful news', she had said.

Could this signify that something has befallen a loved one?

Darcy drew a sharp breath. He could not claim a full understanding of Elizabeth's family, but in his opinion, there was but one person left at Longbourn whose safety, or rather lack thereof, could affect her so. Dismissing his previous endeavours at distancing himself, Darcy returned to kneel at her side and touched her hand, deep concern in his eyes and his address:

“Miss Bennet”, he enquired gently, “has anything befallen your father?”

Her only response was to nod wretchedly, as her eyes filled anew with tears and she looked away.

“Good God, is he-?”

“No!” cried Elizabeth, with great energy. “No, he is not.”

Neither could utter the dreadful word, and at length she spoke again.

“My sister Mary writes that he was taken ill, at some time before breakfast, it was assumed. My father did not join the family, but this alarmed no one as he would normally be quite happy to forgo a repast if a particular book had taken his fancy. Hill - our housekeeper, that is - has sent a maid with some tea a few hours ago. That is when they found him collapsed on the floor.”

“And what has been done, what has been attempted to revive him?” Darcy asked, in the tone of one used to take charge of the situation, any situation, and for once Elizabeth did not find this offensive, but strangely comforting. Not one used to rely on others, Elizabeth wondered briefly at her feeling somewhat reassured by his manner, and then it became clear. In some unfathomable fashion, it reminded her of her uncle Gardiner.

“I scarcely know. Mr. Jones, the apothecary, has been sent for. He has already seen my father but as yet cannot offer an opinion as to his condition,” Elizabeth replied, wretchedly. “My sister writes to hasten my return,” she added. “They are all in turmoil.”

“But of course!” said Darcy determinedly and stood. “You are undoubtedly eager to return home as soon as may be, Miss Bennet,” he added, and his voice carried a quiet strength that made Elizabeth raise her eyes and square her shoulders, as though his strength was restoring hers. “Will you allow me to order your carriage now? If it is agreeable to you, I am quite prepared to make your excuses to Bingley and the rest of the party, so that you would not have to suffer any further delay. Bingley or I could also inform your sister of the unfortunate turn of events, but I daresay you would prefer to inform her yourself.”

Elizabeth nodded her appreciation of his suggestions, surprise at his thoughtfulness clearly evident in her countenance. Darcy failed to notice or chose not to acknowledge it.

“I believe I can safely speak for Bingley when I say that Miss Bennet would be more than welcome to extend her stay at Netherfield. You are the best judge of what should be done for your sister, of course, but perhaps she need not be told until her recovery is truly underway. Neither of us would wish to have it hindered by the anxiety your current family situation would undoubtedly cause. Moreover, she will probably be better attended at Netherfield, so that all the efforts at Longbourn could be spared for your father.”

“I thank you for your consideration, Mr. Darcy, but Jane would prefer to be with her family at a time like this. She is, I believe, sufficiently recovered to hear the truth. I would not wish it to be withheld from me, had the situation been reversed.”

“Yes, I should imagine so. As I said, you are the best judge of your sister's condition. There is but one question I need to ask before you leave, Miss Bennet,” he added and approached her again. “It may appear a presumptuous interference, but I would beg you not to take offence and accept my offer in the spirit it was given.”

He paused briefly and met her eyes. In response to the silent invitation found therein, Darcy resumed:

“Would you be so kind, Miss Bennet, to allow me to summon my physician from town to attend your father?”

Elizabeth gave an utterly unladylike gasp and her surprise at such a request was unmistakable. This from the man who only a few days ago had arrogantly and disdainfully dismissed the society of Meryton in general and herself in particular as beneath his notice? That he would condescend to offer his superior assistance to a family he only yesterday showed quite clearly that he thought so ill of was nothing short of incredible.

But no, I wrong him now. There was nothing condescending or presumptuous in his offer. On the contrary, she thought, he has shown himself mindful of my wishes and almost… considerate!

At length, she recollected herself sufficiently to answer, if not with perfect coherence, at least with perfect civility - indeed a lot more civility that she had only yesterday believed that the gentleman before her deserved.

“It is a very generous offer indeed, sir, and your kindness is greatly appreciated. However, I should never have presumed… That is… Such an obligation is…”

“No obligation is implied and none should be perceived, Miss Bennet,” Darcy interjected kindly, but with the quiet determination of one used to carry his point. Only too aware of the pain of losing a beloved father, he could not allow this to happen to Elizabeth, of all people, if he could prevent it - but he could not tell her that. “Should I be in a position to offer assistance to my fellow man,” he said instead, “I could not in good conscience withhold it. It is no more than you would expect from any of your neighbours…”

“But I did not expect it from you!” Elizabeth replied without thinking. She saw him start at this and blushed in severe mortification at her ill-judged comment.

“I beg you would excuse my unfortunate remark!” she apologised quietly. “Particularly today, in the face of your kind efforts on behalf of my family, I am indeed most…”

“Pray, Miss Bennet, let us waste no more time over this,” Darcy replied, this time with all of his habitual coldness. A deeper shade of hauteur overspread his features as he added, “If I should ever have the good fortune of being able to be of service to you, Miss Bennet, I should not wish, by doing so, to forfeit the privilege of hearing your true opinion of me, unadulterated by expressions of gratitude. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I should speak to Bingley and sent an express to Dr Helstone.”

He bowed and would have left the library but for Elizabeth's urgent request:

“Mr. Darcy, please, I cannot allow you to leave without hearing my sincere apology. It is not prompted by gratitude, sir, but by justice. On this occasion at least, I had no intention to plague you with my impertinence,” she added, and Darcy's displeasure softened at the familiar mixture of archness and sweetness that he knew so well, which had been missing from her repartee ever since she had read the note from Longbourn. She thought for a moment, then continued, “As I have just demonstrated, there is a lot to be said for thinking before opening one's mouth, and perhaps I should be mindful of this, and also of the old adage which claims that every attempt to correct a faux pas will only serve to make it worse; however, I cannot let you go without speaking my mind, sir. I was surprised by your kind offer, Mr. Darcy, and no, I was not expecting it, for a variety of reasons. It was also quite unexpected for me that, of all the persons of my acquaintance, I can think of but one other who would have been as thorough and as considerate in his offer of assistance. I thank you for your generous concern, sir, and I beg you would overlook my comment. It was unfortunate and was not meant as it sounded. I only wished to say that… there is more than meets the eye and that… it is worth remembering that first impressions are often misleading… sir.”

Her eyes met his as she said this last, and this time it was not their mesmerising sparkle that sent Darcy's thoughts in ungovernable turmoil.

First impressions? Misleading? Whatever can she mean?

The assembly, of course!

Much to his mortification, Darcy remembered his distemper on the occasion, and that he had not presented his best face to the world that evening. He had snubbed her relations, her mother at least, if memory served, and…

Good God! `Tolerable'! I called her tolerable, and in her hearing as well, by all accounts! No wonder she took offence! She must think me devoid of every proper feeling!

“Miss Bennet, I…”

Words failed him, and rightly so. What sort of apology could he offer, for such gratuitous and unprovoked insolence? Darcy could only hope that his actions would speak louder than his inconsiderate words, and that she would forgive him. Perhaps she already had. Did she not just now acknowledge that first impressions may have been misleading, and thanked him for his consideration?

And then he remembered the rest of her words. There was but one other who would have come to her aid in like fashion, she had said. An unreasonable, but nevertheless intense wave of jealousy swept over him. Who? Who was the man?

With an effort, he recollected himself. It mattered not. Much as it pained him to admit this, it could not matter to him whether she held another man in her esteem. He suddenly took his leave, impressing Elizabeth once more with the belief that indeed every attempt to correct a faux pas would only make matters worse, before she dismissed thoughts of everything else but her father's safety.

Chapter 2

The carriage raced to Longbourn as fast as the driver felt it was safe for it to do so, and almost as fast as Mr. Bingley had ordered him to travel.

Both gentlemen had come to see her off and offer wishes of speedy recovery for her father. Mr. Bingley was actually quite put out that the carriage had already been readied and waiting, as he felt it only proper that he should have driven her in his curricle, and went as far as to remonstrate with Darcy:

“Of course I do not mind you had already ordered the carriage, but send her off? What were you thinking, man?”

In truth, the man did think he would have liked to drive her to Longbourn himself, but there was little wisdom in doing so. There was little doubt that Miss Bennet would have preferred to be alone with her thoughts and her anxiety, and despite his compelling wish to be by her side and support her in this hour of need, he needed not remind himself it was not his place to do so. Instead, he watched her leave with a haggard look on her face that tore at his heart.

*

Elizabeth leaned her head against the cold window and closed her eyes. She had accomplished a swifter departure from Netherfield than she would have expected. Fortunately, the ladies of the house were from home, and she was not exposed to their insincere wishes and impertinent curiosity.

She had raced above stairs to Jane, to acquaint her with the worrisome news and it took all her powers of persuasion to deter Jane from her purpose to travel back to Longbourn with her on the same day. The sisters embraced and Elizabeth promised to send word with the returning carriage as to the current state of their father. She felt rather guilty at the thought that her insistence that Jane should not rush to Longbourn straight away was fuelled as much by concern for her sister's health as by her own reluctance to further delay her departure. She was wild to be at home - to hear, to see, to be upon the spot, and her impatience was severe.

Fortunately, the carriage had been readied by the time she had returned from Jane's chamber, and she could spy Mr. Bingley, as well as Mr. Darcy awaiting her arrival in earnest conversation. They fell silent as she approached, and Mr. Bingley stepped forward to offer his expressions of concern and support.

“Do not be concerned for your sister, Miss Bennet,” he added, as he handed her in the carriage. “She will be well attended, and I shall personally see that she is safely delivered to Longbourn.”

“I thank you, sir”, Elizabeth smiled weakly at Bingley, before turning her eyes towards his friend. “And you, Mr. Darcy”, she added.

Darcy took a step towards the carriage and bowed.

“Our thoughts and prayers are with your father, Miss Bennet,” he said quietly. “Take heart, perhaps his condition is not as severe as your sister was led to believe. In any case, the express had been sent just over half-hour ago. Dr. Helstone should be with you before midnight.”

Tears came to her eyes as her father's condition was mentioned, and Elizabeth looked away. “Thank you”, she repeated, and he nodded, clutching his hands behind his back to stop himself from opening that blasted door and joining her in the carriage.

The agony of an ailing beloved father - he knew it too well. How could he bring himself to let her endure it alone, when all that he wished he could do was to hold her, and have her cry on his shoulder if she would?

Nevertheless, he lifted his hand in silent adieu as the carriage set off at Bingley's bidding, and Elizabeth responded briefly before sinking into the cushions, alone with her anxiety and her prayers.

*

The house was eerily quiet as she let herself in through the front door. There was no sign of Kitty or Lydia. Their mother, she knew, would have already taken to her bed, presumably even before the servants had had the chance to carry her father to his, but Elizabeth would have expected to hear her voice from the bottom of the stairs. Instead there was nothing and, gripped by fear, Elizabeth ran to her father's chamber.

The door was ajar and she could see Mrs. Hill beside the sick bed and, surprisingly, Kitty, wiping their father's brow with a cloth. He looked pale and very frail as he lay there, and Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears.

“Lizzy!” sounded the quiet but relief-filled voice of Mary from behind her, making her jump. “You are come. It is good to see you.”

Kitty raised her eyes with a relieved sob and ran to her. Before knowing how it came about and whose was the initial impulse, Elizabeth found herself embracing both her sisters, damp faces against her own.

“How is Papa?” she asked as she pulled away.

Mary sighed, “There has been no change. Mr. Jones said he will return within the hour, and that we should attempt to keep him as comfortable as possible, not to speak to him or too near him and not attempt to move him. He will prepare some draughts which, he hopes, might help him recover his consciousness.”

“He has not awaken then, since he was found?”

“No, not at all”, replied Kitty brokenly, and Elizabeth covered her eyes with one hand, then forced a smile as she held her sisters' hands.

“There is hope, my dears! Mr. Darcy had sent for his physician and, he believes, we might be able to expect him by midnight…”

“Mr. Darcy?” asked both Kitty and Mary in utter disbelief, followed by a flurry of questions.

“How does he know our troubles?”

“And he would truly send for his own physician from town?”

“What does Jane think of this? How is she?”

“How is it that…?”

“Jane is well, and will return home tomorrow. As to Mr. Darcy, I happened to be in his company when your note arrived, Mary,” Elizabeth interjected, eager to be done with all the explanations, “and yes, he kindly offered to send for his own doctor. Dr. Helstone is bound to know more than Mr. Jones what should be done for Papa! Which reminds me, Mrs. Hill, will you please see that a room is readied for him? It should be closest to Papa's. The amber room should do.”

Hill bobbed a curtsey and left, with a reassuring pat on her young mistress' arm, and Mary smiled.

“It is good to have you back, Lizzy!”, she said again.

“And Mamma? How is she? And Lydia?”

“Mamma took to her room straight away,” replied Mary evenly. “Mr. Jones endeavoured to explain to her that we should all keep our voices down and that father should not be disturbed, but I fear in the end he had to administer some Laudanum…”

Remarkable inspiration! The effect will wear off soon enough, thought Elizabeth, and then chastised herself for the uncharitable thought.

“As for Lydia”, Mary resumed, “I thought it best if she stayed with our aunt Phillips for a few days. Our Aunt had asked Kitty too, but she would not leave me.”

Elizabeth squeezed Kitty's hand without conveying her surprise at her, for once, not having followed Lydia on the path to amusements. Instead, she urged both her sisters:

“You should rest now, you must be exhausted. I shall stay with Papa.”

Marry and Kitty nodded, too tired to argue the point, and Elizabeth walked quietly to the chair Kitty had previously occupied, at her father's side. She leaned forward to gently brush his face with her fingers and suppressed a sob at the feel of the eerie coldness of his skin. Elizabeth bent her head to lay her cheek against the back of her father's motionless hand, then brushed her lips against it.

“Papa”, she whispered. “Dearest Papa, return to us, I beg you. Do not leave us yet, Papa.”

With a sigh, she remembered Mr. Jones' injunction against speaking to him, and resumed the brushing of his brow with a damp cloth, as she had seen Kitty do, and kept her fervent wishes and prayers to the privacy of her own heart.

Chapter Three

Posted on Sunday, 13 August 2006

Much to Elizabeth's, and indeed everybody's relief, Mr. Darcy had been proven right in his estimations. Some time before midnight, as Elizabeth and Mary were attending their father, their attention was suddenly drawn to the window by the sound of a carriage. They could not see much, other than a small equipage having pulled up outside their front door. Elizabeth rushed downstairs, just as Mrs. Hill was admitting the visitor.

"I am come to see Mr. Bennet," the newcomer said, "at the request of Mr. Darcy of Pemberley. I am Dr. Helstone."

Elizabeth advanced to him as she would to her saviour.

"Do come in, sir," she urged breathlessly. "We were expecting you. Thank you for arriving so promptly. My father's sick room is this way."

She led the way to her father's chamber where, at Dr. Helstone's request, a brief account of the occurrences of the day was given, with Mary's aid, in hushed whispers.

"You need not be overly concerned about keeping the sick room that quiet," Dr Helstone observed, as he bent over his bag to retrieve some items of necessity in examining his patient.

"Oh!" Elizabeth replied. "Mr. Jones, the apothecary, instructed my sisters to refrain from speaking to and around my father, and under no circumstances attempt to move him."

It was not politic for Dr. Helstone to publicly disagree with the opinion of the local disciple of Asclepius(*), however antiquated his practice and principles were, so the good doctor kept his response brief and to the point.

"Hm! While I would concur regarding any attempts to move your father, for the time being at least, I would not urge you to strive to be so silent. It is my belief that voices of loved ones may soothe the patient, and help reach him where my cordials might not. You both have pleasant voices, young ladies. I doubt your father would mind hearing you," the doctor added with a smile, and then bade them to retire and summon Mr. Bennet's man, so that he could examine the patient.

With the injunction lifted, Elizabeth bent over to kiss her father's brow and whispered, "I will leave you now, Papa, but I will not be long," then followed Mary out of the room. Mary offered to return to Mrs. Hill to order some refreshment for the doctor and summon the man to assist him. Elizabeth made her way to the amber room, to see for herself that the visitor chamber had been prepared to satisfaction, when she was arrested by a call from her mother's room.

"What is the matter? What is this commotion? Are we to be murdered in our sleep? I daresay it's better than starving in the hedgerows! Is anyone here? Hill! Hill!"

Elizabeth stepped back to close the door to her father's chamber and, with a long, deep sigh, entered her mother's room.

"Lizzy! What do you here? I thought you at Netherfield. And Jane? Is my dear child come too? She had not secured Mr. Bingley yet, had she? What are we to do, what are we to do? What is to become of us if your father passes away? Dear Lizzy, what is to become of us?"

Uncharitably, Elizabeth wished that her aunt Phillips had offered to take her mother for a few days, as well as Lydia and, failing that, for a fresh dose of Laudanum.

However, since she had neither at her disposal, she endeavoured to soothe her mother's spirits as best she could. She informed her of the arrival of Dr Helstone, leaving out the details concerning Mr. Darcy's role in the matter.

This intelligence will reach her mother soon enough, she sighed, prepared to be mortified by her expressions of gratitude as much as she had been by her mother's open dislike of the gentleman, manifested with no restraint since the Assembly.

Elizabeth endeavoured to remind herself that her mother's dislike was sharpened into particular resentment in response to the slight she herself had suffered from the part of the gentleman, and that Mrs. Bennet may have been mortifyingly loud and generally devoid of all decorum, but no-one, not even her least favourite daughter, could suspect her of lack of maternal feelings.

She could not forgive her mother for being concerned more for their future than for Mr. Bennet's condition per se, but at least she had to acknowledge that her mother was distressed about the fate and prospects of her progeny and not solely about her own material comforts.

Elizabeth listened with more patience than usual to her mother's account of tremblings and flutterings, spasms in her side, pains in her head and beatings at her heart. She wished Mrs. Bennet more capable of restraint and exertion, but wisely resolved not to pine for what could not be had. Her mother had required constant attendance in the face of minor vexations for as long as her daughters could remember and if she fancied herself nervous, then at least on this occasion her 'nerves' were more than justified.

As soon as her mother's monologue allowed, Elizabeth assured her that someone will be sent to her room with tea and a cordial but no, not Hill, as she was required below-stairs to attend to Dr. Helstone and his eventual instructions pertaining to her father. Her forbearance was taxed beyond endurance however when her mother required that the doctor attended her, as soon as he had had a chance to examine Mr. Bennet.

In her answer, Elizabeth endeavoured to put an end to every expectation of the kind and left the room devoid of any of the newly-acquired charitable feelings for her mother.

(*)Asclepius or Asklepios, in Greek Mythology, the god of medicine and healing.

Elizabeth returned to her father's room only to find Mary waiting outside the door for the doctor to announce that he had finished his examination. It did not take long before they were told that indeed he had.

"What news, then, Dr. Helstone?" Elizabeth asked breathlessly. "Is there anything you can tell us?"

"It is perhaps too soon to form a final opinion, Miss Bennet, but I have some ideas as to your father's state. There is a certain rumbling in his chest to indicate a condition he had had for a long time, possibly from as early as his birth, or as a result of a putrid fever in his childhood. This has somehow made him light-headed this morning and caused him to fall. It is mainly because of that fall that he had lost his consciousness. I would be inclined to believe that he had hit his head quite violently, to cause such a shock."

"So he will be well?!" interjected Elizabeth, wild with hope.

"He is in no immediate danger," replied Dr Helstone cautiously. "It is too soon to tell. Some people with his condition get to live a long and fruitful life ... and some do not. It is not widely known why it is so, and it is difficult to tell in advance whether the condition will worsen swiftly or slowly or not at all. I cannot tell you more at this juncture, other than I see no reason why your father should not regain his consciousness soon. When he does, he should be spared from exertions of any kind, and from any irritations and emotions, until we have had a chance to ascertain the true state of his health."

Having heard worse news than they hoped, but better than they expected, Mary and Elizabeth urged the doctor to take some refreshment and rest. The first was gratefully accepted, the later declined. It was therefore decided that Elizabeth will remain in the sick room, while Mary will keep the doctor company while he partook of a light repast. Then the doctor will return to the sick room and Mary will rest for a while, then come to relieve Elizabeth in the early hours of the morning.

It was in the early hours of the morning that it happened.

Dr. Helstone was dozing in a wing-chair, having spent the past hours keeping a close watch on Mr. Bennet's condition. At regular intervals he would stir and feel the patient's pulse and peer under his eyelids for signs known only to him. Elizabeth would watch in awed fascination as he would perform his tasks, then, as soon as Dr Helstone would return to his great chair, she would return to her father's side, hold his hand and talk to him.

She had at first started to talk about her time at Netherfield, with the thought that, as her father had always appreciated and had been highly diverted by inconsistencies of any kind, in their customary conversations, he might, in some way, hear her and be diverted by Miss Bingley's relentless pursuit of Mr. Darcy, by Mr. Hurst's propensity to fall asleep in company, by Mr. Darcy's deeply held opinions of his own superiority of mind, and ability to keep his pride under good regulation. Her father would have been diverted by that, she knew, almost as much as she herself had been.

However, she could not tell him any of these! Not only because she could not recount such occurrences in the presence of Mr. Darcy's personal physician, who might or might not be asleep at the time, but quite unexpectedly she came to see that she could not deride the man, not even for the amusement of her beloved father.

It was as she had told Mr. Darcy himself in the library. Yes, he had been offensive, overbearing, arrogant and prideful - No, I did not tell him that, thank goodness!, Elizabeth thought to herself with a smile, fully aware that she had said more than enough as it was - but with him, there appeared to be more than met the eye. And although in her mind Elizabeth could not even come close to reconciling the two sides of Mr. Darcy that she herself had been occasioned to see, she was willing to acknowledge that perhaps he was not quite as bad as the entire Meryton would have him and as for herself, she was prepared to forsake the past grievances, and remember nothing but the gratitude owed him for what he had done for her father.

As she could not divert Mr. Bennet with stories of Netherfield, Elizabeth would then bend close to her father's ear and tell him of the past. Follies and scrapes that he knew well of, and some that he did not. Little treasures, little secrets, memories of a time which would never return, and all for the hope that he would.

And later, when the last set of candles had almost burned out, he did. Elizabeth saw his eyelids flutter ever so slightly and would have dismissed this for idle hope and play of flickering light on tired eyes, had she not felt his fingers moving briefly under hers.

"Papa?" she asked quietly, but with all the hope she could muster, and all the love she felt for him.

"Lizzy?," came the faint whisper. "I thought you a dream ... I am so happy you are back ..."

"So am I, Papa. So am I." I am so happy you are.

Sunlight streaming through the bedroom window fell on Elizabeth's face and woke her just after eight o'clock, as she had hoped it would when she had left the curtains open. She stretched and rubbed her eyes. She could not have had more than four hours' sleep, but that did not matter! Taking as little time as possible, Elizabeth readied herself for the day and left her room. She stopped in her father's chambers to see how he was faring. In a quiet whisper, Mary told her that the doctor had decided that Mr. Bennet was now in a restful sleep, rather than in an unconscious state, before he himself repaired to the room they have readied for him, for a few hours' rest.

Kitty had not stirred yet, and neither had their mother, and Elizabeth decided she would not rouse them, not even for the good news. Kitty was too tired, and she was full young for all the pain of anxiety she had had to endure over the course of the last day. As for Mrs. Bennet, as soon as she awoke, the entire household would, and Elizabeth saw no occasion for that.

She went down to see to a light breakfast, to be served as soon as Dr Helstone would feel equal to it. As for herself and Mary, she took a tray for both of them to her father's bedroom. Mary was urged to rest, but she declined, saying that she did not feel too tired and that the day was to beautiful to be shut out. They spent the next hour in companionable silence, interrupted only by the doctor's arrival to check on the patient. Mary then accompanied Dr Helstone to the breakfast parlour, and Elizabeth was left with her father.

Much to her joy, they were still alone when he awoke, so she could come and embrace him quietly, kiss his brow and not have to share him either with any of her sisters, or with the doctor's professional concern. The only effort required of her was to stem the tide of her tears.

"There, there," Mr. Bennet patted her head affectionately, his own eyes moist. "Have I given you a lot of trouble, then?"

"Not overmuch!" said Elizabeth, laughing through her tears. "You are well now, thank goodness, and that is all that matters."

"What happened?"

To that, Elizabeth gave as brief and placid an account as she could possibly muster. She may have had tears in her eyes as she had greeted her father when he awoke, and that could not be helped, but the excessive display of emotion, and harmful anxiety - which the doctor had warned so strongly against - could.

They spent a happy half-hour together, talking of everything and nothing and simply enjoying each other's company, then the doctor returned, and Elizabeth found it expedient, rather than desirable, to leave them and go to their mother, to inform her of their good fortune.

Elizabeth prided herself to be a great connoisseur of human folly, and an even greater one of her mother's, but even to her, Mrs. Bennet's reaction was a surprise.

As soon as she heard the news, her mother left her bed and donned her robe in great haste, all the while exclaiming as loudly as only she could, and thoroughly disregarding her daughter's pleas for calm and silence.

"Lord bless me! Oh, my sweetest Lizzy! And is it really true? Your father is alive and well? My dear, dear Mr. Bennet, how good of you! Did I not tell you, Lizzy, that you girls have the very best of fathers? He could not bear to leave you all destitute and has exerted himself! Ring the bell, Lizzy, for Hill. I will put on my things in a moment. Oh, the joy! We will not have to make way for that odious cousin of his! I will go to Meryton, as soon as I am dressed, and tell the good, good news to my sister Phillips. Can I do anything for you girls in Meryton? And as I come back, I can call on Lady Lucas and Mrs. Long. Lizzy, run down and order the carriage. An airing would do me a great deal of good, I am sure. But first I must see your father!"

There was no hope at all in Elizabeth preventing her, not even bodily restraint would have served (for modern eyes, read that as rugby tackle) - and the abominable truth is that her daughter did contemplate, for the briefest of moments, such extreme measures.

And so, to everyone's shock, not least the doctor's, a moment later, Mrs. Bennet burst in her husband's chambers, bedclothes, robe and frilly cap fluttering about her, and flung herself at him, with a cry of "Oooooh! Mr. Bennet !!!"

"What in God's name-!!" the doctor cried, shocked beyond anything he had experienced in his life. "Madam, desist! Desist at once!" he ordered, attempting to rescue his patient from the sudden onslaught. "I demand that you unhand my patient, remove yourself immediately from the sick chamber and cease this dreadful racket! Miss Bennet," he cried to a mortified Elizabeth, "who is this woman?"

For once in her life, Mrs. Bennet did Elizabeth a great kindness and preserved her from having to provide an answer to this question, for she squared her shoulders, raised herself at full height and replied:

"I am the Mistress of this house! And who are you, sir, to address me in such intolerable a fashion?"

But before the doctor could respond, Mrs. Bennet, who may have been of mean understanding, but not entirely devoid of perception, remembered that the irate gentleman had asked her to unhand his patient, and her indignation instantly left her.

The same, however, could not be said of Dr Helstone, who, after briefly checking that his patient did not suffer a relapse, turned to Mrs. Bennet and addressed her firmly:

"Madam, I am Dr. Reginald Helstone, at your service. As the one person fully responsible for your husband's health, I deem it of utmost importance, Madam, that I speak to you in private, as soon as may be. Would you be so kind as to grant me an audience in the morning room at your earliest convenience?"

A very subdued Mrs. Bennet nodded her acquiescence and disappeared to dress. The doctor excused himself and proceeded below stairs. Elizabeth came to embrace her father. As to Mr. Bennet, as soon as the door closed, burst in the most violent access of mirth he had experienced in the whole course of his life - and under the circumstances, it was strange and wonderful that he had survived it.

When Mrs. Bennet entered the breakfast room, Dr Helstone was pacing, with his hands behind his back, in an attitude which would have instantaneously reminded Elizabeth of his illustrious patient from Derbyshire. He bowed in greeting and waited for Mrs. Bennet to take a seat, which she did, with a great deal of fidgeting.

"Madam, if you would allow me," he began, "I would like to present my apologies for my manner of address in the sick chamber. I was unaware of whom I had the honour of speaking to," he added, and to his credit, not a single muscle twitched at this assertion. "I however feel incumbent upon me to warn you, Madam, that such displays must cease forthwith. Your husband's condition is a delicate one. He has been fortunate to survive this attack but, if I may be so blunt as to warn you, he might not survive the next. He must be therefore protected from exertion, emotion and anxiety of any kind, not only now, when he had just started on the path to recovery, but also in future. It is your responsibility, Madam, and that of your daughters, to be as preventive as possible in order to ensure Mr. Bennet's continued state of heath. It may sound harsh, Madam, but I cannot withhold the truth from you. Vex him, teaze him, even worry him as to his state of health, and you stand a good chance of killing him!"

Frances Bennet, née Gardiner, had always fancied herself of a nervous disposition and had indulged in many a fit of vapours over the entire course of her life. It came as a great shock, therefore, on this sunny autumn day and in the autumn of her days, to experience her first real fainting fit.

The good doctor revived her and then, at Mrs. Bennet's request, kindly escorted her to her room, from whence she did not stir until the following morning, when she quietly roused herself and joined the family at the breakfast table with less disturbance than anyone had ever thought possible.

Chapter Four

Posted on Thursday, 17 August 2006

Soon after her mother was escorted by the doctor to her room, Elizabeth left her father in Mary's capable hands and joined Kitty, who had been roused by the commotion, to the breakfast parlour. It was with great joy that Kitty received the news of her father's improved condition. With some alarm, Kitty then inquired as to the source of the disturbance, then speculated on what could Dr Helstone have said to their mother to render her so subdued.

Elizabeth could only guess but, as she had been warned the night before, after Dr Helstone had completed his examination, her guess could not be too far off the mark. They were in earnest conversation as to the ways to persuade their mother, and particularly Lydia, to be more attentive to their father's comfort - not knowing that Mrs. Bennet had perforce been already persuaded - when the sound of a carriage drew their attention.

"You should not spy from the window, Kitty, it's hardly ladylike!" Elizabeth remonstrated, but without too much conviction. After a day and a night such as they had, they deserved any entertainment there was to be had.

"Oh, Lizzy, don't scold, it's Jane! She is come!" Kitty cried, and both sisters rushed breathlessly to meet the carriage, which had by that time come to a halt before their front door. It was indeed Jane, but she was not alone. Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had apparently accompanied the carriage on horseback.

As Elizabeth and Kitty hurried outside, Mr. Bingley, who had been the first to dismount, rushed to open the door for Jane and hand her down, then greeted the Miss Bennets. Mr. Darcy dismounted more leisurely and handed the reins to a stable lad, before turning towards the ladies, by which time he had lost all their attention, as Elizabeth and Kitty rushed to embrace Jane and to respond to her eager questions:

"What news? What news, Lizzy? How does Papa?"

"Better. He's better, Jane, praise the Lord!" Elizabeth exclaimed with fervour, tears sparkling in her eyes, and the breath caught in Darcy's throat.

She is the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld! Without a doubt, she is!

Love shone in her eyes as clearly as the glimmer of tears, and Darcy was shaken to the core to witness it.

The thought of such light being sparked by love for him almost brought tears to his eyes. Almost, but not quite. Years of rigorous discipline had served him well, and Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley was able to step forward with perfect civility, as well as the semblance of perfect composure, when the ladies were ready to greet him and his friend.

"Mr. Bingley!", Elizabeth spoke for herself and Kitty, "thank you for returning my sister to us. And Mr. Darcy," she added, with a smile that lit up her face and her eyes, "a pleasure to see you, sir."

Fool! Ten times a fool and worse than a fool! Darcy berated himself, as her friendly look and undivided attention made small work of all his valiant efforts and wise resolutions. To have thought all this time at Netherfield that she enjoyed my company as we bantered! This is how she looks when she is pleased to see me. Then, I'd wager, she could barely tolerate me!

The irony of himself being barely tolerable did not escape him and was quite welcome, on closer inspection, as it brought a smile to his lips and prevented him from feeling something akin to despondency.

"I am delighted to hear of your father's improvement, Miss Bennet", Bingley said, his eyes just for Jane. "May I offer my most sincere congratulations."

Darcy seconded his friend with sentiments as sincere, although more reservedly expressed; the ladies thanked them both and extended an invitation to the house for some refreshment.

"We would not wish to intrude...", said Bingley half-heartedly, but as there was a general wish that they accept the invitation, it did not take much pressure for the entire party to make its way into the parlour. Refreshments were ordered and promptly Jane excused herself to see her father, followed by Kitty.

Much to Bingley's delight, Jane returned shortly, as Mr. Bennet was currently resting. Dr. Helstone accompanied her and advanced with a broad smile towards Darcy.

"Mr. Darcy, it is good to see you, sir. I have heard you were visiting and I could not but allow myself the pleasure of paying my respects".

Darcy bowed in response, with considerably less reserve than he had exhibited since his arrival.

"The pleasure is all mine, Dr. Helstone, I assure you, as well as the gratitude for all your efforts on behalf of Mr. Bennet", he said, advancing towards the other man with his hand outstretched, and they shook hands with the obvious mutual respect of people of good breeding and excellent understanding.

Elizabeth could not let it stand without looking earnestly at both as she said:

"I would like to take this opportunity, gentlemen, to thank you both for saving my father's life. Let me assure you that your unprecedented kindness is deeply felt by this family," - Jane nodded earnestly at this - "and that I owe you a debt of gratitude which I could never repay".

Darcy looked distinctly pained at this but it escaped unnoticed, as they all turned their attention to the doctor, who replied:

"In all honesty, Miss Bennet, I cannot take credit for it. Your father was simply ready to awaken from the shock he had suffered, quite independently of anything I might have done. I have in truth done nothing but keep an eye on his progress."

Refreshments being served necessarily prevented any reply from being made and Elizabeth and Jane busied themselves with preparing the tea and coffee. Only Dr. Helstone noticed Darcy taking a few steps away to withdraw to his familiar posture by the window and joined him there.

"You are well, I hope, Mr. Darcy," he enquired casually.

"Quite so, I thank you," the other man roused himself from private ruminations. "You need not trouble yourself with concern on my behalf," he quipped, to mask his discomfort, "as I have no intention to see you as a patient on this occasion. However," he added, with sudden earnestness, "I would greatly appreciate a private interview before you leave the country. Perhaps you would be so kind to call on me at the estate I am currently visiting. It is but three miles from hence. Netherfield it is called, and it belongs to my friend Mr. Bingley, whom I believe you have already met."

"Yes," Bingley interjected, "I have had the pleasure. And I have been thinking," he addressed the company to ascertain their sentiments, "should Mr. Bennet be sufficiently recovered as to not require your constant attention, but still benefit from your occasional visits, perhaps I could persuade Dr Helstone to remove to Netherfield."

"You are very kind, Mr. Bingley", the doctor replied non-committally, as no such plans could as yet be fixed, then excused himself to see to some draughts which should be ordered for Mr. Bennet from the local apothecary.

Shortly after, Bingley inquired of Miss Bennet whether she might find a turn about the garden refreshing, after the anxieties of the day, and whether she would object to him offering his company. This was demurely but with obvious pleasure accepted, and to Darcy's mortification and delight, he found himself alone with Elizabeth.

All reason urged that he should keep to the window, yet he found himself propelled back to the sofa, at her side, and not by politeness.

"Are you well, Miss Bennet?" he enquired with a gentleness of address he could not fully subdue. "You must be very tired."

"Quite so," she smiled, "but it is of no consequence. My father is well, and that is all the restorative I need at present. Please allow me to thank you again for your role in this affair!"

Darcy all but winced. Gratitude! He did not want her gratitude!

What is it that you want, then?

The answer was simple and it came to him in a moment, fully acknowledged and accepted as the absolute truth. He did not want her gratitude. He wanted her love.

Ah, but to what purpose? That was the material point!

Darcy forced such thoughts aside to address the problem at hand. He would not let her dwell on feelings of obligation to him as a passer-by who condescended to scatter good deeds just as fancy took him. It was a favourable light, perhaps, but he did not want that. He wanted her to understand, at least in part.

He could not tell her all, he knew he could not - nay, he knew he should not! - but he could overcome his reserve to tell her at least part of the truth that had urged him on.

"My own excellent father died five years ago, after a long and painful illness, Miss Bennet", he said quietly, "yet the pain of separation is still fresh, both for myself and for my sister. You are very close to your father, it is plain to see, and I could not have you experience his loss, if I could prevent it. Nor any of your sisters," he amended hastily.

Elizabeth nodded her understanding and her appreciation of the sentiment as it had been offered, without noticing the undertones of what was almost implied but then hastily concealed. She found herself quite at a loss for something to say, which in itself was an unsettling novelty in her dealings with that gentleman.

She had willfully plagued him and teazed him, always bordering on the uncivil, and had almost never spoken to him without rather wishing she gave him pain than not.

And then it emerged that Mr. Darcy was human after all, and a good man at that, and Elizabeth was at a loss as to how to respond to this, without the aid of her customary archness and youthful impertinence, and particularly how to respond to such a heartfelt disclosure as the one he had just made.

"I am sorry," she offered at last. "I did not know..."

"No, you could not have. It is not generally known outside the family. I told you because I knew you would understand. We neither of us perform to strangers."

A smile passed between them and it was all that Darcy could do not to gasp. This was what he had imagined, only the day before, in Netherfield's library. Elizabeth's smile as she would raise her eyes and cast him a look of shared understanding and companionship.

But not love.

There was not a hint of tender sentiments in her eyes. He might have foolishly mistaken archness for interest in the past, or he might have even been drawn to confuse her current friendliness for something more, had he not known better now. He had been given the privilege to see into her heart earlier that day, at the very beginning of this his first visit to Longbourn, and he could not flatter himself any longer with the thought that Elizabeth, like any other woman of his acquaintance, would welcome his addresses, should he ever choose to pay them.

It would behoove him therefore to accept three plain truths.

Elizabeth was quite unlike any woman of his acquaintance.

She had not displayed any real interest in him.

And thirdly, all that he could claim was gratitude and, cautiously, a newly established and fragile friendliness.

He should have been pleased by this state of affairs. A Pemberley alliance could not be forged at Longbourn, his well-trained reason told him that. But reason felt cold and uninviting, and her eyes were warm and full of a joy of life such as he had never beheld.

"Miss Bennet..."

To the end of his days, Darcy remained unable to tell what he had been about to say that warm autumn morning in Hertfordshire.

He did not have the occasion to find out. Mrs. Hill appeared in the doorway and announced:

"A Mr. Collins to see your father, Miss Bennet. Will you see him now or shall I ask him to call another time?"

Chapter Five

Posted on Friday, 18 August 2006

Elizabeth turned to the housekeeper and a knowing look passed between them. The name was as familiar to them as it was to be expected, considering the number of times Mrs. Bennet had mentioned it, invariably adorned with a collection of epithets, of which 'odious' was of the mildest order.

What is the man doing here? He could not be aware of Papa's condition, surely! she mused, her thoughts a jumble, as she tried to settle on a course of action.

At length, she decided it would be best if she saw him now, rather than in her mother's presence. As for her dear Papa, even if the man were to be the best company possible, it could not do him a jot of good at present to be reminded of the threat of the entail.

Could he be a sensible, amiable man? she wondered.

With a cursory apology towards Mr. Darcy, whose countenance had become even more closed than previously as he walked slowly back towards one of the windows, Elizabeth indicated that she should address this matter herself, and asked Mrs. Hill to show the gentleman in.

The man whose name had always put Mrs. Bennet in mind of hedgerows was finally admitted to the parlour. He was heavy looking and appeared to be of around five and twenty. His dress was that of a clergyman, his air was grave and stately, and his manners were very formal. As soon as he was admitted to her presence, he bowed deeply and thus began:

"I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Bennet. I must admit to being somewhat perturbed by the irregularity of intruding upon your notice, without a formal introduction, but I flatter myself that you would kindly overlook it, in view of our family connection. It is my firm belief as well that there must be a wide difference between the established forms of ceremony amongst the laity, and those which regulate the clergy, for give me leave to observe that I consider the clerical office as equal in point of dignity with the highest rank in the kingdom - provided that a proper humility of behaviour is at the same time maintained... In short, in my position of a rector, and moreover as your father's cousin, allow me, Miss Bennet, to recommend myself as your faithful servant, Rev. William Collins."

Drawn by the curious spectacle, Darcy turned towards the room, an eyebrow arched in surprise and disdain. What was the pompous fool talking about?

He could not see the newcomer well, just his obsequiously bowed back and part of his face, but it was no apparent loss. His manner of address sufficed.

At the end of his discourse, Rev. Collins bowed again and advanced towards Elizabeth with a simpering smile. "You must be Mr. Bennet's eldest daughter."

"His second eldest, sir. My eldest sister Jane is currently taking a turn in the garden in the company of one our neighbours."

"I should be delighted to make her acquaintance, and that of all your sisters. I have heard by common report that Mr. Bennet's daughters are all delightful and exceedingly amiable, and given your kind reception of me, cousin, allow me to say that fame had fallen short of the truth."

Elizabeth nodded her half-hearted acknowledgement of such an awkward compliment, and he continued:

"You will forgive me, but I had hoped to meet with your esteemed mother and father ... I have allowed myself the pleasure of writing your father some time ago, and he has kindly responded favourably to my present overtures. In my position of a clergyman, particularly one so fortunate as to be distinguished by the noble patronage of one of the most illustrious persons in the land, I felt it my duty to promote and establish the blessings of peace in all families within the reach of my influence."

Elizabeth attempted to stem the flow of his discourse, vexed at the thought of the entire family history being aired in such a mortifying fashion in the presence of Mr. Darcy, but Mr. Collins held up a hand to prevent her.

"Allow me, Miss Bennet, to conclude by saying, as I have had the pleasure of explaining to your father in my letter, that the disagreement subsisting between my late honoured father and yours always gave me much uneasiness, and since I have had the misfortune to lose him, I have frequently wished to heal the breach..."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to interrupt again, but his monologue could not be stopped. It gave the distinct impression that he was reciting from a well-learned script, and that he could not allow any interruptions, for fear he would lose his place and forget what he was about to say. She sighed and resigned herself to it.

"...but for some time I was held back by my own doubts, fearing lest it might seem disrespectful to his memory for me to be on good terms with any one with whom it had always pleased him to be at variance. However, as I have already had the occasion to mention, given my position, my illustrious patronage, our family connection ... in short, I flatter myself that my present overtures of good-will are highly commendable, and that the circumstance of my being next in the entail of Longbourn estate will be kindly overlooked on your family's side, and will not lead your father to reject the offer of an olive branch."

"Sir, please allow me to..."

"I cannot be otherwise than concerned at being the means of injuring you and your amiable sisters, and beg leave to apologise for it, as well as to assure you of my readiness to make you every possible amends - but of this thereafter. I proposed myself the satisfaction of waiting on your family today, Monday, October 18th, and trespass on your hospitality till the Saturday sen'night following, and as your father has kindly agreed to the scheme, well... here I am. I should be delighted to make the acquaintance of all your esteemed family as soon as may be. Your father was expecting me, but I presume he had been called away for urgent estate business..."

"Please allow me to apologise on my father's behalf, Mr. Collins," Elizabeth said as soon as he had allowed it, "as he is at present unable to receive you".

"Oh!" Mr. Collins said, confused and visibly offended. "Was he obliged to travel to town?"

"No, sir," Elizabeth sighed, unable to avoid answering so direct a question. "I am afraid he was taken ill yesterday."

From his position at the other end of the room, Darcy could only wonder whether the newcomer had indeed been devoid of all decency as to betray the fact that this was not an altogether unwelcome intelligence for him. Elizabeth, however, who had a full command of his countenance, had no need to wonder, and the fleeting glimmer of interest, soon replaced with an air of pious concern was not of a nature to inspire her with better feelings.

Her first impulse was to advise the Reverend that under the circumstances, his visit should be deferred to another time, but it occurred to her that it would not be in her family's best interest to offend him. With great forbearance, she briefly acknowledged his elaborate and obviously insincere wishes for a speedy recovery and extended an invitation for Mr. Collins to take some refreshment. This was accepted with alacrity and the clergyman advanced to take the seat Mr. Darcy had previously occupied. Just as he attempted to lower himself onto the sofa, however, he happened to look up and for the first time to take notice of the tall gentleman next to the window. He remained immovable with surprise for a few moments, in this ungainly posture, then straightened his back, only to bow again.

Well aware that Darcy will not thank her for the introduction, Elizabeth knew not how she could avoid it. With obvious displeasure, she said:

"Mr. Darcy, please allow me to introduce my cousin, Rev. Collins. Mr. Collins, this is..."

"Mr. Darcy?!" interrupted the clergyman advancing to him. "Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?"

"Indeed. I do not remember the pleasure, sir," replied Darcy with the sort of withering civility which had stopped the effusions of better men.

It had no effect on Mr. Collins.

"But this is a most wonderful and unexpected honour!" he exclaimed and bowed solemnly. "Who would have thought of my meeting with the nephew of my most esteemed patroness in this part of the country! I am most thankful that the discovery was made and I can only bemoan my oversight in not being aware of your presence earlier, sir. I trust you would be so kind as to overlook it and allow me to inform you that your most excellent Aunt and her esteemed daughter, the fair Miss de Bourgh, were in the very best of health yesterday afternoon, when I had the honour to assist in forming a quadrille table at Rosings."

"I am glad to hear it," replied Darcy in a clipped tone.

Mr. Collins however was not discouraged from speaking again, in his habitual pompous and alembicated phrases, about Lady Catherine de Bourgh's bounty and beneficence; the magnificence of Rosings Park in the autumn and indeed in any season, particularly in the summer, as Lady Catherine herself has kindly observed to him once; about Lady Catherine's affability and condescension and Miss de Bourgh's superior beauty, which would adorn the most elevated rank; and finally about Darcy's own kindly bestowed solicitude in visiting with the family of his afflicted cousin.

Elizabeth could see Darcy's contempt abundantly increasing with the length of this second speech and was vexed beyond measure to see Mr. Collins exposing himself to ridicule in such a fashion, and before such a man.

At the end, Darcy only made him a slight bow, and moved back towards Elizabeth.

"I believe it is time for me to take my leave now, Madam," he said, his voice cold and expressionless. Elizabeth briefly lifted her eyes, long enough to recognise the forbidding countenance of the Meryton Assembly. She looked away, with a feeling of disappointment she could not fully justify. Their latest conversations had led her to expect better of him but, in truth, she could not fault him for it, not on this occasion.

"Of course," she said flatly and rose to see him out.

Mr. Collins came to her side and bowed again, very deeply.

"Despite our relatively short acquaintance, I am persuaded that my young cousin will allow me to speak for her, and indeed on behalf of the entire family, and say that the honour of your visit has been deeply felt, sir."

Darcy clasped his hands behind his back. How dare he?

Elizabeth's eyes flared dangerously and, despite her earlier intentions to show as much forbearance as possible, she was about to let Mr. Collins know that she had been able to speak for herself these twenty years together, when Jane and Mr. Bingley joined them, and shortly after, Mary. Introductions were necessarily performed and civilities followed, Mr. Collins's more convoluted and abundant than the rest, but in the end Darcy had his wish to finally ride away from Longbourn and the insufferable little man.

He pulled the reins tighter without meaning to, unsettling his horse. How could Elizabeth and, for that matter, Miss Bennet, have come from the midst of such a family?

The connection was impossible, utterly impossible! The thought of introducing any of them - even Mr. Bennet, on occasion - to his family and general acquaintance brought a shudder of disgust. Why was it that the only woman he found that he could love had to have such deuced unsuitable relations? His aunt's parson, no less, and a pompous, obsequious fool at that!

Darcy stared grimly ahead. Perhaps he ought to be grateful to the annoying man for the timing of his arrival, no matter how much it had riled him at the time. Was he about to propose?

He did not know - and that was the absolute truth. He did not know. A long sigh escaped him.

"Are you well, Darcy?" Bingley asked. "You seem rather out of spirits."

Well? I doubt I would ever be well, Charles.

He needed to think. He desperately needed to think.

"I wonder what was the fellow come for. It sounds rather harsh, on such short an acquaintance, but I cannot say I like him," Bingley spoke, half to himself.

Darcy made no reply, although he fully concurred with the sentiment, and with better reasons. The conversation - or rather monologue - that he had happened to witness gave him much to think about. The clergyman had rambled far and low, but Darcy could not miss the salient points: that Collins stood to inherit Longbourn in the absence of male heirs, and that he had arrived at Longbourn to pacify a family feud and make his young cousins 'every possible amends'.

A morning in the man's company sufficed to persuade Darcy that he was too self-absorbed to envisage a legacy or any other generous gesture of the kind, and moreover, he doubted that Longbourn's income would permit it.

It was but a step to the next conclusion, and Darcy felt a wave of nausea at the thought. Collins's idea of amends presumably was to marry one of them, and remind her to the end of her days of her good fortune.

The thought was more than he could bear.

But none of them would accept him, surely, not such a man. She would not accept him!

It was one thing to doubt the wisdom of offering for Elizabeth, and quite another to think of her as Mrs. Collins, tied forever to that intolerable man, her spirit broken by his weak-minded condescension and mortifying stupidity.

The thought that she might see fit to sacrifice her chances of happiness for the sake of her family, particularly in view of her father's illness, brought such an acute anxiety in Darcy as to make him turn his steed about with so little warning that he was almost thrown off. What on earth was he thinking, to leave her like that, and to leave that creature in the Bennet household, at a time like this?

"We must return, Bingley!" he threw over his shoulder, sending the younger man in utter confusion.

"Whatever is the matter? Have you forgotten anything of consequence?"

Darcy made no answer. This was not the time to share today's intelligence with Bingley, and in point of fact, he doubted the wisdom of ever telling him at all. Bingley's infatuation with Miss Bennet was another cause for concern, both for the unsuitability of the connection, and for the young lady's obvious placidity. There was no indication that she had any deep feelings for his friend, but Darcy doubted not that she would have accepted him, to raise her family's fortunes - and while Darcy had no objection to that, particularly in view of the entail, he would not see the Bennets restored at the cost of Bingley's felicity.

His friend deserved better than a marriage of convenience.

"You can be quite infuriating sometimes, Darcy, you know!" remarked Bingley good-naturedly, "particularly when you ignore a pointed question."

Darcy laughed. "I am sorry, Bingley. I was distracted, but that is no excuse, particularly as I have a favour to ask."

"Anything, Darcy, as you well know."

"I was about to offer your carriage to that fellow Collins, if you do not mind. He has dismissed the hack chaise when he arrived, and I wanted to ensure that he will have no reason not to make it to the Red Lion in Meryton. The Bennets can hardly be expected to accommodate a houseguest at a time like this."

"Do you know, I was just thinking of that myself! This is precisely why I extended the invitation to Dr. Helstone. In point of fact, I was just about to ask, when you provided me with such an entertaining display of fine horsemanship, whether you thought it expedient to invite Reverend Collins to Netherfield."

"Heaven help us! Charles, have you not spoken to the man?"

"His conversation is, I admit, rather ... wholesome".

"And plenty to be had of it! Come, Bingley, let us offer him the carriage, and pray that there is plenty of room at the inn."

Chapter Six

Posted on Monday, 28 August 2006

Elizabeth drew a long, deep breath of the fresh morning air and the joy of being once more outdoors put a spring in her step. She smiled as the swallows soared in the clear sky, fringed with the warm hues of red and gold and yellow of the autumn leaves.

Life at Longbourn had once more settled into some semblance of normality - sufficiently so, she thought grimly, that they felt equal to return Lydia to it, to restore the balance of equanimity and chaos.

Dr. Helstone had recommended that Mr. Bennet kept to his room, if not his bed, for a few days at least, so that he should be spared the effort of ascending the stairs, and as long as he had his favourite books brought up to him, as well as Elizabeth's company, her father had submitted to the change in his daily routine without much reluctance.

During one of their mornings together, she had deemed appropriate to acquaint him with some of the occurrences that he had still been left in the dark about. The connection between Dr. Helstone and Mr. Darcy was already known to her father. The doctor had informed him of it himself, prior to leaving Longbourn and accepting Mr. Bingley's invitation to stay awhile at Netherfield. As to the rest, Elizabeth was unsure whether her father was sufficiently recovered as to hear what she had to impart, without any risk to his health, but she wisely decided that it was better for that knowledge to come from her, at a well-chosen moment, than sprung on him at any other time. With a good measure of care, Elizabeth informed her father of Mr. Collins's visit, and of his presence in the neighbourhood.

"Oh! I have completely forgotten of the peace-making gentleman!" Mr. Bennet had quipped, ill at ease. "I am rather disappointed to have missed the chance of making his acquaintance. There was a mixture of servility and self-importance in his letter which promised great delights!"

Elizabeth had patted his arm, well aware of her father's habit of reverting to sarcasm in an attempt to conceal genuine concern. She hoped, for his sake, that the unwelcome intelligence did not perturb him unduly, and had refrained from telling him that of some delights, a little can go a long way!

"And to what do we owe the pleasure of his removal to Meryton, then?" her father had asked, in the same vein, but Elizabeth could detect genuine interest there.

"Mr. Bingley had offered him his carriage, soon after he arrived," she replied, shaking her head with a rueful smile as she had remembered the scene.

On the day of Mr. Collins' first visit, the gentlemen had barely left Longbourn, with Mr. Bingley's empty carriage following them at a reasonable distance, when the party gathered at the door to see them off suddenly saw them returning, before they had even reached the end of the drive leading to the main gate.

At the sight of the nephew of his most esteemed patroness, Mr. Collins had advanced to a safe distance from the said gentleman's rather irritable horse, and had proceeded to bow repeatedly, until Mr. Darcy had dismounted and addressed him.

"My friend has just become aware that you may require transport to Meryton, sir," Mr. Darcy had announced curtly, "and as you are undoubtedly eager to find lodgings there before nightfall, he would like to offer you the use of his carriage," he concluded, his words confirmed by Bingley's nod and polite invitation.

To Elizabeth's barely suppressed amusement, Mr. Collins had frozen in mid-bow, looking quite baffled from Mr. Darcy to the house and back again.

It was more than obvious to everyone that he had entertained no thoughts of finding alternative lodgings for himself, and that he was most put out by the assumption that he should. He had opened his mouth and closed it again, quite visibly unable to disagree in any way with the suggestion offered by a member of such an illustrious family. Under Elizabeth's amused scrutiny, however, his countenance suddenly changed from baffled displeasure to awed delight and he had resumed his bow and had regained the power of speech.

Elizabeth had rather regretted the latter, as her mortifying cousin could barely contain his joy for the unexpected attention received from a most gratifying quarter, and the length of his discourse was testament to his elevated sentiments.

Elizabeth had bit her lip in annoyance at the sight of Mr. Darcy's evident disdain, and she had tried to catch his eye and silently express her gratitude, as well as her regret, for the mortification he had brought himself to endure on behalf of her family, but the gentleman had appeared quite determined to avoid looking towards any of the Bennet sisters.

It was only after Mr. Collins had scurried into the awaiting carriage, his belongings relegated thence by a few very efficient servants, that he had looked in her direction and bowed, before mounting his horse and riding away with Mr. Bingley, his back straight and his countenance expressionless.

Elizabeth remembered having returned to the house then, intrigued in no small measure by a man she had thoroughly despised no more than a week previously.

She could not make him out any more than she could fully account for the reasons behind his offer of assistance. Had the willingness to relieve their burdens come from Mr. Bingley alone, she could have easily ascribed it to the most reasonable cause. It was clear to anyone that Mr. Bingley appeared to harbour tender sentiments for a member of her family. The thought that Mr. Darcy would be motivated by the same, however, was utterly preposterous! Mr. Darcy of all people, with his long list of talents required of a truly accomplished woman, having his attention drawn by ... Kitty? Improbable. Mary? Not likely! Lydia? She giggled at this. Hardly! As to herself, she had learned from the very beginning of their acquaintance that as far as Mr. Darcy was concerned, she was merely tolerable.

The reminiscence did not divert her half as much as it had done in the past, but Elizabeth had no desire to dwell on the thought. No good could ever come of that!

Elizabeth was forced to content herself with the explanation Mr. Darcy had offered, that the loss of his own father had prompted him to request Dr. Helstone's assistance on their behalf. As to his role in removing Mr. Collins from the premises, it had presumably been at his friend's instigation that Mr. Darcy had been prepared to use his influence, as the nephew of Mr. Collins' patroness, and persuade the annoying man to leave them in peace, at least for the day! It was easier that way. It was much easier to take it in the best light, in the light in which it may be understood!

Regardless of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley's motivation, however, they might have been successful in dissuading Mr. Collins from his intentions of being a guest at Longbourn, but could not altogether spare them from the pleasure of his society.

Elizabeth was glad that she had acquainted her father with the details of their cousin's previous visit, so that his next would be somewhat expected.

Mr. Collins had written her father from the Red Lion, to express his concern and his wishes for a speedy recovery and Mr. Bennet had little choice in the matter but to invite him to dine with the family in a few days' time.

Elizabeth dreaded her mother's response to the communication, and to her surprise, she had actually experienced not an insubstantial amount of concern for her least favourite parent, in the face of Mrs. Bennet's obvious distress at the intelligence and, unaware of the conversation between her mother and Dr. Helstone, Elizabeth marvelled at the fact that Mrs. Bennet's proverbial nerves did not even get mentioned in that conversation.

Later in the evening, however, the extent of her mother's suffering was made known to her and to Jane, in a private conversation in Mrs. Bennet's chambers, and Elizabeth had found herself attempting to comfort her mother with a filial embrace which, to the best of her knowledge, was an unheard-of occurrence in the last ten or fifteen years!

Mrs. Bennet's forbearance was rewarded the next day with Mr. Collins's readily expressed intention to make her daughters every possible amends, and the man whom she could not bear to speak of the day before was now high in her good graces.

The same could not be said of her father. Although Mr. Bennet had indulged for a while in the mischievous pleasure of listening to and occasionally prompting their cousin's follies and absurdities, Elizabeth could tell that Mr. Collins's presence, under the recent circumstances of his less than perfect health, had become a source of anxiety to her father and was delighted by Mary's wisdom and delicacy of spirit in preventing Mr. Collins from disturbing their father in the library and asking him instead to take a turn about the garden with her and discuss some matters of great doctrinal import she could not make out, after having read a particular chapter of Mr. Fordyce's sermons!

Elizabeth had discovered, to her amazement, unknown depths to her younger sisters. Both Mary and Kitty had been a source of wonder in their ability to rise to the challenge Mr. Bennet's state of health had imposed on their family. Mary had forsaken her long hours of study to care for their father and support Jane and Elizabeth in managing the household, in the self-imposed absence of their mother. As to Kitty, although she was at a loss as to how to go about it, Elizabeth was touched to see her increased desire to be noticed by and be of use to their father. It was Lydia's behaviour alone that remained a source of concern.

It was decided between the sisters, as their mother still kept mostly to her room, that Elizabeth and Kitty would benefit from some exercise, having been unable to stir too far from their home since their father had taken ill, and so they were to walk into Meryton and pay a call to their Aunt Phillips, to inform her of their father's improved condition - as, after the interview with Dr. Helstone, their mother never paid that call - and to return Lydia to her family.

Their walk was pleasant and Elizabeth was delighted to see that, given some encouragement, her younger sister could be less irritable and less insipid. She had a good heart and a tolerably good head on those young shoulders, and if carefully steered from Lydia's influence, could become quite pleasant company indeed.

Lydia was another matter, and Elizabeth thought with some discomposure that a difficult task lay ahead of them, to ensure that their youngest sister understood what was required of them all, and of herself in particular, for the sake of their father.

They made it to Meryton in good time, expecting a brief visit with their aunt and a tolerable walk back, during which some discussion with Lydia was a necessary evil, but to their great surprise and Elizabeth's dismay, they found the Phillips household beset with morning callers, particularly young officers and their wives.

Introductions were performed, indeed so many that Elizabeth doubted she would remember them all.

One of the officers stood out from the crowd however, a young man of most gentleman-like appearance. Mr. Wickham was as far beyond all his fellow officers in person, countenance, air and walk, as they were superior to Elizabeth's broad-faced, stuffy uncle Phillips, for he had all the best part of beauty, a fine countenance, a good figure and very pleasing address. Mr. Wickham was the fortunate man towards whom the attention of almost every lady in the room was turned, and Elizabeth the much envied woman whose company he chose.

The introduction was followed up on his side by a happy readiness for conversation - a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the agreeable manner in which he immediately fell into conversation, though it was only on the brightness of the day and the unexpected mildness of the season, made her feel that the commonest, dullest, most thread-bare topic might be rendered interesting by the skill of the speaker.

The conversation was steered towards the advantages of the weather in still allowing long walks, despite the lateness in the year; towards visiting neighbouring estates; and finally to Netherfield. Mr. Wickham enquired how far it was from Meryton and, after receiving her answer, remarked in a hesitating manner:

"Miss Lydia gave me to understand that Mr. Darcy of Pemberley is currently visiting there. Is your family acquainted with him?"

Elizabeth responded in the affirmative which, to her surprise, eventually led to Mr. Wickham relating a long tale of woe concerning the injustices he had suffered at the hands of the gentleman, from the rivalry for the affection of Mr. Darcy's late father, Mr. Wickham's godfather, to a legacy left him in old Mr. Darcy's will, which the son refused point blank to honour. Thorough disparagement of Mr. Darcy's and his sister's character was also weaved in, leaving Elizabeth to wonder what prompted the man to make such disclosures to her, without ceremony, and on so slight an acquaintance, despite having stated quite emphatically at some point in the conversation that respect for the memory of the father would always prevent him to defy or expose the son.

Some fragments of Mr. Wickham's story - for she was rather persuaded it was nothing but - brought to mind the arrogant Mr. Darcy from the Assembly Ball, but in none of the tales of dishonourable deeds could she recognise the gentleman who had shown such concern and compassion for her family.

The memory of Darcy's countenance as he had told her of the painful loss of his father returned to Elizabeth, and she recognised true depth of feeling. By comparison, it did not take her long to learn to detect, in the very gentleness which had first delighted her about Wickham's manner, an affectation and sameness to disgust and weary.

She was pleased to find a plausible reason to excuse herself from his company. Elizabeth could not understand the man's reasons for blackening Darcy's character, but could not trust him, and was happy when the officers left to attend to their duties, which meant she and her sisters could make their way home - because any attempt to remove Lydia, while there still were amusements to be had, would only have led to extreme mortification.

They had but reached the far end of the village when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding up the lane. On distinguishing the ladies, the two gentlemen came directly towards them, and began the usual civilities, Bingley being of course the principal spokesman. They were, he said, on their way to Longbourn to inquire after Mr. Bennet's and, indeed, the family's comfort. For his part, Mr. Darcy merely corroborated it with a bow, while making a steadfast resolution not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth.

"Would you allow us to escort you back?" Bingley asked and, as permission was cheerfully granted, the gentlemen dismounted and followed, leading their steeds. They talked little, mainly between themselves, and Elizabeth had almost no occasion to say much, particularly as her thoughts were chiefly engaged by the conversation she had had with Mr. Wickham.

It remained to the younger girls to provide some distraction during their journey, which they gladly did, especially Lydia, who talked incessantly about her visit with her Aunt Phillips and about the officers. Elizabeth was half dreading that her sister would mention Mr. Wickham, and pondered whether she should inform Mr. Darcy of the damage to his character, willfully perpetrated in the neighbourhood, when suddenly her attention was drawn to Lydia's change of topic.

"This horrible business of the entail, Kitty," she cried, much to Elizabeth's surprise and mortification. "My aunt and I talked about it for days! And, could you believe, the dreadful man is in Meryton, my aunt says. She had not met him herself, but you know her Hannah's younger brother works at the Red Lion, and could tell of a Mr. Collins who had come to stay. My aunt says it is no coincidence-"

Elizabeth privately wished that her Aunt Phillips did not say half so much, and particularly not to Lydia, and that her younger sister would ever learn to hold her tongue! The three of them were walking a few steps ahead of the gentlemen, but Elizabeth could not flatter herself with the belief that Lydia's unguarded comments did not reach them.

"There's no coincidence, indeed," Kitty replied. "He had been to Longbourn, too!"

"Noooo!"

"Upon my word, he has! Ask Lizzy!"

"Lydia, Kitty, this is hardly the time or the place!" Elizabeth warned, and it came as no surprise that it fell on deaf ears.

"Oh, la, Lizzy, what does it signify?" Lydia huffed. "We have to talk of these things!"

"And we cannot talk in Papa's hearing", added Kitty, to make her own point.

"But we can talk at Longbourn, in the privacy of our own home!" Elizabeth emphasized, almost hissing, and finally Kitty took the hint and, with some resistance from Lydia, the subject was finally changed.

Elizabeth blushed and blushed again. The other day it was Mr. Collins. Now Lydia's impropriety, Kitty's silliness and her Aunt Phillips' vulgar gossip.

Were her relations forever bent on exposing themselves to ridicule before these two gentlemen?

A little while later, however, Elizabeth's mortified spirits took a turn for the better as, shortly before reaching Longbourn, Lydia suddenly thought of turning back and paying a call to Maria Lucas. Kitty readily agreed and Elizabeth sighed to see that it was sufficient for Lydia to reappear for Kitty to be only too easily swayed towards any of her schemes and away from her family. On this occasion, however, this was the lesser of the two evils and Elizabeth was gratified by the thought that at least Jane's conversation with Mr. Bingley was not to be plagued by the presence and unwelcome interference of their two younger sisters.

The visit indeed had started on a happy note. Upon their return to Longbourn, they had found Jane and Mary, companionably sitting together in the parlour, Mary with a book and Jane with an embroidery she had not had the chance to give her attention to in many days. They both put their employment aside as Elizabeth entered, bringing the visitors with her.

As soon as they had exchanged the prerequisite civilities, Mary went to inform Elizabeth that their father was currently resting, and to order some refreshment, then returned to her seat, though not her book. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she saw Mr. Bingley unreservedly claiming a place at Jane's side, and went to sit with Mary. After bowing without a word towards the former occupants of the room, Mr. Darcy had advanced to take his customary position by one of the windows, but after a few moments he abandoned it in favour of a seat close to herself and Mary.

"And how does your father today, Miss Bennet?" Mr. Bingley earnestly enquired of Jane.

"Very well, sir, thank you," she replied with a smile, briefly meeting his eyes before lowering her own.

"That is good news indeed," Bingley said, seconded by Darcy who, to Elizabeth's surprise, afterwards turned towards her to ask if she often walked into Meryton. Elizabeth looked up in some amazement at his sudden inclination to make polite conversation, as she had been rather disposed to regard him of an unsociable, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak unless he expected to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the éclat of a proverb.

Elizabeth smiled at her own mischievousness, in the full knowledge that perhaps the majority of her former opinions of the man ought to be discarded.

"Yes, I suppose it is a walk I take often enough," she remembered to reply.

"But not a great favourite of yours," he added quietly. It was not a question.

Elizabeth smiled in surprise, unknowingly warming his heart.

"No, I cannot say it is."

It was a great favourite with Kitty and Lydia, but that she kept to herself.

"How did you know?" she could not help asking and Darcy made only a vague gesture in lieu of any response. He could not very well tell her that he felt he knew her well enough to be assured she would not chose the facile amusement of gossip and shops over the quiet beauty of a country walk.

Another picture intruded. Ascending the Peaks, with Elizabeth by his side, her eyes filled with wonder at their untamed beauty, the winds of the hills playing in her hair and kissing her lovely face, before he would. Would she be happy to live the rest of her days in Derbyshire?

Darcy all but started at the suddenness of the thought and looked away, disconcerted. He shifted in his seat and cleared his voice to no purpose, as nothing further was said.

To his temporary relief, refreshments were soon brought in, but that only served to unsettle him completely, when his fingers accidentally brushed against the tips of hers, as Elizabeth handed him his coffee. Darcy straightened in his seat and forced himself to look away from the endearingly domestic picture she presented as she busied herself with pouring Bingley's tea. He fixed his eyes on a particularly unflattering rendition of some ancestor on the wall before him, in an attempt to stop himself from picturing Elizabeth pouring Bingley's tea as she entertained him as their guest at Pemberley, in the pale yellow sitting room that used to belong to his mother.

This was not to be borne!

He must find a way to control his unruly thoughts!

He must conquer this!

Assistance in that respect arrived from a most unexpected quarter. The door to the parlour opened and the gentlemen stood to bow to Mrs. Bennet as she entered the room.

Half an hour later, Elizabeth was thoroughly persuaded that had her family made an agreement to expose themselves as much as they could and produce the most mortifying spectacle, it would have been impossible to play their parts with more spirit, or finer success.

Mrs. Bennet had been the first to take the stage. She had, at some point, been made aware of Darcy's role in Mr. Bennet's recovery, and Elizabeth had to witness not only her mortifying attempts to match-make Bingley and Jane, but also her overwhelmingly officious attentions to his friend and her utterly ill-judged apologies for having so disliked him before, along with implications that someone so rich could never be in the wrong - for Mrs. Bennet, subdued beyond recognition in her husband's presence, was nevertheless very much herself in any other company.

Just as her mother's aria had reached its crescendo, Elizabeth was forced to reconsider the thought that the situation could not possibly get any worse, as the door opened once more and Mr. Collins was announced. Elizabeth exchanged a horrified look with Jane, then crossed her hands in her lap and looked away from both Bingley and Darcy, too overcome by embarrassment to even attempt to deflect unfortunate comments or to salvage anything from an utterly unsalvageable situation.

After Mr. Collins's monologue, directed mainly at Darcy, her younger sisters' entrance and Lydia's loud voice carrying over everybody else's as she informed her mother of some of the goings-on in Meryton merely put the finishing touches to the performance of the day. At least Lydia did not get to mention Mr. Wickham until after the gentlemen from Netherfield had left them, but such small mercies could hardly provide much comfort.

By the time Bingley and Darcy took their leave, Elizabeth was persuaded that the first wish of her heart was never more to be in company with either of them, as their society could afford no pleasure that would atone for such wretchedness as this!

Darcy rode away from Longbourn feeling all the irony of his situation. It was the second time in as many visits that he had been drawn thence by the irrepressible need to see Elizabeth, and all that he could take with him on his journey back was the restored conviction that she had to be forsworn.

That his heart's desire was of no consequence, and that he could not make her his wife.

Another sleepless night followed - another one of many. It was not just the perpetual war between his head and his heart that kept him from his sleep, but a deep anxiety for Elizabeth's future happiness.

Darcy had spoken to Dr. Helstone and, with a great deal of effort, pleading his genuine concern for the family, had overcome the man's scruples and found out what there was to know of Mr. Bennet's condition. That it was possible for him to lead a long and rich life, or that his condition could worsen irreversibly, with more or less warning.

The thought of Elizabeth destitute, at the mercy of that cousin of theirs, or married for security to someone who could not love or appreciate her tore at his heart.

The thought of her loving and being loved by any man other than himself was a torture of a different kind - but nevertheless he knew that beyond all his impossible wishes, the truth remained: if he would not have her, at least he would have her happy.

A solution came to his mind, at first hastily rejected as the ramblings of a overtaxed mind, but then returning in force, with arguments to support it.

If he could not give her his hand and his name, he could at least give her independence.

He could give her the freedom to choose and be chosen, and then relinquish her from his life, if not his heart.

It had to be done under some guise, of course. Much as he abhorred disguise of any sort, the need for it was undisputable, were he to proceed with his plan.

Her reputation had to be protected - it could not be made known that Miss Bennet and her family had been set up by him in a property he owned, for goodness' sake - and besides, the Bennets would never agree to receive anything from him, if offered openly.

Well, perhaps Mrs. Bennet and the younger sisters might, but that was hardly the point.

And then it came to him. The property in Devonshire he had inherited from his childless aunt, his father's youngest sister, who had in turn inherited it from her husband, Lord Edmund Farringdon. There was nothing and no one in that part of the country that could link the ownership to his name. The Hall and the bulk of the estate were leased, and the lease controlled by his London attorneys, the only ones aware of his involvement.

He could transfer the ownership of Farringdon Lodge to the Bennets, along with a sum which would ensure a certain independence.

His mind started working faster. It could be presented as a legacy, in the memory of the days of their youth, from a Cambridge schoolfellow of Mr. Bennet's, who wished to remain anonymous. It would be in Mr. Bennet's name, and devolve to his issue in the circumstance of his death.

It might work. By God, it might work.

It had to be accomplished in great secrecy and with the utmost of care, to pre-empt any mishaps. It had to be made quite certain that this part of the estate could not be misconstrued as being subject to the entail and, without signalling Elizabeth out, so as not to give rise to speculations, to ensure that her share was secure, and could not be frittered away by a thoughtless mother or senseless sisters.

If Mr. Bennet were to live to a ripe old age, then so much the better; but if not, at least she would be well taken care of.

A passing thought urged, at the back of his mind, that surely his own father would not have approved of him signing off so large a portion, to be forever lost from the estate which stood to be passed down, along with the Darcy name. He had, after all, a duty to uphold!

Duty can go hang! he thought fiercely, as he sat at his desk, pulled some paper and started to write down instructions to his attorneys.

It was because of duty that he had ended down this path.

If he could not give her his name, he would give her her freedom.

It would be his parting gift to her.

Darcy wrote relentlessly into the night, not even noticing the tears in his eyes.

Chapter Seven

Posted on Friday, 1 September 2006

Much to Miss Bingley's chagrin, the plan of a Netherfield Ball had progressively turned from a passing thought into a certainty. There had been a point early in October, she remembered, when Charles had appeared to have given up the silly notion, but now it was very much the order of the day. Invitations had been written and sent, and the big wheels have been put in motion for the grandest event this godforsaken country had ever seen!

But of course. Now that Mr. Bennet is out of danger, it appears that his ladylove can attend! Bah! Charles had even insisted that we deliver the invitations in person to that ... that ... family! And Mr. Darcy would not even join us - and indeed who can blame him!

Miss Bingley and her sister were very much concerned about Charles's current infatuation.

A connection with that abominable family! It could not be borne!

They had attempted to discuss their concerns with Mr. Darcy, and while he had agreed that it might be a mistake for Charles to propose to Miss Bennet, neither Caroline nor Louisa could draw from him much more than that.

There was something quite odd about Mr. Darcy too, pondered Caroline. He had become even more disinclined for conversation and had taken to going for very long walks in Netherfield's extensive grounds, so that she did not see him for days, and when she did, he was withdrawn and taciturn, more than had ever been his wont.

Bingley was equally unaware of the causes of his friend's lack of spirits, and if he did not manage to wheedle them out of him, it had not been for want of trying. That evening, as he laid out the billiards for a shot, Bingley decided he would make one more attempt.

"I wish you would tell me what is troubling you, Darcy. I wish I could be of service."

You cannot, my friend.

"Thank you for your concern, Bingley, but there is nothing amiss with me."

"This is what you have been claiming for a while, ever since our last visit at Longbourn, in point of fact, but it does not wash with me, you know."

A lesser man would have missed his shot. Darcy did not.

"Leave be, Charles, oblige me. There is nothing to tell."

At least we have moved from 'there is nothing amiss' to 'there is nothing to tell', thought Bingley, who was not so unobservant as everyone would have him.

"If your cousin the Colonel were here, he would have threatened with drinking you under the table until you talked," Bingley observed, good-humouredly, "but you are quite safe from me. As we both know, you can hold your liquor much better!" he added, and made his friend laugh, as there was a lot of truth in that, if memory served.

Bingley set down his cue and advanced to Darcy with his hand outstretched.

"You have been a good friend to me for many years, Darcy. If you need me, you know where to find me, and this is the last I shall say on the matter."

"Thank you, my friend", Darcy replied and shook his hand, leaving Bingley to wonder if the thanks were for his offer of assistance or for his promise of silence.

True to his word, Bingley changed the topic of conversation.

"I hope you will spend Christmas with us," he said.

It was Darcy's turn to abandon his cue and return to his friend's side. Bingley waved towards the drinks and as Darcy nodded, he poured generous measures of port for both of them.

"I am afraid I cannot, Bingley," replied Darcy as he walked towards the great fireplace. "I will have to return to town. Georgiana and I have always spent Christmas together, and there are other maters to attend to. But you could come and spend Christmas with us in Berkeley Square. I am convinced your sisters would be delighted to return to town," he added with a barely concealed grimace.

Bingley came to stand beside his friend in front of the large hearth.

A great, merry fire was burning therein, casting red hues over their faces.

"I cannot leave her, Darcy," he said quietly.

"I beg your pardon?" his friend asked, not because he had not heard - he heard him quite well - but because he did not expect Bingley to be so forthright.

"I cannot leave her. I will not leave her," Bingley replied, this time louder, but with the same determination. "Not when her father's condition is so uncertain."

"You are not responsible for that!"

"Indeed not, but I would very much like to be responsible for her."

Darcy looked up sharply.

"Have you made her an offer?"

"No. Not yet. But I intend to. Very soon."

"And are you sure this is wise?"

"Whatever do you mean?!" Bingley snapped, with some consternation, almost spilling his drink.

Darcy fell silent for a while, choosing his words very carefully.

"As you said earlier," he finally began, "we have been friends, very good friends, for many years. As your friend, I do not believe this connection is in your best interest-"

"Not the disparity in our situations, Darcy, pray spare me!" Bingley interrupted, impatiently. "I would have thought that you and my sister Caroline did not have that much in common. Miss Jane Bennet is a gentleman's daughter. I am the son of a tradesman, albeit very reputable and reasonably rich. I should have thought that in the eyes of society, I stand to profit from the connection."

"You know too well that it will not be seen as such," replied Darcy, stung by the association with Miss Bingley.

"Do you speak for yourself, or for the rest of our acquaintance?"

Darcy pondered. He did not want to offend his friend, but he had to be truthful.

"Both, I believe..." At Bingley's gesture of impatience, he laid a hand on his arm. "As your closest friend, Charles, I want what is best for you."

Bingley turned towards Darcy, and for the first time in the entire evening's conversation, they looked each other in the eye.

"I love her," he said quietly.

"But does she love you? Or would she merely accept your addresses because her mother requires it of her, or because she feels she ought to secure her sisters' fortunes, should anything befall their father?"

"She does not need to. Have you not heard? They have just recently learned that an old friend of Mr. Bennet's from Cambridge had left him an estate in Devonshire."

Is that so? thought Darcy, with a distant smile.

It was good to learn that all was as it should be, and that the results of his labours had indeed reached their intended destination. He had known of the outcome of his endeavours of course, but his information had only come from his attorneys. He had not visited the family at Longbourn ever since he had made his decision that he could not possibly make Elizabeth an offer of marriage - he could not bear to see her and know that she would never be his; nor would he have wished to raise expectations that could not be fulfilled.

He would have liked to know what she thought of the entire scheme, though. Had she ever been to Devonshire? Did she like it? Would she be distressed to have to live there?

Of course she would, that was a very foolish question. The very nature of the circumstance that would require their removal to Devonshire was reason enough to be distressed, and the separation from everything familiar and everything she held dear could not but make matters worse. Darcy sighed. It could not be helped. It was not in his power to secure them Longbourn - not that he would have, even if he could. He would have stood no chance of accomplishing it in secret.

It suddenly occurred to him that Bingley was the only means of learning of their reaction, so he cautiously pressed on with a necessary falsehood - another!

"No, I have not heard. Did Miss Bennet give you any of the particulars?"

"No, she did not even mention it. It was Mrs. Bennet who informed me of it."

But of course.

"Mr. Bennet must be quite surprised at his old friend..."

"Actually, what makes it so odd is that the legator insists that he remains un-named."

"And have they no suspicion?"

"Mrs. Bennet says that her husband can think of a name or two."

So much the better. If Mr. Bennet credited his deception, then there was no reason why anyone else should not.

"This inheritance would obviously not be subject to the entail, so the Miss Bennets and their mother would be quite protected, if the worst were to befall their father," continued Bingley.

Yes, my friend, that was indeed the plan.

But of course he could not tell him that.

"How did you learn of the entail?" Darcy asked instead.

"Miss Lydia let it slip when we walked with them from Meryton, do you not remember? Was it not how you yourself heard of it?"

Darcy grimaced.

"Reverend Collins made a reference to it at some point. But surely, Bingley, the entail should not make you rush into a proposal..."

"Darcy, do not be obtuse. It does not become you. It is not the entail that gives me the incentive to 'rush', as you put it, and besides, it is no longer so much of a threat to the Miss Bennets anyway, ever since Miss Mary had become engaged to Mr. Collins."

"She had?" asked Darcy, surprised in no small measure.

He had not been aware of that - which was no wonder, since by his own design he had severed all connections to Longbourn - save for Charles of course, but he had been too engrossed in his own affairs to return daily with accounts of others'.

"Yes, some weeks ago. I do not know much of the particulars, other than he had proposed and had been accepted just before returning to his parish in Kent."

Darcy would have thought that even Miss Mary would have known better than to accept that man's hand in marriage, but then there was no telling. And in truth, she probably was better suited to him, in temper and in inclination, than any of her sisters.

So Longbourn would remain in the family, after a fashion, and it was becoming apparent to him that, by all accounts, Charles would not be dissuaded from offering for Miss Bennet.

It seemed that his own concern had rather been for naught, but Darcy harboured no regrets for having taken that course of action.

Elizabeth's affection for Longbourn aside, she would still have become uncomfortable, sooner or later, as a guest in her sister's and, more to the point, Mr. Collins's house. She would have probably been happy to live with the future Mrs. Bingley, but that still did not come close to having one's own home. And moreover, it would have necessarily increased the difficulties of his own situation, were he to encounter her every time he visited his friend.

The thought gave him pause. Was this his reason for choosing Devonshire, because it put her even further out of his reach? No, not quite. It had been his only choice in the matter, but there was no denying that the distance, his own lack of connections in that part of the country and the unlikelihood of him ever visiting there were advantages that highly recommended it.

"But we have digressed form our discussion, Darcy," resumed Bingley with a mild smile. "I believe I owe you an answer."

Darcy blinked.

"I do apologise, Bingley, I was not attending."

"Clearly. You asked me a while ago whether I thought she loved me. Yes, I believe she does. But I should like to know what makes you doubt it."

Darcy again chose his words with great deliberation.

"Bingley, Miss Bennet's manners are cheerful and engaging, but I have not detected any symptom of peculiar regard, and though she receives your attentions with pleasure, there is a certain reserve about her, which leads me to believe she does not invite them by any participation of sentiment."

Bingley shook his head with an amused smile.

"Reserved, is she? That is quite an indictment, coming from you, for of course you have always worn your heart on the sleeve."

"It is not the same," Darcy responded, rather offended.

"Most certainly not, I grant you, for I harbour no inclination of ever making you an offer of marriage!"

"This is no laughing matter, Bingley! We are discussing the rest of your life!" snapped his friend, having come close to the limits of his patience, as he stalked back to the billiards table.

"I apologise, Darcy, I could not resist it," smiled Bingley, not a great deal of contrition in his address. He walked slowly towards his friend, and his countenance lost all unholy merriment, to become earnest and almost solemn. "I have the highest opinion of your judgement, Darcy, and the firmest reliance on the strength of your friendship, and I thank you for having my best interests at heart, but on this occasion allow me to doubt your powers of perception. You have seen her but - what? five? six times maybe? - and only in company. Miss Bennet is a fine lady, Darcy, of genteel breeding and impeccable manners. What would you have her do, to be assured of her interest? Pursue me in the same fashion that you yourself have been pursued by a large selection of the ladies of our acquaintance?" Bingley's delicacy prevented him from mentioning his own sister, but there was no need for him to do so. "Believe me, my friend," he continued, "there are ways for a lady such as Miss Bennet to make her sentiments known to the object of her affection, without attracting the untoward interest of the world at large."

Bingley clapped his friend's shoulder in an elder-brother fashion that surprised them both, as it suggested a complete reversal of their ages, and of their usual rapport.

"When you meet the future Mrs. Darcy, my friend, you will understand."

Darcy nodded, an overwhelming emptiness within. He doubted very much that he would.

Chapter Eight

Posted on Sunday, 10 September 2006

Elizabeth smoothed her attire as she emerged from one of the carriages that brought her family to Netherfield, on the night of the Ball. She was filled with anticipation, not so much for herself, but mainly on behalf of her sister Jane, as this, the grandest social event of Meryton and the environs, had in truth become her engagement ball, ever since it had become generally known in the neighbourhood - with the invaluable assistance of her own mother and aunt and that of Lady Lucas - that Mr. Bingley had proposed and had been joyfully accepted.

She followed her parents in the drawing room, happy that her father was sufficiently recovered, that her mother was by his side, as subdued as she had thankfully learned to be in his presence, and that a warm glow of requited love spread over her sister's countenance, as Mr. Bingley approached to greet them and offer Jane his arm to lead her to the receiving line. Even Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst's greetings have been civil and almost warm, although obviously insincere - but there was only so much one could have expected of them.

Netherfield looked at its very best, adorned with exquisite garlands and glittering with an abundance of light. Strains of remarkably well-performed music mingling with the buzz of conversation filled the rooms, adding to the all-pervading atmosphere of delighted anticipation. Elizabeth's eyes were alight with pleasure as she looked around, her enjoyment complete.

From his position against the dark paneling, Darcy could do nothing but stare.

'If I could write the beauty of your eyes...' (*)

This was the picture that he would take with him on the morrow, when he left Netherfield, Hertfordshire and Elizabeth behind.

Her beauty, her joy, the sparkling laughter in her fine eyes.

He would remember her and love her for as long as he lived.

Darcy tried to turn away but knew he could not. He would have been better advised to leave for town before the ball, he had always known it, but he could not have offended Bingley in this fashion ... He stopped.

Who would believe that this was what had kept him? Certainly not himself. The only reason he had not left Netherfield before the ball was that he could not bear the thought of not seeing her for one last time.

People milled between them, a moving sea of muslin and lace, dotted with dark hues and red, and Darcy simply stood there, drinking in the sight of her and committing to memory every detail of her appearance.

Elizabeth's enjoyment of the evening was by no means diminishing, as familiar faces greeted her and were cheerfully greeted in return and snippets of friendly conversation were exchanged with people she had known all her life - that is, until a brief exchange with Lieutenant Denny, a close acquaintance of Mr. Wickham's, had turned her mind to less agreeable thoughts. He had been commissioned, the Lieutenant had said, to convey to her Mr. Wickham's most particular regards and to let her know that, much to his regret, his friend had been obliged to go to town on business the day before and was not yet returned; adding, with a significant smile, that he did not imagine his business would have called Mr. Wickham away just then, if he had not wished to avoid a certain gentleman there.

Elizabeth pursed her lips, remembering Mr. Wickham's boast that he had no fear of seeing Mr. Darcy - that Mr. Darcy might leave the country, but that he should stand his ground; and yet there he was avoiding him, only a few weeks later.

She thanked Mr. Denny for his communication and excused herself, rather pleased that she had been correct in her original estimation of Mr. Wickham and his tissue of lies.

Elizabeth had just a few nights previously related to her sister Jane all that had passed between Wickham and herself, during her visit at their Aunt Phillips. At the end of the disclosures, Jane had agreed with her that, despite Mr. Darcy's initial criticable manners, the whole of their acquaintance with the gentleman, and particularly his later conduct, had shown nothing that betrayed him to be unprincipled or unjust - nothing that spoke him of irreligious or immoral habits; that no man of common humanity, no man who had any value for his character could be capable of treating his father's favourite in such a manner, and that friendship between a person capable of it and such an amiable man as Mr. Bingley would have been incomprehensible.

'I believe you like Mr. Darcy more than you used to, Lizzy,' Jane had teased then, and Elizabeth had returned the smile.

'I have to admit that he does improve on acquaintance'.

'And pray, how much has he improved in your estimation?'

Elizabeth had leaned on her elbow across her sister's bed and confessed:

'I never thought I would say this of Mr. Darcy, of all people, particularly given the beginning of our acquaintance, but he might live in my memory as one of the most intriguing men I have ever met. But that is all. You must be aware, dear Jane, that there is a great disparity in our stations. He will never show any real interest in me. He had made it abundantly clear that he has no wish for our society; after all, he had not joined his friend in his visits to Longbourn in over a month, and I for one have no intention to make myself unhappy over him!'

Elizabeth was roused from her reminiscences as Sir John Ashworth of Ashworth Park, who had engaged her for her first two dances, approached to claim her hand for the first set.

He was a well-educated man of a most gentleman-like appearance, with a talent for intelligent conversation and a ready sense of humour. He was recently returned from his Grand Tour and his account of some of the places he had visited, as well as some of the anecdotes he had to relate, kept Elizabeth very well entertained for the duration of the first two dances.

Darcy walked along the set, grimly determined to steer himself away from the galling picture of Elizabeth dancing with her personable young man. For the longest of times, he could not tear his eyes away, her beauty, her laughter and her joie de vivre drawing him like nothing else ever had; and the sight of that enticing curl let loose at the back of her neck, bouncing with every move and caressing her creamy skin, driving him out of his senses.

Why was he punishing himself so? Why did he not withdraw to his chambers - or at least leave the ballroom?

He could not stir, as a fresh wave of jealousy swept over him.

Was this the man she had alluded to, that long-ago morning in the Netherfield library, after the note regarding her father's attack had been delivered?

What did it matter if he was! Darcy tried to tell himself. He was a pleasant-looking man, with an air of good breeding and more than a spark of intelligence in his countenance - but of course he would be. Elizabeth would not be attracted to a pompous fool!

Was she attracted to him, then?

One might have thought so, given her smiles and her obvious enjoyment of his conversation.

So much the better. She could do far worse! Darcy told himself, but it served no purpose. There was not a single part of him that was about to believe that it was for the best.

He had turned around and walked away then, lest he gave in to the fierce compulsion to walk to her and say all that should be left unsaid.

Her second set was promised to a young officer who, thankfully, neither reminded her of Mr. Wickham, nor spoke of him, and her enjoyment of the dance was unspoilt.

When those dances were over, she discovered her friend Charlotte Lucas amongst the guests and walked over to greet her and exchange their news.

Elizabeth was in conversation with her friend when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy, who took her much by surprise in his application for her hand for the next set.

When the dancing recommenced and Elizabeth took her place, she was amazed anew at finding herself standing up with Mr. Darcy, and read in her neighbours' looks their equal amazement in beholding it. If memory served, at the last ball he had danced only once with Mrs. Hurst and once with Miss Bingley, which led many of the people now present, Elizabeth included, to wonder at him choosing to stand up with someone who was not of his own party.

The gentlemen bowed very low and received a curtsey in return; then, with slow, stately grace, they all advanced to their partners and gloved hands met and held, and so did their eyes. Elizabeth looked up to see Darcy's solemn, almost stern countenance, and wondered why would he give himself the trouble to dance, if he clearly derived no enjoyment from it.

Speak, you fool! his last traces of sense urged, but Darcy felt his mouth dry and his mind devoid of all but the awareness of her proximity, as she circled around him in the pattern of the dance. He breathed in the delicate, barely perceptible scent - jasmine? lily-of-the-valley? - that surrounded her, and reached once more for her hand, as the figure required. He surreptitiously caressed the tip of her fingers with his thumb, not wishing to let go of the little gloved hand that fit so perfectly within his own, any more than he wished to let go of her.

She had tiny white flowers and delicate ribbons woven in her hair, and she looked the very picture of loveliness.

Elizabeth wondered if their silence was to last through the entire duration of their dances.

At one time, she would have been rather inclined to break it, for no other reason than her belief that it would be a punishment to her partner to oblige him to speak, but she felt herself no longer driven to teaze and plague him. She had barely resolved to leave him to his own devices however, when - to her surprise - Darcy turned to her and suddenly offered:

"Allow me to congratulate you for the engagement of your sister to my friend. I am very pleased for them" he added, hoping that he had not betrayed how much he envied Bingley's happiness.

With a smile, Elizabeth turned to follow his gaze that rested on her sister dancing with her fiancé no more than a few steps away, a warm glow of happiness lighting up their features.

"Thank you. I believe they will be very happy".

"Yes," replied Darcy grimly, giving her the mistaken impression that he disapproved in fact of the connection. This angered her in no small measure, and she said quite pointedly:

"There is no doubt that they will. I have scarcely seen two people more suited to each other!"

The dance separated them once more, and Darcy was left to wonder what had he said to earn the unmistakable look of displeasure that flashed in her eyes before she walked away from him down the set, on Bingley's arm.

He turned to give his arm to Jane, and his turmoil was quelled by the look of serene happiness on her face. How did he ever think her placid and devoid of any real feelings for Charles? Darcy spoke to her with affection for Bingley and of his friend's obvious delight at the turn of events, and Jane thanked him warmly for his sentiments.

When Elizabeth was returned to him, she could not miss the genuine kindness in his address to her sister, and her previous displeasure was softened somewhat, making her more inclined to desist from any attempts to argue with him, for the sake of her future brother.

"I understand you will see Miss Darcy soon", she offered, choosing a topic which she knew would not give him pain. "She will undoubtedly be delighted to be reunited with you."

"Yes," he agreed quietly, "we are very close. My sister is very young and not much in the ability of making many friends of her own. I would have wished she could make your acquaintance. She could only benefit from knowing ladies such as yourself ... and the future Mrs. Bingley," he added hastily.

Elizabeth was surprised at this compliment and finally came to accept that although he disapproved of most of her family - fact for which she herself had decided she could not really fault him - this did not necessarily extend to her sister or, for that matter, herself.

It was a small concession perhaps, but the distinction gratified her.

"Will you return to Pemberley for the Christmas season?"

"Possibly. Our plans are not yet fixed."

Their dances have come to their end, and Darcy escorted her off the floor. He should leave her now, he was well aware of that, but he remained rooted to the spot.

"Thank you for the pleasure of this dance, Miss Bennet," he said quietly, not yet ready to relinquish the hold of her hand. "I am glad I have had this opportunity to see you and take my leave. It had been an honour to make your acquaintance."

"Thank you", she said softly, her beautiful face turned up to him, and the finality of the situation tore at his heart. Words caught in his throat. There was so much he would have wanted to tell her, but there was nothing more that could - nay, should - be said, certainly not now and very likely never. He could not offer for her, and that was the end of it.

He stood there, lost in the beauty of her eyes, as the thought of a lifetime of happiness with her washed over him and, after standing a few moments without saying a word, he suddenly recollected himself, and took leave.

Darcy left the ballroom soon after and returned to his chambers. He left Netherfield at dawn the following day.

Despite his better instincts, he begged his friend to accept his apologies for declining the honour of standing up with him as Bingley's best man, at his wedding.

Darcy did not return to Hertfordshire for Jane and Mary's double wedding, held just after Christmas, nor for Mr. Bennet's funeral, which followed less than two months later.

On both occasions, he wrote to his friend and his new wife, expressing his sincere sentiments.

By mid December, he had returned to Pemberley.

(*)William Shakespeare's 17th Sonnet

Chapter Nine

Posted on Wednesday, 20 September 2006

As the lights dimmed in the vast auditorium, Darcy felt Georgiana's hand excitedly press his own and he turned to smile at his sister, momentarily drawn from his own concerns by the joy reflected in her eyes and by the brilliance in her countenance, so rarely seen since Ramsgate.

It had been mainly for her benefit that he found himself in the great Theatre Royal(*1) that night, as she had expressed a great desire to attend the performance of Beethoven's much acclaimed Fidelio(*2). As for himself, he would have preferred the quiet solitude of his own library in Berkeley Square, despite the unwelcome thoughts that would have assailed him therein, to the debatable pleasure of a brilliant performance, bought at the high price of having to make an appearance amongst people he could no longer abide.

Darcy frowned at the thought that he would have to make the requisite polite calls in some of the boxes, come the interlude. The insipidity of those people grated sorely on his frayed temper and he shook his head at the incomprehensibility of his hopes that he would end by forgetting Elizabeth and by finding a more fitting match for himself amongst them.

Whatever could have prompted such a notion? He had been unable to do so for these six or seven years, ever since he had been old enough to wander the hallowed halls of the London society as a very young man on the marriage mart. He had been repelled by their facile superficiality even before he had anything to judge them by. And now that he had met Elizabeth, and had become enthralled by her artlessness, her brilliance and wit, her beauty and everything about her, how could he still hope to find a remotely acceptable substitute amongst women of higher status, but lesser worth?

He cast a disinterested look around him. The picture, he had to own, was pleasing enough. A vast expanse of fine cloth and expensive jewellery glowed softly in the subdued light, on all the levels of the multi-tiered performance hall. The glitter, as well as the beauty, were, he had found, mostly skin-deep - and in some cases not even that.

What was he doing amongst these people when his heart was in Hertfordshire?

No, not in Hertfordshire any longer, he amended. Devonshire by now, as he had surmised, and one of Bingley's missives had confirmed.

The thought made him wince in pain. What must she have endured, since her father's passing! He did not doubt that she had been as close to her father as he had been to his, perhaps even more so, for the Darcys had never been prone to the open expressions of affection he had witnessed between Mr. Bennet and his favourite daughter.

He should have been at her side at a time like this! The thought of Elizabeth's suffering, in the midst of self-centred and ill-judged manifestations which had undoubtedly been forthcoming from her mother and younger sisters, with no-one but Mrs. Bingley and Charles for comfort, tore at his heart. He should have been there, with her. He longed to be with her, and hold her, and tell her that he would take care of everything.

He could say nothing of the sort, of course. All that was within his rights to offer was the lukewarm comfort of a near-stranger - and that would never do!

The first strains of the overture filled the great auditorium and Darcy leaned back in his seat, hoping that the beauty of the music would soothe him.

It did not. Nothing did. Not even Pemberley.

He could not bear being at Pemberley for above two months. He had attempted to engross himself in estate business and, for Georgiana's sake, to spend more time with her and pretend to a normalcy that was not there. They have visited their neighbours, people that he had known and respected - and some of them even liked - for as long as he could remember, but there was no one whose society he would truly enjoy, nor was there anything he could do to fill the emptiness within, or remove the crushing weight of sadness that he carried everywhere he went.

Not even the Christmas season could lift it. Christmas had never been quite cheerful at Pemberley in a number of years, as memories of the celebrations of years gone by, when both his parents were alive, only served to remind him of the premature diminution of their family circle, which is why in most years Darcy had persuaded Georgiana that they should remain in town, or travel to Matlock.

He could not bear to remain in town this year. The knowledge that Elizabeth was less than half a day's journey away, happily engrossed at the time in her sisters' wedding preparations, was more that he could tolerate with equanimity; and the thought of Bingley's nuptials and his forthcoming happiness with the woman he loved was more than enough to drive him away.

Darcy hoped that his friend would forgive him the slight of not standing up with him as his best man, as well as the even weightier transgression of not attending his wedding at all, but he could not bear it. The thought of waiting at the altar by his friend's side, and seeing Elizabeth advancing down the aisle as Jane and Mary's maid of honour, knowing all the while that he would not see her coming towards the altar to stand by his side as his bride was beyond anything he felt he could endure. He had sought refuge at Pemberley then, in the vain hope that the beloved place would provide the sanctuary and succour that it always did.

Darcy sighed.

Pemberley had always welcomed him whenever he returned, from school in earlier years, from endeavours in town, even from the wretchedness of Ramsgate. Like Antaeus(*2), he found his strength returning to him as he walked its halls, or even as he beheld the beloved house across the valley, from the top of the abrupt hill opposite, on each of his journeys home.

It had not been thus on this occasion. All that he could think of at the sight of Pemberley was that it would never have Elizabeth as its mistress.

The thought haunted him in every room. Elizabeth in the music room, playing for him at the end of a delightful evening. Elizabeth across from him at the vast table, entertaining their guests or presiding over an even more appealing intimate dinner. Elizabeth in his study, or in the library, as he had imagined her that distant day at Netherfield. Elizabeth laughing with his sister, cajoling her out of her subdued spirits and teaching her to enjoy life as much as she herself did. Elizabeth in his vast, empty, loveless and cheerless bedchamber, lighting up his home and his life with the glow of her presence and her love...

The music soared, filling the auditorium with the uplifting message of hope and glory that Beethoven's music had brought to enthralled audiences for over a decade. To Darcy, however, it brought no solace. He stared right through the brilliant performance below, barely seeing, barely listening. The picture he had conjured vanished in the air. All that remained was the weight of loss behind a countenance cast in stone.

(*1) Between 1732 and 1847, The Royal Opera House was known as 'Theatre Royal of Covent Garden'.

(*2)The premiere of the final version was held in Vienna in 1814, but as an earlier version had been performed, also in Vienna, in 1805, I thought I could venture to assume that it might have been performed in London soon after (I have decided to place my story somewhere in the blurry middle-ground between the time when First Impressions was written and the year P&P was published).

(*3)Antaeus, in Greek Mythology, a giant who would regain all his strength when he came in contact with the earth.

Elizabeth drew a long breath as she had finally reached the summit, after a rather strenuous ascent. The Devonshire downs were rather more of a challenge than the pleasant rolling hills of Hertfordshire - and she welcomed it. She filled her lungs again with the bracing air, and slowly turned to absorb the unfamiliar beauty of the countryside that opened at her feet. Fresh green hues of newly arrived spring clung to the open downs on the left, only to be contrasted by the vibrant tones of heather and gorse that richly dotted them in places, and the hanging woods on the opposite side drew the eye to their darker beauty. Deeper in the valleys, clusters of barely distinguishable cottages beckoned with a friendly welcome, away from the forbidding summits, and the tall spires of churches spoke of resilience and hope.

Gusts of wind tugged at her bonnet and, on impulse, Elizabeth loosened the ribbons, allowing it to fall on her back. She closed her eyes and lifted her face into the wind as it washed over her and turned her barely-tamed curls into a tangled mess. Her eyes flew open in delighted surprise, however, as Kitty suddenly came to embrace her and press her cheek against her own.

"Lizzy! Dearest Lizzy," she exclaimed with unrestrained joy, "you do look like yourself again!"

Elizabeth returned the embrace, suddenly humbled by her sister's open display of affection, as well as by the realisation of how much had her own depression of spirits affected the ones who cared for her. She could barely repress a wince of pain at the thought of the last months. The anguish of her father's passing had been somewhat expected, given his progressively worsening condition since little before Christmas, but it was by no means less acute when the dreaded event had eventually come to pass.

"I am happy you think I do, dearest. Thank you," she added with a smile, and Kitty looked up in surprise.

"Whatever for?"

"For being such a good sister to me!"

Kitty blushed and Elizabeth pressed her hand. They had become very close over the last few months, and this had been the only blessing Elizabeth could think of. A great change had been wrought in Kitty's temperament and demeanour, and she had progressively become Elizabeth's companion rather than Lydia's. They practiced their music together, they withdrew to the still room to companionably go about their business, much as she used to do with Jane, and since the weather had turned, it had become their habit to go for long walks over the high downs, which invited them from almost every window of the Lodge to seek the exquisite enjoyment of their summits. Kitty was becoming almost as avid a walker as herself, and they had spent many hours exploring the beauties around their new home, for the whole country about them abounded in delightful walks, which have gone a long way to finally restoring Elizabeth's dejected spirits to a state tolerably reminiscent of what they used to be. They rarely talked of matters of great import and both avoided, as though by mutual agreement, to mention the most momentous of them all, but perhaps it was time for that to change.

"Come, Kitty," Elizabeth urged with a smile. "Let us find someplace to sit."

Holding hands, they crossed to the other side of the plateau and descended a few steps on the sunny side of the hill, until they came across a large flat stone, wide enough for both of them. They sat, and produced a small lunch of fruit, bread and cheese from their satchels.

"I am so happy that the weather turned!" Kitty exclaimed as she finished munching on her apple. "Another morning cooped up with Mamma and Lydia, and I would have gone distracted!"

As the older and responsible sister, Elizabeth knew she ought not encourage the sentiment, but to disagree or censure would have been not only detrimental to their newly-established bond, but also hypocritical. How many times had she not expressed the same thought to Jane? How often had she not sought solace from silliness and impropriety in exactly the same fashion? It was astounding and by no means unpleasant to note how much like her old self Kitty had become!

So Elizabeth merely offered with a smile, "It would not have been just Mamma and Lydia, in any case. Mrs. Jennings would have been sure to call."

"And you would regard that as an improvement?"

Elizabeth laughed lightly in response. Mrs. Jennings was a widow, with an ample jointure, who lived for the best part of the year with her son-in-law and daughter, Sir John and Lady Middleton of Barton Park, a large and handsome residence not more than three miles from Farringdon Lodge, the Bennets' new home. Mrs. Jennings was neither well-informed, nor elegant in her expressions or address, but she had a warm heart and cheerful disposition, and although her society did not do anything to sate Elizabeth's more discerning appetite, she was glad for the occupation it provided for her mother and, in not much smaller measure, for her sister Lydia. They were forever visiting at Barton Park or Mrs. Jennings would come to call, and the three women would dissolve in laughter and inane conversation that would have made Lizzy roll her eyes, had she not known better. Kitty however had not many such scruples. She had started to show more discernment and real understanding and, not having had yet acquired - as Elizabeth recently had - some wisdom and forbearance with the little vexations of this world - was at times unable or unwilling to conceal her disapproval of their frivolous concerns, which made her elder sister smile with amused affection, as she would recognise her own former responses to their relations' outbursts.

"You will say I have started to sound like Jane," Elizabeth laughed, "but I cannot help liking her, Kitty. She is loud, to be sure, and more meddlesome than I should like, but it is all in good cheer and without a shred of malice. And she keeps Mamma happy!"

"In that you are right. They have become fast friends..."

"Indeed. One cannot miss the great similarities in temper and disposition..."

"Oh, no, Lizzy, there is more to it than that! There is something else that highly recommends Mrs. Jennings to Mamma's affections!"

"And what would that be?"

"The fact that she has only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry off the rest of the world! Mamma is delighted to have her assistance in creditably disposing of the rest of her brood!" laughed Kitty and Elizabeth could do nothing but join her.

"It is unkind of me, I know," Kitty owned, "particularly as she had been so welcoming and has done so much to introduce us to the society, the concerns and the amusements of our new neighbours, but I confess I find her hard to bear sometimes. I thought I should scream when she kept teazing you about being so forlorn and asking how many broken hearts have you left behind in Hertfordshire!"

Elizabeth took her hand again in silent expression of thanks and understanding, and Kitty raised her eyes to meet her sister's.

"Lizzy..." she whispered tentatively, then gathered her courage and pressed on. "Are you...? You look better now, much better than you have done for a long time! Do you think ... you will be well again?"

"Oh, Kitty!" exclaimed Elizabeth, touched by her sister's concern. "I ... I know not ... but ... I hope I will!"

"It's just that ... you have been so strong, you hardly ever said a word about... Papa, and everything ... You threw yourself into attending to every detail of our removal from Longbourn, and none of us did more than you to establish us in our new home, but when the work was done, there was nothing left..." She stopped.

"Nothing left to hide behind..." Elizabeth said, finishing her thought, and Kitty nodded.

It was true. She had deliberately sought to involve herself in all that had to be done, no matter how tedious or trifling, because the momentous task of sorting through their personal possessions in order to move and make room for the following occupants of Longbourn had somewhat helped stall the wretchedness of spirit, and employment of hands had led to the channelling of thoughts to the practical concerns pertaining to their change of abode.

Elizabeth had insisted, and had finally carried her point in persuading her family to agree to a very swift removal. Within the month, having bid adieu to Hertfordshire and all their friends, they were settled at Farringdon Lodge, a handsome and well proportioned building, no more than four or five miles north-west-wards from Exeter, smaller, but much better appointed than Longbourn, with extensive views over the surrounding downs.

It had been a time of upheaval and hard work, and Elizabeth had dedicated herself, to the exclusion of all else, to ensuring that everything was dealt with to satisfaction, and that nothing had been left to chance - and was grateful for the employment, to once more keep thoughts at bay. As soon as the settling in their new home gave way to a easily-kept routine though, there was much more time left for the intrusion of thoughts, and the weeks that followed were ones of great dejection for Elizabeth. It was beyond her abilities to even attempt to conceal this, nor would she had been successful had she tried, and Kitty had been distraught to witness the silent suffering she could not allay.

"Were you sorry to leave Longbourn so soon?" Elizabeth suddenly asked. "Mr. Collins had been surprisingly sensitive. He made a point in assuring me several times we should take as much time as we needed..."

"No doubt under Mary's influence!"

"Indeed! Should you have wished we did not rush, though?"

"No!" Kitty answered decidedly. "There was nothing to be gained by tarrying, other than the grief of refreshed memories!"

"Yes. That was exactly how I felt. I could not bear it. Under a misfortune as this, assistance is impossible; condolence, insufferable. I had been wild to be away from it all, to a place where people should not feel they must condole with me at every step!"

"I know. This is why I supported you in declining Jane's and Charles' offer".

The new Mrs. Bingley, seconded warmly by her husband, had pleaded with her family to accept their hospitality and live at Netherfield for a while, but Elizabeth had been adamant in her refusal. The separation from Jane and the thought of a two- or three-day-journey between them - after having shared confidences every night for so many years - were difficult to bear.

But Jane had her own life now, and a different allegiance; and for her own part, Elizabeth felt that she desperately needed to turn a new leaf.

"I, for one, could not bear to remain in the neighbourhood for long enough to see our cousin taking Papa's place," Kitty confessed quietly, " and you must have felt it just as keenly!"

Elizabeth pressed her hand again and Kitty added,

"I do not doubt the change was good for Mamma and Lydia as well - and doubly so for Jane and Charles. You know as well as I do that our mother's continued presence would have taxed beyond forbearance even the proverbial patience of our amiable new brother! Mamma was quite vexed at the time that we would not relent on the subject of living at Netherfield, she told me so more often than I can remember. She would have loved the prestige and the status above all else. And to at least try to interfere with every detail of Jane's domestic arrangements..."

"Heaven forbid!" laughed Elizabeth. "Then, aside from the excitement of novelty, it was undoubtedly good for her, as well as for all concerned, to know that she can come to Farringdon and once again be mistress of her own home..."

"Although for all intents and purposes, you are the mistress of Farringdon Lodge," Kitty interjected with a smile.

It was partially true. Mrs. Bennet would happily preside over their table, as was her right as well as her due, but had decided that since she had neither the head nor the inclination for figures, she would be perfectly happy to allow Elizabeth to take over her father's role in managing their affairs. It was not an overly difficult task, as their current income was almost as large as the one that Longbourn had provided, and that was quite sufficient for a smaller household of ladies who had little opportunity for extravagant expense, in that part of the country. As a result, Elizabeth had found herself blessing - and not for the first or the only time - the memory of the unknown gentleman, her father's friend, who had made all their present comfort possible.

"It is a relief to know that it is in your power to prevent us from living above our means," Kitty offered and Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

"I must own that I had thought so myself, but I do not relish having to wrestle the purse-strings from Mamma every time she thinks we ought to spend more on some frippery or other!" laughed Elizabeth and Kitty joined her.

They lifted their faces to the mild April sun, and fell silent for a while, enjoying the beauty and tranquility that surrounded them.

"I wonder how is Jane enjoying Scarborough," Kitty mused. "It was good of Charles to delay their proposed tour to his relations in the north and come to us instead."

Merely weeks after the Bennets' removal from Longbourn, their sister and her new husband had visited them in Devonshire, as Jane would not rest easy until she had seen for herself where and how they were settled, and how was her dear family submitting to the change. Their visit was briefer than might otherwise have been, for Mr. Bingley's remaining family in Scarborough were impatient to become better acquainted with his new wife, but it had been nevertheless a delight to see Jane again, so unexpectedly soon after they had parted, to show her their new home and to be able to reassure her as to the comfort of their arrangements.

"It was indeed, but then so is Charles. I am truly happy for Jane. She could not have found a better man!"

"Would it not be lovely if he could purchase an estate in Devonshire, rather than extend the lease of Netherfield?"

"Why, have you heard of any such estate having come up for sale?"

"No, I was merely wishing there was. But I should ask Mrs. Jennings. Whatever she does not know about the concerns of everyone on a twenty-mile radius is not worth knowing!"

"Kitty!" giggled Elizabeth, all the while knowing that it was probably true.

They sat together a little while longer in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth and the view and their new-found closeness, until Elizabeth suddenly suggested:

"We should turn back now, don't you think?" and, as Kitty agreed, Elizabeth re-arranged her hair and her bonnet, and they begun to slowly retrace their steps towards the Lodge.

They leisurely descended into the valley and eventually found the bridleway from Delaford. Soon after it had joined the lane to Barton, they noticed a gentleman riding in their direction. Having recognised them, he dismounted and advanced to pay his respects.

"Good morning, Colonel," Elizabeth and Kitty greeted him, with undisguised pleasure.

"Ladies..." Colonel Brandon bowed to both of them. "Have you been visiting at the Park?"

There was a trace of well-bred surprise in his voice, which Elizabeth did not fail to recognise as well as understand, and it brought a smile to her lips. They had been acquainted for long enough for the Colonel to know that of the Bennet ladies, it was Mrs. Bennet and Lydia who would be the most frequent visitors at Barton Park.

Its owner, Sir John Middleton, was, in temper and disposition, more suited to be Mrs. Jennings son, rather than son-in-law. He was a pleasant man of about forty, with thoroughly good-humoured countenance and friendly manners. The Bennets' arrival in the neighbourhood seemed to have afforded him real satisfaction, and ever since the very beginning of their acquaintance, he had invited them frequently to dine at Barton Park, and had attempted to concoct many a scheme for their amusement. His lady was of a completely different sort. Though perfectly well-bred, she was reserved and cold and she had nothing to say one day that she had not said the day before. Her main employment was the spoiling of her four children, and her main concern was the elegance of her table and of all her domestic arrangements.

"No, sir, we have not," Elizabeth replied. "My sister and I have taken a long walk over the downs this morning. After all the rain we have been having lately, the weather was an inducement we could not resist."

"How have you enjoyed your walk?"

"Very much indeed! Devonshire has many beauties to recommend it!"

"And you are now returning to Farringdon Lodge?"

Upon confirmation that it was indeed so, permission was sought for the Colonel to escort them, which was gladly granted.

Of all her new acquaintance, Elizabeth could find but few who would in any degree claim the respect of abilities, excite the interest of friendship, or give real pleasure as companions, but Colonel Brandon was decidedly one of those few.

He was a close friend of Sir John's, about five years his junior. The intimacy subsisting between the two was astonishing, as there was hardly any resemblance of temperament or manner. Colonel Brandon was as grave and quiet as Sir John was gregarious, and had little interest for the other gentleman's pursuits, which were mainly centred on hunting and shooting, and entertaining his neighbours with as many private balls in the winter and as many al fresco parties in the summer as could be arranged.

Brandon was subdued in manner, with a pleasant, sensible countenance and particularly gentlemanlike address. He was much better informed and more suited to intelligent conversation that any of the people recently introduced to Elizabeth's acquaintance, and a welcome antidote to some of her new neighbours' senseless frivolity.

In the early weeks of her life in Devonshire, Elizabeth's dejected spirits have more than once made her impatient with Mrs. Jennings' and Sir John's empty cheerfulness, and she had found in Colonel Brandon a pleasant companion, who would not intrude upon her notice with misplaced jokes and impertinent innuendo. They would discuss books and art, people and places, the world as it was and the world as it had been, for the Colonel was not only well-read and well-travelled, but also in possession of an excellent understanding and, once he chose to overcome his reserve, his conversation was as stimulating as it was enjoyable.

Colonel Brandon found himself equally attracted to Elizabeth's conversation and manner, in contrast with that of the rest of their regular companions, as well as to her good understanding and her inclination towards a dry sense of humour. As a result, a decided preference for each other's society had gradually emerged, which had delighted Mrs. Bennet and, in almost the same measure, Mrs. Jennings. The latter had very soon pronounced it should be an excellent match, for he was rich, and she was handsome, and had, from that time onwards, often found many witty things to say to both about their supposed attachment.

Over the years, Mrs. Jennings' zeal in projecting weddings among all the young people of her acquaintance had provided her with endless entertainment, as she had raised the blushes and the vanity of many a young lady by insinuations of her power over a young man or another.

In this instance though, to her disappointment, there was little satisfaction to be had. After having met the first of her comments with amused incredulity, both objects of her interest have subsequently remained perfectly indifferent to her raillery and obliged neither with further protestation, nor with telling blush, regardless of being addressed in turn or together.

Mrs. Jennings however was not to be easily disheartened and, despite the decided lack of encouragement, her wit flew long.

"It appears you were in the right, we do have company," Kitty said to her sister, as they approached the house and the sound of Mrs. Jennings' merry laughter and Sir John's deeper voice came to them through the open windows of the drawing room.

The visitors welcomed them with exclamations of pleasure and commendations for their efforts as valiant walkers, despite the muddy paths, as Elizabeth and Kitty, followed by the Colonel, made their way within.

"Oh! And the Colonel, as well!" Mrs. Jennings exclaimed, with a wide smile and a knowing look in Elizabeth's direction. "Did you join the ladies in their walk by accident or design, Sir?"

"Neither, Ma'am," the gentleman replied, unperturbed. "I have only had the pleasure of encountering Miss Bennet and Miss Catherine when they were on their way back to the Lodge."

"And a real pleasure that must have been, eh, Brandon?" Sir John decided to join his mother-in-law's in what they both regarded as subtle taquinerie. "Well, young ladies," Sir John resumed, turning to Elizabeth and Kitty, "I am happy you are here, for I have great news, which I have already shared with your mother and sister. I have just received a letter from my cousin, Mrs. Dashwood from Norland Park. She and her daughters are very much in the same position as yourselves, as they have just recently lost Mr. Dashwood to an unexpected illness," he added, making Elizabeth wince at the thought that it was just as well that Sir John was kindness personified, for tact was not his forte. "They will have to quit their home in favour of Mr. Dashwood's son from a previous marriage, and I have written to offer them Barton Cottage. I have meant to do so for many weeks now, ever since I heard their sad news, in fact, but with your family settled in the area, it added fresh incentive. I am pleased to tell you that even though they intended to come and settle here sometime in the autumn, I have managed to persuade them to remove from Norland so much sooner, so I believe they will be at the cottage before Easter. I daresay you will be fast friends!"

"Yes, Easter will arrive much later this year, in mid May," Mrs. Bennet commented, not really attending. She was not particularly pleased by the news of more young ladies settling in the area. Now if they were to bring a brother or two, that would make it much better for, after all, one could not know too many young gentlemen.

It would damage the prospects of her own daughters, to be sure, for there were not too many eligible bachelors in the country. Colonel Brandon was one, and she would have been quite happy if one of her girls could have him, particularly her darling Lydia, but Lydia - although in raptures when she had learned he was a colonel - lost all interest when it became known that he was retired from active service. Elizabeth could perhaps secure him though, but she should make haste about it, lest any of the new girls caught his fancy!

Mrs. Bennet had another sip of tea and shrugged. Well, be that as it may. She was not as impatient to have her daughters well married as she used to be, because of course they will not lose Farringdon Lodge to an entail and become destitute.

Mrs. Bennet never had great curiosity to find out much about their mysterious benefactor. That she and her daughters had a roof above their heads and a comfortable income sufficed. Elizabeth, however, was more interested and had attempted to learn from her new neighbours about the previous owner of the Lodge, but even Mrs. Jennings, who made it her business to know everybody else's, could not be of much help. All she knew was that it used to belong to the Farringdon estate, now leased to the Whittakers, after Lord and Lady Farringdon's demise.

Elizabeth's acquaintance with the Whittakers was not as such as to permit the same level of intimacy as they had with Mrs. Jennings, nor were they as disposed to lay out all their private concerns open for everyone's perusal as the good lady was, but even as their acquaintance progressed, they could offer no further intelligence.

Elizabeth had eventually understood from the eldest Miss Whittaker that the lease was controlled by some London attorneys, and that she had no idea as to the identity of either the former or the current owner, nor of the history of the estate.

Colonel Brandon, when applied to, could not be of much assistance either, as he had been out of the country for so long in his military days as to not have a great deal of knowledge of the affairs of his neighbours.

Elizabeth had eventually let the matter drop, satisfied within herself that it would be the least she could do for the memory of her departed father's friend, to allow him the privacy he had so obviously desired.

Chapter Ten

Posted on Wednesday, 20 September 2006

The week after Mrs. Jennings' and Sir John's visit, the Bennets were invited, along with the family at Barton Park, to dine with Colonel Brandon at Delaford. The Colonel was not much in the habit of entertaining, but occasionally he would host a small informal dinner for the closest people of his acquaintance.

When Elizabeth and her family arrived, they were surprised to note that amongst the guests, there was a gentleman they had not previously met. He was soon introduced to them as Col. Richard Fitzwilliam, known to Col. Brandon from his previous years of active service. The newcomer, they were soon told, was visiting his erstwhile fellow officer and longstanding friend, on his way from Plymouth to London.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was a good-looking man of about thirty, not very handsome, but of easy manners and gentlemanlike address. He bore quite cheerfully and with admirable composure Lydia's interest in his regimentals and person, but in the end it was Elizabeth's person and conversation which had attracted him most.

After dinner, he seated himself by her and Col. Brandon and, with progressively more contribution from the latter, they all talked so agreeably of London and Devonshire, of the pleasures of travelling and staying at home, of new books and music, as to render even the taciturn Brandon more talkative than Fitzwilliam had ever seen him before.

It was an agreeable evening, which not even Lydia's ill-judged occasional interference could spoil. At everyone's request, Elizabeth finished by playing for the company, and Col. Brandon offered his services in turning the pages.

Her playing had improved substantially over the past months, and was listened to with great pleasure by at least three of the people present. Sir John was loud in his admiration at the end of every song, and as loud in his conversation with the others while every song lasted. Lady Middleton frequently called him to order, wondered how one's attention could be diverted from music for a moment, and asked Elizabeth to sing a particular song, which Elizabeth had just finished. Mrs. Bennet, Mrs. Jennings and Lydia were engrossed in their merry conversation to the exclusion of all else, and it was only Kitty and the other two gentlemen who paid her the compliment of attention.

Col. Fitzwilliam found himself more attracted than he would have thought by the lady's fair countenance and lively spirit, but as he was a honourable gentleman and a good friend, he refrained from enjoying her conversation as much as he would have otherwise been inclined to, and rejoiced in the obvious improvement in Col. Brandon's spirits, which the charming Miss Bennet wrought.

They did not see him after that. Much to his expressed regret, Col. Fitzwilliam could not extend his stay in Devonshire beyond a week as, he had explained to his friend on his departure, he was expected in London to meet with his cousin and travel together in Kent.

In May, the cheerfully heralded and long-expected Miss Dashwoods and their widowed mother made their appearance in the neighbourhood and settled at Barton Cottage. Elizabeth and her mother and sisters were amongst their first callers, after Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, of course, as they could equal neither Sir John's solicitude as cousin and landlord, nor Mrs. Jennings' curiosity and penchant for gossip.

Elizabeth was delighted with her new neighbours which, happily, were now settled no further than two miles from her home. Mrs. Dashwood was a respectable, amiable woman, with little to say, but with kindness and well-breeding evident in all her communications. Her daughters were no less a pleasant addition to the neighbourhood, and Elizabeth found herself concurring with Sir John's friendly, but ill-informed opinion that they would become fast friends. He thought they would be drawn together by the similarities in age and situation, while she became aware, soon after making their acquaintance, that they were pleasant, well-informed young ladies, of good manners and no affectation, and was delighted to find them so. Her expectations were not high, but had they been, the elder Miss Dashwoods would have exceeded them all. The eldest, Miss Elinor, was two years her junior, but Elizabeth was almost disposed to regard her as older than herself, because in temperament and calmness of manner, she reminded her greatly of her sister Jane. The second eldest, Miss Marianne, was without doubt the handsomest of the two, and her mother's favourite. The preference, however, was not displayed in a manner to mortify and repel her other daughters - a fashion to which Elizabeth was well accustomed - but merely betrayed a similarity of temper, tastes and opinions between the mother and one of the daughters, which the others did not share. The youngest, Miss Margaret, was but thirteen, and while well-bread and quite charming, could not interest Elizabeth as a possible companion.

It did not take her long to discern that between the two, she found herself drawn more to the eldest Miss Dashwood. Although Elinor did not display Elizabeth's easy humour and open manners, her reserve was not repulsive, as she realised it wanted but a longer acquaintance to be overcome.

When their progressive intimacy allowed them to know each other better, Elizabeth discovered she had been correct in her estimation, and that Miss Elinor's good-sense and quietly expressed but sound and deeply held opinions suited her own common-sense better than Miss Marianne's youthfully romantic notions of a girl but seventeen. She could not but find the younger Miss Dashwood endearing, however, and believe that a few years will settle her opinions on the reasonable basis of commonsense and observation, and then they may be more easy to define and justify than they now were, by anybody but herself.

"Perhaps we could call on Elinor and Marianne this morning, Elizabeth, what say you?" Kitty asked one morning in May, as the blustery weather that had plagued the last couple of days finally seemed to give way to something more constant.

Elizabeth acquiesced with good humour, once more pleased with their good luck to have people whose company was so thoroughly enjoyable settled so close to their home. It afforded a good substitute for the happy hours spent with her friend Charlotte, and almost went a long way to make her miss Jane less.

In the past few weeks, they have seen the Dashwoods every other day, as they were all living well within the radius of influence of Sir John's constant hospitality. Their intimacy had actually been promoted by their frequent invitations at the Park, in ways that Sir John had not envisaged; for there was a mutual tendency to shrink from the exuberance and intrusive manners that he himself and his good mother-in-law displayed, sufficient to make them desirous of each other's company even more than they would otherwise have been.

It did not take Kitty and Elizabeth long to reach Barton Cottage, only to discover that Miss Marianne had suffered a rather uncomfortable mishap. She and her sister Margaret, it emerged, had been lured out the day before by a temporary reprieve in the blustery showers, and they had made their way towards one of the summits that rose behind the Cottage. The weather had not been tempting enough to draw the others from one's sketches and the other's book, in spite Marianne's declaration that it would be lastingly fair and that every cloud would be drawn off from their hills, and the younger girls had set off together. They had gaily ascended the downs, rejoicing in every glimpse of blue sky and resisting the high south-westerly wind with laughing delight, when suddenly the clouds had united over their heads and a driving rain had set full in their faces. Chagrined and surprised, they were obliged, though unwillingly, to turn back, for no shelter was nearer than their own house. One consolation however remained for them, to which the exigency of the moment gave more than usual propriety: it was that of running with all possible speed down the steep side of the hill which led to their garden gate. They had set off and at first Marianne had the advantage, but a false step had brought her suddenly to the ground.

"I was about to return to the house and call to Mamma and Elinor for assistance, but luckily Colonel Brandon was passing up the hill a few yards from us when the accident happened."

Sat on a stool by the side of a blushing Marianne, Margaret told the rest of her story. The Colonel had dismounted and ran to her assistance. Marianne had raised herself from the ground, but her foot had been twisted in the fall, and she was scarcely able to stand. The gentleman offered his services, and as there seemed to be no other option, took her up in his arms and carried her down the hill. Then he brought her into the house and seated her in a chair in the parlour and, despite the entreaties of a very grateful Mrs. Dashwood, declined her invitation to be seated, as he was dirty and wet, but requested and was readily granted the honour of calling on them the following day to enquire about the patient.

Elizabeth and Kitty expressed their concern and sympathy and enquired about Marianne's comfort. They were told that the pain had subsided, and more readily so after the draughts that Mr. Martin, the apothecary, had supplied. She was however unable to stir from her reclining position on the sofa, and confessed herself quite vexed by the inability to enjoy the truly good weather that had finally arrived.

"It could have been much worse, dearest," her elder sister offered with a smile, by way of consolation. "Had you been further from home, and had the Colonel not been at hand to offer his services, you might have been faced with a really dangerous cold."

Marianne smiled and held her hand, and Margaret giggled.

"I would not have thought the Colonel equal to such exertion, at his stage in life."

Elizabeth was shocked at such a statement from the well-bred youngest Miss Dashwood and wondered if she had been spending too much time in her sister Lydia's company. Her sentiments were, at least in the first respect, shared by the elder Miss Dashwood and her mother, who promptly checked her interference and bade her to refrain from such comments.

"But he wears a flannel waistcoat and complains of rheumatism! Marianne, you told me so yourself!" resumed Margaret, earning another 'Tsk!' from her mother and a blushing reprimand from the sister whose aid she had attempted to enlist.

"It appears that my younger girls think five-and-thirty on the brink of decrepitude and infirmity," smiled Mrs. Dashwood apologetically to the visitors, whom she had grown to think of as other daughters. "At this rate, my dears, you must be in continual terror of my decay, and it must seem to you a miracle that my life has been extended to the advanced age of forty!"

Everyone laughed and Marianne blushed again. Elizabeth regarded her with an amused smile, having heard in the past some of the younger girl's readily expressed opinions. It was clear to her that, at seventeen, Miss Marianne had relegated people like the Colonel to night caps, powder gowns, tisanes and slippers warmed in front of the fire, and it had come as a great surprise to see him in the posture of a romantic hero who had materialised from the mists of the downs to come to her rescue.

After a while, Elizabeth decided it was time to excuse themselves and did so, but Marianne begged so insistently for the pleasure of their company, pleading her inability to come in quest for it at Farringdon Lodge herself, that they were persuaded to stay a little longer. It was no hardship, as the conversation was amiable and witty, with a lot of good-humour and not lacking in sense.

"Will you read for us, Elizabeth?" Marianne asked some time later, at a lull in the conversation.

Elizabeth readily acquiesced and rose to choose a book from the pile Marianne kept on a small table by her side. Her eyes fell on the one on top, a slim volume of Shakespeare's sonnets, beautifully bound and lovingly worn, obviously a favourite. She opened it at a random page and began to read. She had a soft, warm voice and she read well, but her inflections did not do justice to Marianne's idea as to how Shakespeare's sonnets should be read.

"Oh, Elizabeth, for shame!" she exclaimed after she could hold herself back no longer, with all the tender admonishment of a close friend. "How can you read this so evenly and tamely?"

"It was well read, Marianne," her sister disagreed, lifting her eyes from the sketch she was putting the final touches to, a remarkably accurate rendition of Barton Cottage.

"I am sorry if it was not to your satisfaction, Marianne," Elizabeth replied with good-humour and offered her younger friend the book. "Please, show us how it is done."

With a smile, Marianne took the book, but she barely had the opportunity to declaim two verses, with all the deeply-felt passion which she believed they required, when the drawing room opened and Col. Brandon was announced.

He advanced and greeted the ladies with all the reserve they were accustomed to find in him, and it was only for Elizabeth that he had a friendlier, more open smile, as she was the only person in the room with whom he felt reasonably at ease. He then turned to Marianne and offered her a beautiful bouquet, no doubt plundered from his extensive and well-kept gardens, then begged leave to enquire as to the state of her health. Her cheeks overspreading with the deepest blush, Marianne bent over the flowers, inhaling their scent, then recollected herself to reply to his enquiries and thank him for his assistance the previous day. In that, she was seconded by her mother and elder sister, who insisted that the Colonel should be seated and take some refreshment. The invitation was accepted with quiet pleasure, and Brandon seated himself by Elizabeth's side.

It was difficult, if not impossible, to regain the gay spirit that had pervaded the young ladies' visit prior to the Colonel's arrival, and despite Elizabeth's efforts and Elinor's civil enquiries, supported by Mrs. Dashwood's, Brandon could not but be aware that he had interrupted a merry and light-hearted morning call between close friends. He stood to take his leave, but Marianne, shyly but determinedly, insisted that he ought not leave them so soon.

"I should not wish to interrupt your visit, young ladies," he said awkwardly.

"Perhaps if you would resume your reading, Marianne?" Elizabeth suggested.

Marianne protested against such a scheme, blushing violently, but in the end relented and took up the book. Brandon walked to the window at her left, his attention seemingly on the extensive view of the valley, which the drawing room prospect commanded.

Elizabeth smiled to herself to note that Marianne's own reading was even more subdued and 'tame' than her own had been when she had earned her censure, but as she read on, her friend became progressively unaware of her audience, and her passion and obvious enjoyment of poetry returned to levels which her friends could recognise.

Marianne had finished reading the 115th Sonnet and, turning the page, began the following. She had all but forgotten of her mother and sisters and friends, and quite forgotten of the gentleman whose presence had so intimidated her before.

"Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love..." she read, until, to her utmost surprise, she heard another voice, reciting almost in a whisper, with a quiet intensity which even Marianne could not have found lacking.

"Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no; it is an ever fixed mark,
That looks on tempests, and is never shaken..."(*)

It was only to Elizabeth and Marianne that the Colonel's quiet whisper was audible, from where they stood. With the wisdom of five years her senior, Elizabeth pretended not to hear the words, said almost to himself, as Brandon's gaze was fixed over the valley, into the country beyond, but Marianne stopped reading and turned her head to steadily regard him, her countenance a study in undisguised astonishment and surprised admiration.

As the room fell silent, Brandon turned back towards them, to find Marianne's gaze fixed on him. He coloured, apologised and hastily took his leave.

(*)William Shakespeare's 116th Sonnet

Chapter Eleven

Posted on Wednesday, 20 September 2006

"I say, Darcy, I wonder what would the Old General throw at us this time?" Colonel Fitzwilliam remarked jestingly as the carriage lurched and swayed at high speed.

"You'll know soon enough," Darcy smiled, as ever amused despite himself by the more than fitting name that his cousin had chosen for their Aunt. "We are making good time. We have just passed Westerham, I noticed. We should be at Rosings before noon".

"Heaven help us!" muttered Fitzwilliam and leaned back against the cushions.

Darcy nodded his assent and turned to look out of the window. The smile he had worn for his cousin dissolved into a frown as her face appeared before him, unbidden.

Will it ever stop?

She had been with him everywhere he went.

She had been in the house in Berkeley Square, smiling at him from across the long, dark mahogany table, she had walked with him the halls of Pemberley, leaned over his shoulder in the dark nights, as he sat at the desk in his study, and cut up his sleep and his peace with dreams of her, day and night.

Will she ever leave him?

A part of him prayed she never would.

Darcy poured a brandy for himself and one for his cousin and walked to stir the embers of the fire, still glowing in the great fireplace of Rosings' library.

It had been a long, tedious week, and he had found his Aunt's company more taxing than usual. He had attempted to withdraw to the study and occupy - or claim to occupy - as much time as possible with his Aunt's estate business, but he could not avoid her at dinner, nor retire from the drawing room in the evenings as soon as he would have wished to.

Darcy drew a long breath. He had found his Aunt's inclination to pontificate difficult to bear with at the best of times, but her constant veiled or not so veiled references to his duty to marry and continue the lineage at Pemberley were now grating sorely on his frayed temper.

Duty! he all but spat to himself, earning a sharp glance from Fitzwilliam, who looked up from a folio he was half-heartedly leafing through.

"Cousin? I beg your pardon, I was not attending. Did you say something?"

Darcy negatived with a wave of his hand and thankfully Richard did not pursue the matter.

He ought to be more careful, he reminded himself. Richard's perception surpassed that of the majority of his acquaintance.

A brief smile curved his lips, as he remembered Bingley's comment about Fitzwilliam attempting to drink him under the table to extract his secrets. His cousin probably would have done it, too, quite cheerfully, but fortunately he was not about to attempt it at Rosings!

The smile vanished as the dark, stately room, full of grandeur but very little comfort, brought back to him the weighty burden of expectations.

Duty to his family, his lineage, his estate.

What of the duty to oneself? What of the basic need for happiness, or comfort, or truth?

What of the deepest truth of his soul?

Was he to live a lie for the rest of his days?

Was he to forever lie to the unfortunate woman who may one day gain the position of Mistress of Pemberley, unaware that she had acquired nothing but an empty shell? There were dozens of women of his acquaintance who wanted only that, the station and the lustre, but he had never imagined that he would offer for any of them. He had always wanted a true communion, a marriage more than in name only, and never doubted that one day it would be his. It did not appear remotely possible anymore.

Not because he doubted that there were, somewhere, amongst his future acquaintance, fine young ladies, of good breeding, good fortune and with the right connections. It was unreasonable to assume that they would all be vain, artificial or empty-headed. He might one day come across the perfect example of the accomplished female.

But she would not be Elizabeth.

The sound of his cousin dropping the heavy folio on the table by his side made Darcy start.

"I do not know how you bear it, Darcy!" the Colonel said with a smile, as he walked towards him. "Our Aunt's constant prodding about your marriage to Anne," he clarified, in response to Darcy's anxious stare. "Why do you never set her to rights on that score?"

"Anne does not wish it," Darcy replied quietly, sipping his brandy.

"I beg your pardon? You mean to say that Anne desires the connection?"

Darcy shook his head.

"No, no more than I. But she is quite reluctant to have to face the storm of our Aunt's displeasure for longer than she has to. There will be time enough for that, she says, when I have decided I do want to marry."

"And will that be anytime soon?" Fitzwilliam ribbed good-naturedly.

Darcy turned towards the fire.

"You never told me of your trip," he attempted to change the subject, without much hope that he would be successful. Richard could be as obstinate as a hound with a bone if he did not wish to drop a topic.

To his surprise, this time he did.

"My trip?"

"Your trip from Plymouth. You said you were to call on an old friend."

"Oh, that! It was quite enjoyable, in point of fact. Brandon is a good man and great company, if you get him going. I know nothing of the particulars, of course, but I believe he had had more than his share of ill-luck."

"How so?" Darcy feigned interest, glad that the focus of the discussion was moving away from him.

"Darcy, I am shocked! Are you saying that you are now about to stoop to gossip?"

His cousin laughed at his own sally, then refilled his glass.

"I have always got the impression, in our times in active service together, that he did not choose to be a soldier, and was rather running away from some distress in his past. My guess was that it had something to do with a lady, of course."

"Why would that be the only reason?" scoffed Darcy, somewhat distemperedly, distress related to mystery ladies in one's past not currently being his favourite topic of conversation.

"Why not? He is too good a man to have run away with the military circus to escape some misdeeds and besides, there is just something he said..."

"One night, over brandy?" interjected Darcy with an odd smile.

"Something like that. Anyway, I may be a loud soldier with coarse manners to you, Cousin, but I am not about to repeat confidences, and particularly not those of the vino veritas sort."

"That is good use of Latin, for you at least!" Darcy shot, good-humouredly.

"Thank you, Cousin. Anyway, to return to the subject of matrimony, from which you have so skillfully drawn me - good attempt that, Darcy! - I am rather pleased for my friend. I believe he will soon be wed, or at least he should be, if he gathers his wits about him and proposes. And he would be a damn fool if he did not! The lady is delightful. Not in possession of a great fortune, I gather, but of a decidedly attractive disposition. She is witty and handsome and it appears that her society is doing wonders for my friend."

"I am happy for him," commented Darcy, dryly. "But what is with all this glowing praise? You will make me believe you are quite taken with her yourself!"

"You would not be so surprised if you had met her," Fitzwilliam replied, this time without the half-jesting manner that had pervaded his earlier discourse. "Yes, I might have been... If she did not appear to have Brandon's interest and if she had any fortune, or had I not been a second son, I might not have decamped from Delaford as soon as I have... And you would have had to visit the Old General by yourself this year, Cousin", he reverted back to raillery, to mask some genuine feeling he had no wish to share. "As it is, I will be pleased to wish him joy. Miss Bennet is the best he could have hoped for."

Darcy's only thought at the time was satisfaction that his hand did not shake as he took the glass to his lips. The fiery liquid burned all the way.

"Miss Bennet?" he finally brought himself to ask, and to his dismay, his voice did shake. He masked it with a cough.

"Yes, Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Her family lives at Farringdon Lodge, in Devonshire, just a few miles from my friend's estate."

Darcy's thoughts circled around him in an ungovernable whirl.

Fitzwilliam, however, was not quite finished.

"I had wondered at the time why this sounded familiar ... But of course. Farringdon. Was not your aunt married to Sir Edmund Farringdon? You inherited the Farringdon estate, did you not? I thought there were no children from that marriage..."

With no hope to gather his wits against such a sustained cannonade, Darcy made no answer. Fitzwilliam carried on to his own conclusion.

"In that case you must have at least heard of the Bennets then, Darcy. Are they your tenants?"

With an effort, Darcy brought himself to speak. He was not ready to open his heart to his cousin. Despite their closeness, he could not even entertain the thought of telling him anything of her. Another falsehood came much easier.

"No, they are not. The Lodge had not been part of the estate for years. It has been sold or given away by my uncle a long time ago - I believe to the curate of the parish."

Fitzwilliam nodded his acceptance of this. There was no reason why he should not.

Thankful for small mercies, Darcy soon took himself to his chambers, before Fitzwilliam might remember that he did not in point of fact answer whether he knew the Bennets or not.

Chapter 12

Posted on Wednesday, 27 September 2006

Back to his chambers, Darcy paced. And drank.

Brandon. Mrs. Brandon. Mrs. Elizabeth Brandon.

It was to be expected that it would happen at some point in time, but he never would have thought that it would happen so soon.

Five long strides to the window. Five long strides to his bed.

What sort of a man was he, this Brandon? Did he love her, would he make her happy?

Did she love him? If she would accept him, presumably she did. He did not doubt that Elizabeth would not marry solely for material considerations.

Married. Elizabeth married. Mrs. Brandon.

He attempted to picture himself bowing to her to offer his congratulations, should they ever meet in town, and her gracefully accepting them, on the arm of another man.

The pain was searing.

He dropped on the side of his bed, elbows on knees and head in hands.

What had he been thinking?

He had imagined that the most difficult task he had to accomplish was to leave Hertfordshire without offering for her, and that had been his capital error. He could not have known how her vision would haunt him and, even as he envisaged the possibility of her future marriage, he never even came close to comprehending how devastated he would be when the possibility leant towards reality.

And if this ever came to pass, it would be none but his own doing.

Not only that - were it not for his misguided interference - the Bennets would never have set foot in Devonshire and Elizabeth and this Brandon would not have become acquainted.

No, there was much more to it than that. It was his own pride, his own abominable pride in himself and what he stood for, that had brought about this utter misery. His pride in the Darcy name and in how far above the rest it stood.

He could not look beyond her low connections, and her relations' improprieties.

There was a two-day journey from Hertfordshire to Pemberley. Five or more, from Pemberley to Farringdon. How did he fail to see that the improprieties displayed by a Mr. Collins at Longbourn, or a Mrs. Bennet at Farringdon Lodge would be of little or no consequence to a blissfully happy couple settled at Pemberley?

And were he to be subject to their senseless effusions every day, would that have been such an impossibly high price to pay for the incomparable joy of Elizabeth's love, Elizabeth's company?

His family would have shunned him. Lady Catherine most certainly would have, but after a week such as he had endured, that would have been nothing short of a blessing! Of the rest of them he needed not be as concerned. His cousins, Richard and his brother, the Viscount, would have loved her - Richard, dash it, was half-way there already! As to the Earl of Matlock and his wife, they would have objected, of course, but would have undoubtedly relented, in the face of his happiness, and her irresistible charm!

Society would have scorned them. No, not 'society'. Most of those whose opinion he valued would have had more sense than to join in the scorn, once they have met her and were charmed by her. It would have been merely some fops with inflated sense of self, some withered matrons and their empty-headed progeny who would have said that, as many before him, he had had his head turned by a pretty face. And what of it? Was he not a hypocrite, or worse still, a fool, to live by the dictates of the people he despised?

The vision of Elizabeth's joy-filled face at the Netherfield ball almost brought tears to his eyes. He could have proposed then. Would she have accepted? Could he have had by now, like Bingley, his own private heaven where the world could not intrude?

Bingley's blotted messages full of happy accounts of his matrimonial bliss have driven him to distraction. All he could do was scan the illegible scribbles for Elizabeth's name, and attempt not to absorb the all-pervading joy that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

To think that he had had the temerity - nay, the stupidity - to warn Bingley off his quest for happiness. Of the two, Bingley appeared now to be the grown man who knew what he most needed and pursued it. As for himself, he thought, he had been no better than a easily-led youth with no mind of his own, swayed to and fro by the opinions of others.

Darcy stood and resumed his pacing.

What was he to do? What in God's name was he to do now?

"You look like the devil this morning, Cousin!" Fitzwilliam greeted him.

"Thank you," Darcy replied with quiet sarcasm and went to pour himself some coffee.

"Truly, Wills, you do not look well," Fitzwilliam insisted with genuine concern, the old childhood name a testament of his affection.

"Do not concern yourself, Richard. I am well. I slept poorly, that is all. Our Aunt's blasted guest bed is more fitted for lying in state than for decent rest," he added.

At least he did not lie this time - other than by omission. Fitzwilliam merely laughed.

"Do not let her hear you!" he cautioned, and went to choose something from the selection of courses their Aunt's cook had regaled them with for breakfast.

The mere sight and smell of food made Darcy's stomach turn, but he did not dare concoct some excuse for not coming down for breakfast, in fear not of his aunt's displeasure but of Richard's dangerously good nose for bad lies.

Darcy took his coffee to the window, looking out over his Aunt's manicured lawns and topiary, where not a leaf was out of place. The air of formality and constraint the entire place exuded was stifling him.

He cursed his own weakness the night before, which made him decamp in fear of betraying any of his distress to Fitzwilliam, and thus missing the chance of hearing more of what his cousin might have had to say about his sojourn in Devonshire.

What sort of a man was Brandon? Darcy vaguely remembered from previous conversations, to which he now wished he had attended better, that he was about five years Richard's senior, and a very private man.

A quiet, subdued man, seven years older than himself. Fourteen years older than her. What did Elizabeth see in him, how would her lively spirits suit his sombre temper? How could she escape a life of misery, which such a difference in temperament forewarned? Did she know what she was about if she accepted the man?

Fitzwilliam's voice at his elbow made him start so badly he spilled his coffee.

"I do apologise, Cousin!" Richard said with some amusement. "Do you not think it is high time you told me what is troubling you?"

"There is nothing troubling me!" Darcy protested with some emphasis, but his cousin merely shook his head.

"Wills, I know you like the back of my hand. Your habit of clinging to windowsills when you are uncomfortable is nothing short of endearing, but a tell-tale sign nevertheless. As to nearly scalding me with your coffee..."

Darcy sighed.

"Do not play elder brother with me, Richard. You're not that much older."

"Quite so, Wills, particularly as you would like to believe you were born middle-aged! You need not carry the world on your shoulders, Cousin. Come back down and talk to us mortals sometime, it might do you good. Do not fear," he added, lifting a hand to forestall Darcy's protests, "I was not about to suggest we should talk now, when we expect our aunt to join us for breakfast. There's always the library and, failing that, there's a long journey back to London."

To Darcy, that sounded a lot less like a reassurance and a lot more like a threat.

The thought of a morning shut away in Lady Catherine's library, with his tormenting thoughts, was nigh unbearable to Darcy.

A long, punishing ride seemed the only means to achieve a temporary reprieve from the demons within, as well as from the threatening imposition of Lady Catherine's overbearing presence, or Fitzwilliam's affectionate but unwelcome concern.

He rode relentlessly over his aunt's fields, chasing after a sense of peace that was not to be found. Exhausted in body as well as in mind, Darcy came to a halt and dismounted on the lane which led further away from the turnpike road. The Rosings park palling was still the boundary on one side and, leading his steed, he soon passed one of the gates into the ground and was tempted, by the pleasantness of the morning, to stop at the gates and look into the park. It looked less imposing from that angle, its rigid landscaping softened by the sight of the untamed woods that bordered it, the tall, imposing trees casting their branches as well as their shadows over the edge of the lawns.

Had Elizabeth ever visited here, she would have no doubt chosen the freedom and the majesty of the shaded woodland paths, over the precisely geometrical walks Lady Catherine's gardeners have designed. He would have accompanied her and would have talked of anything that came to mind, her small hand safely ensconced in the crook of his arm...

Darcy shook his head and removed his riding gloves with a gesture of annoyance.

Elizabeth would not visit here.

He had made quite sure that the possibility would never arise.

And now he was paying dearly for all his careful machinations.

Darcy turned to lean against the park palling and gaze unseeing into the woods behind.

Over the course of a mere half-evening and a long, sleepless night, the enormity of his misjudgement had became as apparent as the burden of its weight on his chest; and the incontrovertible self-centeredness and arrogance of his actions finally struck him, as he stood there, in the ancient temple of the forest, closer to his Maker and truer to himself than he had ever felt in his entire life.

He had left Hertfordshire wreathed in self-pity, with the misguided gratification that he had done a noble gesture and ensured the comfort of the woman he loved.

But had he truly loved her?

"Love is patient and kind; love is not jealous or boastful; it is not arrogant or rude. Love does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrong, but rejoices in the right. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends." (*)

Darcy caught his breath as the beauty and the overwhelming depth of the words of the bible came to him.

He had thought of nothing but himself. His name, his duty, his lineage, his estate.

Not her. Never her. Not her sentiments or her wishes or anything that she held dear.

He had abandoned her and did not return in her hour of need, cradling, in his self-righteousness, a sense of personal injury and loss, blaming the dictates of society, his ancestry, the world, but never himself.

And now?

The possibility that Fitzwilliam had accidentally revealed had shown him the extent of his failings, as well as of his self-deceit.

He had told himself, that long time ago in Hertfordshire, that the bequest of Farringdon was destined to give her the power to choose, but even then the thought of her marrying another had been too painful to dwell upon. He had pushed it aside hoping... What?

That she would be comfortable enough at Farringdon as to never marry?

That he would never get to hear of it?

No, he could never have believed that. His connection with the Bingleys would have made it impossible. He had merely told himself that the removal from her society would lessen her hold on him; that he would remember her as a delightful dream of his youth, as he would finally settle in the pattern destined for him, in the right sphere and with the right woman; that he would one day conquer this wholly unsuitable attachment and then, whatever she chose to do would not matter that much.

He was wrong. In that, as in many other respects, he was wrong.

He could not conquer this.

He could not forget her.

He could forget her mother, her sisters, her cousin. He could forget all the considerations that had prompted him to distance himself from the connection. But nor her.

Six long months and a brief conversation with Richard had made small work of all his misguided notions.

He needed her. And the thought of a lifetime without her was unbearable.

Darcy was in no frame of mind to dwell on philosophy and on the perverseness of human nature, ready to recognise the worth of a true blessing only when it has become out of reach.

He had become, however, sufficiently attuned to his own personal failings to recognise them as such. He had chastised himself for self-centeredness, and realised that it still coloured his every response.

As soon as he had heard of Elizabeth's possible engagement, his first thought had been to travel post-haste to Devonshire. To win her and, regardless of her sentiments, to prevent at all cost the dreaded eventuality that she might be happy with another man. Because he loved her. Because he could not live without her. Because he could no longer even wish to try.

In the wake of his epiphany, from the depths of his soul, the question emerged.

If he loved her, how could he bring himself to destroy her peace?

In his arrogance, he had dismissed the connection as beneath him. He had been selfish and overbearing, and cared for none beyond his family circle, thought meanly of all the rest of the world, wished at least to think meanly of their worth compared with his own.

He had not offered her his hand and his heart and all that was Pemberley.

He had arrogantly purchased her comfort instead, without any regard for what her wishes might have been.

Darcy winced at the thought that in some respects, it had been worse than establishing her in some house as his mistress. At least in that she might have had a say. The humiliation he had inflicted, without even her knowledge, weighed on him as he prayed that she would not learn of its extent until he had had the chance to atone for it.

Whichever way he thought of it, the truth remained. He had never taken her wishes into account, and however much it would cost him, it was high time he did.

If Elizabeth had come to care for Brandon and had set her mind on marrying him, he had no right to interfere.

And if she did not...

Darcy dared not dwell on hopes too bright to contemplate at this juncture.

He remounted and rode back to Rosings, having cleared his mind sufficiently to decide on his course of action.

Not being the sort of man to dally once he had determined what he was about to do, Darcy carried out his self-appointed tasks as soon as may be.

Firstly, that evening, in the library, he forestalled Fitzwilliam's further enquiries with the candid admission that there was indeed something that weighed heavily on his mind, but he could not discuss it at present, and asked his cousin to bear with him, with the promise that as soon as he felt at ease to talk to someone, he would be his first choice.

And secondly, as soon as the prescribed fortnight at Rosings was completed, he returned to London to collect his sister and set off to the only place he knew where he would be certain of gaining the earliest intelligence of what was happening to Elizabeth.

He hastened back to Netherfield.

(*)Corinthians 13:4-8

Chapter 13

Posted on Thursday, 12 October 2006

"Well, it appears that you have missed your chance, my dear," Mrs. Jennings said to Elizabeth one morning towards the end of June, nodding significantly in the direction of Col. Brandon, who was sitting away from the rest of the party, in earnest conversation with Marianne.

Elizabeth laughed lightly at this. It was, word for word, almost exactly what her own mother had said, no more than two weeks ago, and it came as no surprise, given the number of times the subject had been canvassed between Mrs. Bennet and her dearest friend. All that Elizabeth could do was to give the same answer to both.

"Let me assure once again, Ma'am, that I have never had any designs of the sort on the Colonel!"

"Well, be that as it may, but you could have had him. Now, it appears that his inclination lies elsewhere..."

Elizabeth shook her head, reluctant to repeat to Mrs. Jennings that theirs had merely been a communion of minds, and that the Colonel's 'inclination' for her company had not been of a romantic nature, anymore than it had been on her own side. Having recognised the futility of the exercise, Elizabeth kept her own counsel and turned to look with a fond smile at her two friends. Mrs. Jennings could well sing her triumph now and congratulate herself on her powers of perception as, for once, she had stumbled upon the truth in her perpetual quest for attachments between the people of her acquaintance.

Unlike Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Bennet had no reason to find any personal satisfaction in the matter, and had therefore been very vocal in her displeasure. Elizabeth had to listen many times to her bemoaning the fact that a daughter of hers could, by now, be well on her way to becoming the mistress of Delaford, and no assurances on Elizabeth's part that the Colonel had never harboured any intentions of matrimony towards herself could bring about a much-desired end to the matter.

"This is neither here nor there!" her mother had exclaimed, on one of the occasions. "Gentlemen hardly ever know their own minds in cases such as these. They want but encouragement in the right direction! But you cannot possibly mean that, Lizzy! Everybody saw his attentions to you! Why, Mrs. Jennings was prepared to wager he'd propose before Easter! Now what are we to do? With the Colonel snatched by that artful girl, there is no one left for you to set your cap at. The younger Whittaker boy simply will not do, he is but eighteen and a far better match for any of your sisters, I'm sure!"

"Mamma! Pray let me assure you that I have never 'set my cap' at the Colonel!" Elizabeth had laughed, embarrassed by her mother's misplaced notions. "As for his 'attentions' to me, please believe me, Ma'am, there was nothing of the sort! We merely happened to like books and enjoyed talking about them, more so than many others of our current acquaintance, and that is all there was to it!" she had concluded, attempting to keep matters simple, for her mother's benefit.

Mrs. Bennet had patted her hand.

"There, now, Lizzy! You need not keep up the pretence for me. You have your own pride, to be sure, and I know it's in your nature to make light of a bad business, but you should not tease so. I do not blame you, for I'm sure you would have got him if you could, but did I not tell you, child, that you should make haste to secure him, otherwise another will take his fancy? A little more encouragement from you would have surely done the trick! I do not suppose there is the least chance in the world of you ever getting him now. Well! It is just as he chooses. He is a shallow, undeserving man and at his age he should know better than allow himself to be swayed about in this fashion! Serves him right if she should make him miserable, that artful, odious girl, after having turned his head as she did! Though I shall always say that he had used you extremely ill and if I was you, I would not have put up with it!"

As all Elizabeth's efforts to reassure her mother were for naught, her only recourse became an avoidance of the topic, but that only served to make Mrs. Bennet turn to Kitty and Lydia instead. Elizabeth had lost count of the number of times she would be occasioned to hear her mother's loud and plaintive voice carrying through to her from another part of the house, with variations on the same theme:

"Well, girls, what is your opinion now of this sad business of Lizzy's? For my part, I am determined never to speak of it to anybody. I told Mrs. Jennings so the other day. I never would have thought it of the Colonel, though! He used to be so obliging and agreeable! Not one to talk much, but what does that signify! Your dear father, bless his departed soul, never used to talk to me a vast deal, and yet we've had as good a life together as any. And look at him go now! The Colonel I mean, of course, not your father, God rest his soul! Look at him go, led by the nose like I know not what! I blame it on those Dashwoods, you know! Very artful people indeed! They are all for what they can get. I am sorry to say it of anyone, but so it is. It makes me very nervous and poorly to think of it, and to have neighbours that think of themselves before anybody else. Delaford would have suited very well indeed! I have but one comfort now, that should any of you not marry, there'll still be a roof over your heads at Farringdon or at Netherfield. Not that this should be of any concern to you, Lydia, my sweet, for I am sure you shall make a splendid match! Our connection with dear Bingley must throw you in the path of other rich men. And, with any luck, someone will soon offer for you too, Kitty. But mark my words, I fear our Lizzy will find herself an old maid before we know it, like that poor Charlotte Lucas, for I am sure I do not know how she will get a husband now!"

Elizabeth could do nothing but shake her head at this, saddened by her mother's insensitivity, but to a certain extent also mildly amused by the most unusual fashion in which Mrs. Bennet would choose to express her maternal sentiments.

"No one ever listens to me!" she would then predictably announce, as she had done countless times before. "Nobody can tell what I suffer to see my daughter's rightful place usurped by some newcomer! But it is always so. Those who do not complain are never pitied!"

Thankfully, Mrs. Bennet was sufficiently aware of her own and her daughters' interest, as recent additions to a community under the Middletons' patronage, and sufficiently mindful of the gentleman's family connections and ties of friendship, so as to grudgingly refrain from venting all her frustration in Sir John's presence but, much to Elizabeth's chagrin, her opinions were freely and frequently expressed to Mrs. Jennings. As for the family at Barton Cottage, she could hardly ever speak of any of them without being rude, and Elizabeth knew that many months would pass until she could at all forgive Mrs. Dashwood's middle daughter.

Despite her own and Kitty's utter mortification, Elizabeth could only hope that as time wore on, Mrs. Bennet would eventually reconcile herself to the situation, and pray that her friends at the Cottage would not pay much notice to her mother's sudden disinclination for their company. For her own part, Elizabeth knew that she could do no more than ensure, by her continued manifestations of friendship, that no-one was left in any doubt of her own satisfaction in the way the Colonel and Marianne's acquaintance progressed.

To her great pleasure, Elizabeth was soon occasioned to find that, as their close friend, she could be of considerable use to both, in lending a sympathetic ear to what they had not been prepared as yet to disclose to each other.

The Colonel had been the first to enlist her in the role of confidante, shortly after his visit at Barton Cottage, following Marianne's accident. As the others were playing croquet on his lawn, he had offered Elizabeth his arm for a turn about the garden and, quite unexpectedly, had begun:

"Miss Marianne, it appears, has a great fondness for Shakespeare..."

"Yes, it appears so," she concurred and for a while they were silent, until Brandon resumed very quietly:

"I once knew a lady who in temper and mind greatly resembled your friend ... There is a very strong resemblance between them, in mind as well as person ... The same warmth of heart, the same eagerness of fancy and spirits ... I must beg leave to apologise for my intrusion in Miss Marianne's reading the other day, it was ... That particular quote was a great favourite of hers ... and to hear it read so ... vibrantly by Miss Marianne was ... unsettling."

Elizabeth made no answer, as none was required, and they continued their walk in silence.

She had been given reason to suspect a short while ago, before anybody else, that the Colonel might harbour a partiality for Marianne, and it became progressively obvious, as time wore on, that it was indeed so - partiality which, to Elizabeth's surprise, Marianne had eventually appeared to return.

Having perceived the Colonel's sentiments, Elizabeth had been at first concerned for him, not only because of the striking opposition of their temperaments, but mainly because she was aware, from remarks dropped casually by Marianne, that she considered Brandon old enough to be her father, and certainly past the time in life when he could be animated by love, or contemplating matrimony.

However, to her great surprise and mild amusement, it emerged from Marianne's subsequent confidences that the incident earlier in May had bestowed upon him an aura of a romantic hero, sufficiently interesting to make her desirous of knowing more of the man beneath the cheerless reserve she so despised.

Aided by - one might now say - the quite fortuitous circumstance of her sprained ankle, they had more opportunities to further their acquaintance, as it had given the Colonel the excuse he needed to call at the Cottage much more frequently than he would have otherwise felt he could. Their encounters were marked at first by shyness and constraint, but repetition brought familiarity and familiarity bred not contempt, but confidence and comfort.

Their attachment had begun with youthful romantic notions on Marianne's part, but an increasing intimacy with Brandon's ways and inner thoughts, which he progressively felt more comfortable to disclose, gave it a sounder basis of admiration, respect and understanding.

On his part, as a result of his acquaintance with Elizabeth and with the benefit of her lively disposition, on one side, and of the unadulterated joy of seeing his interest in Marianne returned, on the other, Brandon had become less taciturn, less reserved, and more inclined to show glimpses of his former self, before the oppression of spirits brought on by the misfortunes which had plagued the best part of his youth.

After quite some time, the truncated confidence shared with Elizabeth was eventually fully disclosed to Marianne, and the melancholy account of a disastrous love only served to heighten her interest in the Colonel, strengthen the belief that still waters ran deep, and overturn most of the young woman's deeply held convictions as to her ideas of perfection in the man who would eventually attach her, along with her previously unshaken belief that passion was the appendage of her own age and disposition.

No formal announcement had been made, and none was yet expected, but in this instance Mrs. Jennings wit could flow long. The people it was directed to had become truly attached, and happily so.

"I am hoping he would propose soon," Mrs. Jennings resumed suddenly, startling Elizabeth from her reverie.

"Why so, Ma'am?" she replied, amused.

"Because I was hoping to see it happen before I return to town. I have set my mind to journey there next month, and I would not have wished to miss the grand finale!"

"For your sake, Ma'am, as well as theirs, I hope the Colonel would oblige. Would you like me to drop him a hint to that purpose?" Elizabeth asked archly.

Mrs. Jennings laughed heartily, assured Elizabeth that she would not put it past her to do just that, suggested that it might not be such a bad thing, then suddenly turned to her:

"I have no notion why I have not thought of this before, but why should you not travel to town with me? All of you!"

At Elizabeth's expression of surprise, she resumed:

"Your mother, I am sure, will like it above all things, and I know London will be quite thin, and that people of fashion shan't travel to town at this time in the year, but what is it to us! I'm sure the Little Theatre would be open."

Little by little, the notion became increasingly more attractive to Elizabeth, and much less of the half-baked scheme she thought it at first.

She could see the Gardiners and, oh, joy, maybe even Jane!

"I am persuaded we can all travel in the barouche box, as neither of you are very large. Betty I can send by the coach, and what a merry journey we shall have! I must speak to your mother and I hope we can settle it to my satisfaction, for I have so set my heart on it! You will all stay in Portman Square, of course, I shall brook no opposition! The more the merrier, that's what I always say! Goodness me, all of you would be doing me a favour, for I cannot see how I should endure to be poking by myself around that great big house! Come, Miss Elizabeth, let us strike hands upon the bargain, and I am sure that, between the two of us, we shall be able to persuade your mother and sisters!"

Knowing full well that they will not require a great deal of persuasion, Elizabeth found herself sufficiently attracted to the plan to assure Mrs. Jennings of her support.

Before too long, it emerged that both of the good lady's wishes had been fulfilled. The planned visit to town had only to be mentioned to Mrs. Bennet, for her to accept the invitation with alacrity, as well as with very vocal expressions of her satisfaction. As to the Colonel, even without the benefit of a hint, he had that same evening proposed and had been accepted with all the joy he could have wished for. Their circle of friends greeted the subsequent announcement, made after Mrs. Dashwood's consent was sought and happily given, with the customary abundant wishes for everlasting felicity, of which only Mrs. Bennet's were tight-lipped and - to Elizabeth - distressingly insincere.

All that her daughter could hope for was that the welcome prospect of a trip to town would offer sufficient distraction and provide her mother with enough reasons for delighted anticipation as to help her overcome the vexation of an engagement that would in no way raise her own family's fortunes.

To London therefore they were to go, within a fortnight. Letters had been written and dispatched to their relations in town and in Hertfordshire, and the fever of preparations was the only means of allaying their impatience to be gone. Elizabeth's only regret was the impending separation from her dear friends at Barton Cottage, but she was more than willing to endure it for the sake of being reunited with her beloved aunt and sister.

An unexpected occurrence however was soon to change their travel plans.

Just over a week later, a party had been formed to see a very fine place about twelve miles from Barton, belonging to a brother-in-law of Colonel Brandon, without whose interest it could not be seen, as the proprietor, who was then abroad, had left strict orders on that head. The grounds were declared to be highly beautiful and Sir John, who was particularly warm in their praise, might be allowed to be a tolerable judge, for he had formed parties to visit them at least twice every summer for the last ten years. They contained a noble piece of water, a sail on which was to form a great part of the morning's amusement. Cold provisions were to be taken, open carriages only to be used, and every thing conducted in the usual style of a complete party of pleasure.

By ten o'clock, the whole party was assembled at Barton Park, where they were to breakfast. The weather was favourable, and they were all in high spirits and good humour, eager to be gone.

While they were at breakfast the letters were brought in. Among the rest, there was one for the Colonel. He took it, looked at the direction, changed colour and immediately left the room.

"What is the matter with Colonel Brandon?" said Mrs. Bennet. "He is certainly not himself these days!" she added ill-humouredly, with a dark glance at Marianne.

"I hope he has had no bad news," said Lady Middleton. "It must be something extraordinary that could make Colonel Brandon leave my breakfast table so suddenly."

In about five minutes he returned.

"No bad news, Colonel, I hope," said Mrs. Jennings as soon as he entered the room.

"None at all, Ma'am, I thank you."

"Was it from his Lordship? I hope it is not to say that your sister is worse."

"No, Ma'am. It came from town and is merely a letter of business."

"But how came the hand to discompose you so much, if it was only a letter of business? Come, come, this won't do, Colonel; so let us hear the truth of it."

"My dear Madam, recollect what it is that you are saying!"

"Perhaps it is to tell you that your cousin Fanny is married?" said Mrs. Jennings without attending to her daughter's reproof.

"No, indeed, it is not."

"Well then, I know who it is from, Colonel. And I hope she is well."

"Whom do you mean, Ma'am?" said he, blanching, and strengthening Mrs. Jennings belief that she had indeed hit upon the mark and that perhaps the lady in question was not well.

"Oh! You know whom I mean! Has she been taken ill, poor dear?"

"I am particularly sorry, Ma'am," said he, addressing Lady Middleton at first, but then turning to Marianne as he spoke, "that I should receive this letter today, for it is on business which requires my immediate attendance in town."

"In town!" cried Mrs. Bennet, expressing everyone's surprise.

"My own loss is great", he continued, his eyes still on Marianne, "in being obliged to leave so agreeable a party; but I am the more concerned, as I fear my presence is necessary to gain you admittance to Whitwell."

"But we must go!" cried Lydia. "It shall not be put off when we are so near it. You cannot go to town till tomorrow, Colonel, that is all."

"I wish it could be so easily settled. But it is not in my power to delay my journey for one day!"

"We understand, Colonel, and we wish you Godspeed!" intervened Elizabeth, mortified on behalf of her friend, as well as her sister.

"There is no persuading you to change your mind, Brandon, that I know of old," said Sir John, "but I hope you will think better of it. Consider, here are the two Miss Careys come over from Newton, the Miss Dashwoods have walked up from the cottage, Mrs. Bennet and her daughters, come all the way from Farringdon Lodge..."

Colonel Brandon again repeated his sorrow at being the cause of their disappointment and, before anyone could interject more protestations, Marianne stood and walked to him.

"I am sure we shall be able to bear it with tolerable composure!" she said towards the party, unconcealed censure in her youthful and unrestrained tones.

Mrs. Bennet humphed audibly, to Elizabeth's chagrin, but Marianne did not appear to notice. "Colonel, allow me to walk you out," she said with a sweetness of address meant to soothe the irritation caused by the interference of others.

"Aye, do, Miss Marianne," cried Mrs. Jennings, "and then perhaps you may find out what his business is."

Marianne's eyes flashed dangerously, but the Colonel laid a hand on her arm and gave her a warm smile, then, with unperturbed composure, he took his leave of the party and left the room with his fiancée on his arm.

"I wish I could tell you, dearest, how distraught I am to leave you at a time like this!" he said earnestly, taking both her hands in his, as soon as they could be assured of privacy.

"Pray, think nothing of it!" replied she with energy. "It is you I am concerned about. You do not look well."

"I shall be well, do not make yourself uneasy on my account. I am distraught at not knowing how long I shall have to be gone. Please, let us sit. I must let you know what it is all about."

"There is no call for that, you must know!" she replied, not wishing to relinquish the hold of his hands. "If you are required to leave in such haste, there must be a good reason for it, and there is no more I need to know about it."

"God bless you for that, my dear!" he said softly as he brought her delicate fingers to his lips. "Nevertheless, I would be much easier if you knew."

Marianne could not disagree with such a sentiment, so she sat on a sofa, claiming only Brandon's company beside her, and the privilege of holding his hand between her own.

A long, painful tale followed, haltingly told and lovingly listened to, a continuation of the confession begun at Barton Cottage; the sad story of the daughter of an unfortunate mother, both entitled, in their own ways, to special places in his heart.

"And the man, the perpetrator of this...?" Marianne asked as soon as she could speak, her voice muffled by tears. "Do you know his name?"

"Yes," Brandon said darkly. "Poor, wretched Eliza had confessed it all to me in her letter. The scoundrel is well known to me and to the people here at the Park." He drew a long sigh and resumed: "While I should not wish that the poor girl's misfortune should become public knowledge, I cannot protect her at the expense of any of the ladies of my acquaintance... and particularly yours. He must be exposed for what he is! John Willoughby of Allenham cannot be allowed to show his face in polite society, at least not in this part of the country!"

Marianne caressed his hand.

"I do not wish to let you weather all this alone," she said quietly, and suddenly a new notion returned all the customary animation to her previously subdued manner. "I should wish to follow you to London, as soon as it can be arranged! But of course! Mrs. Jennings, I am sure, will not object to one more addition to her party!"

"Marianne, you cannot!" he protested energetically. "I should not wish you touched by this! It is not fitting-!"

"It would be very fitting to be close to you!" she admonished gently. "You will be much engaged, and I expect no less, but when you have had your fill of it, you could visit me at Mrs. Jennings - if you can bear it, that is!" she amended, only half in jest. "And we could speak of other things, for a few hours at least."

Brandon carried her hand to his lips, her concern and obvious affection warming his heart, yet he knew he could not give in, much as he would have wanted to. He was about to begin in his attempt to dissuade her, when all of a sudden Marianne's complexion became deathly pale, and she could barely whisper:

"You do not contemplate ... Surely you do not intend ... to ... meet with Mr. Willoughby?!"

To this Brandon replied gravely, his eyes never quitting hers.

"Yes. One meeting shall be unavoidable!"

She drew a sharp intake of breath and, tightening her grip on his hands, attempted to speak to dissuade him from this dreadful plan that filled her with anxiety for his safety, but then saw the futility of it. To a man and a soldier, this was a fancied necessity which she knew she could not shake, and therefore should not censure.

"I will follow you to London!" she merely stated, with quiet determination.

"Marianne! I cannot allow you..." he began, but she put her fingers to his lips.

"I shall not be dissuaded! You will do what you need to do, and so shall I."

In the face of her gentleness and obvious devotion, Brandon abandoned the thankless task of playing the devil's advocate; then, with earnest expressions of tender regard, finally took his leave.

Marianne returned to the drawing room as soon as she was convinced that her complexion no longer betrayed the signs of tears. The first voice she heard was Mrs. Jennings':

"... she is a relation of the Colonel's, my dear, a very near relation. We will not say how near, for fear of shocking the young ladies." This did not deter her for long and, lowering her voice but a little, she said to Mrs. Bennet, "She is his natural daughter."

Expressions of surprise burst from many quarters, but Mrs. Jennings paid them no heed, for she had noticed Marianne's entrance.

"Ah!" she cried. "There comes Miss Marianne. What can you tell us, my dear?"

"Only that she is not the Colonel's natural daughter!" she replied icily, forgetting for a moment, in her indignation, not only her place, but also the fact that she would soon need to ask a favour of the older woman.

"So he did have to return to town because of Miss Williams!" Mrs. Jennings cried exultingly, untouched by Marianne's words. "And he would not say that she was taken ill, so it must be the only other reason that young girls find themselves in need of assistance for," she added, nodding knowingly.

"Whatever do you mean, Ma'am?" Lydia asked, and Mrs. Bennet tutted; Mrs. Jennings continued unperturbed:

"Young men! Troublesome young men! This reminds me of a truly sad story that came to my attention less than a fortnight ago, when I received a letter from a distant cousin, Miss Steele is her name, Miss Anne Steele. She writes me of her sister, her younger sister..."

"Surely, Ma'am", Lady Middleton hastily interjected, in a manner so different to her customarily subdued mode of address as to betray her acute discomfort, "this cannot be of any interest to anyone save our relations. People so wholly unconnected to any of the parties surely cannot..."

"Tut, tut, dear!" her mother interrupted, "I was just about to give these young ladies an account of what it would be wise to beware of! In short, our Lucy made herself agreeable to Lady Ainsworth, a woman of great fortune and high fashion, and she was invited to travel with her to Brighton, as her companion. Now, Lucy always had a knack of showing herself as else than what she was ... In short, using her connection with Lady Ainsworth, she had persuaded a lot of people that she was a young lady of great fortune herself! Amongst the people of her recent acquaintance, there was this young man - I shan't call him a gentleman, now - whom she thought really well of. He had the most charming manners, the most gentlemanlike address, and appeared to be in the possession of a good fortune. To conclude, our Lucy was persuaded to elope with him, and, mind, in doing so, she had discarded a long-standing engagement with a most honourable young man, whom she had met in her uncle's house. Their engagement was of a peculiar kind, her fiancé was to come into his inheritance sometime soon, at his mother's pleasure, and they had agreed to keep the engagement secret, for fear his mother would not have approved. And then Lucy goes and throws it all away for the sake of Mr. Wickham, who not only did not have a brass farthing to his name, but had abandoned her in London, right after they got married, when he had discovered she was not an heiress after all!"

Elizabeth had not attended to half of Mrs. Jennings' story, any more than she had paid heed to her gossip in the past, but at the mention of Mr. Wickham's name, her attention was suddenly piqued.

"And what had happened to your cousin, Ma'am?" she asked despite herself.

"She wrote her sister, who in turn wrote me, begging for assistance. Sir John had been kind enough to travel to London on my behalf and deliver it. She is returned to Longstaple, to her uncle's house, who had been persuaded to receive her, and is, I believe, now hoping to get an annulment. Her chances with her young man are now of course completely lost, particularly as she had wanted to spite him for keeping her waiting for so long, so she had put a notice in the paper about her marriage!"

It was not solely Elizabeth's interest that had been piqued. Shortly after hearing the story, Lydia exclaimed loudly that it could not be the same Mr. Wickham that they were acquainted with, that he could not be married, and vowed to write her acquaintance in Meryton to find out if the story was pertaining to the same man. Elizabeth had no doubt of it. She had heard, before her departure from Hertfordshire, that the regiment was to encamp at Brighton for the summer, and she could not have imagined that in the whole of Brighton there could be two Wickhams who could be as false-hearted as the one she had had the misfortune to encounter.

On her part, Marianne decided to abandon the plan of broaching the subject of London with Mrs. Jennings, in favour of a better time. As it was, it did not take long until her little conundrum found an easier resolution than she had expected. There had been no need to ask any favours of Mrs. Jennings, as the good lady herself came to speak to her, later that afternoon, about how young lovers should not be parted, especially so soon after they had got engaged, and warmly invited Marianne and Elinor to share with the Bennets her hospitality in town. Heartily ashamed of her own intolerance of the older woman, Marianne gratefully accepted.

To town they were to go, indeed, the only alteration to the original plan being the inability to fit, all together, including the Miss Dashwoods, in Mrs. Jennings' barouche box.

Chapter 14

Posted on Wednesday, 18 October 2006

As it happened, they travelled quite comfortably, as Colonel Brandon had left word that a carriage should await Miss Marianne Dashwood's pleasure, to convey her and her sister to town. By mutual agreement, the Miss Dashwoods and the elder Miss Bennets travelled together, leaving the barouche to the merry party of Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Bennet and Lydia - for merry they were, and her mother was no exception. As Elizabeth had fervently hoped, the joy of a visit to town and the prospective delights awaiting thenceforth had gone a long way in leaving Mrs. Bennet with little thoughts to spare for Miss Marianne and her role in damaging her own daughter's prospects.

It had been a long but pleasant journey, despite Marianne's subdued spirits, which her sister and friends tried rather unsuccessfully to raise. Her all-pervading concern for the well-being and safety of her intended prevented her from enjoying the journey as much as she would otherwise have done, and all she could think of was her impatience to find herself in town, and once more in his company.

They arrived three days later and although Marianne had dispatched a note to Hanover Square as soon as it could be arranged, she had yet to receive a reply.

They had been in town but two days when, as the Bennets were readying themselves to visit the Gardiners - some more noisily than others - a visitor was announced, to see Miss Dashwood.

Marianne sat up in anxious expectation, but to her surprise, the caller was not for herself, but for her sister. Elinor looked up as the visitor was admitted, blushed profusely and remained silent, but Marianne advanced towards him with undisguised joy. Her pleasure in seeing him was like every other of her feelings, strong in itself and strongly spoken.

"Dear Edward!" she cried, "this is a moment of great happiness! This would almost make amends for every thing!"

The newcomer murmured something indistinctly about the joy being his, but overwhelmed by the abundance of the company, he only said very little to Marianne and even less to Elinor before the rest of the introductions were performed, then he seated himself on a sofa towards one side of the room, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

Elizabeth could not help getting the impression that this arrival meant much more for Miss Dashwood than it did for Marianne, although the effusions of the greetings were forthcoming only from the latter. Persuaded that their own departure would do nothing but improve the situation, she hastened her relations, and soon they all set off to Gracechurch Street.

The delight of seeing her dear Uncle and Aunt was more than anything she had experienced in the last half-year. All was joy and kindness, and although the reunion was noisier than she would have liked, she could not bring herself to begrudge her mother the happiness in seeing the dear family from which they had been for so long and so forcefully separated, no matter how loudly it was expressed.

During a cheerful family dinner, plans were laid out for a visit to Netherfield. Elizabeth's aunt and uncle, it emerged, were planning to take a tour of pleasure, and Jane had kindly offered to have her four nieces and nephews in her care for the duration. The Gardiners have settled to travel to Netherfield, on their way to the north, and suggested their sister and nieces would accompany them. For Elizabeth, they had reserved a scheme of even greater felicity, in the form of an invitation to accompany them on their tour.

Elizabeth found herself torn between the desire to spend more time in the company of her most beloved sister, and the double joy of travelling in the company of some of her most dear relations. After some deliberation, it was all settled to everyone's satisfaction. The reunited family would travel to Netherfield in a few weeks, they would spend a couple of days there, then Elizabeth would depart with her Aunt and Uncle and return for a sojourn at Netherfield. The rest of her family would remain with the Bingleys, but not for the entire duration of the proposed trip north, for fear of offending Mrs. Jennings. The Bingleys would, no doubt, have no objection to returning Elizabeth to London once her visit came to an end, as undoubtedly they - or at least Jane - would wish to see her relations once more, before they journeyed back to Devonshire. No scheme could have been more agreeable to all, and they parted with expressions of delighted anticipation.

Upon their return to Portman Square, Mrs. Bennet withdrew to her chambers, too tired to spend more time in company, but the younger ladies joined Mrs. Jennings and the Miss Dashwoods in the drawing room.

As soon as she was reunited with her younger friends, Elizabeth could tell that something momentous had happened in their absence. At first, she was concerned that there might have been some bad news received from the Colonel, but their countenance, and particularly Elinor's, reassured her that there was nothing of the sort. Her friend, habitually so composed and reserved, was flushed with nervous excitement and as for Marianne, she verily appeared ready to burst!

No communications were to be made in Mrs. Jennings' presence, as knowing the older lady as they did, they were aware they would never hear the end of it. It took therefore a good measure of self-restraint to keep them sufficiently subdued until such time as it was polite to withdraw, without abandoning their host to the mercy of Lydia, for her comfort and entertainment.

It was then and only then that a small confrerie of four was invited to gather in the Miss Dashwoods' chamber, where Elizabeth and Kitty were first prepared to hear an astonishing account. To Elizabeth, who had eyes in her head and a good head on her shoulders, it did not come as such a great shock to hear that the decidedly uncomfortable-looking young man who had visited in the morning had actually done so with the intention to propose to Miss Dashwood, anymore than she was surprised to hear that he had been accepted. The rest however constituted a less predictable tale, and Elizabeth listened with some concern to what her friends had to say about their family history and Mr. Ferrars' connection with the Dashwoods, as well as about the forthcoming opposition to the engagement, fully expected from the part of his family. As to the romantic account of Mr. Ferrars' journey into Devonshire, only to find that he had missed them by a day, and his hasty return to town, to follow Mrs. Dashwood's directions to Mrs. Jennings's house, gave her almost as much affectionate pleasure as Elinor had to speak of it.

Less than a mile away, as the crow flies, in his own study in Berkeley Square, Mr. Darcy was in considerably different spirits. He lowered himself in the great winged chair behind his desk and rubbed his temples. It had been a long day, and a long night awaited him. He had spent the entire morning poring over estate business, and the struggle to give it his undivided attention had brought on a headache. As with everything in recent months, it was nigh impossible to give anything his undivided attention, save to careful but futile endeavours to extract from the Bingleys some intelligence of Elizabeth. During his visit, there had been no news from her, good or bad - although 'good' or 'bad' bore redefinition, depending on the listener.

Darcy drew a long breath and closed his eyes. The visit with his closest friend had taxed him beyond anything imaginable. The happiness, the laughter in his life only served to remind Darcy what it was that he had lost. No, not 'lost'. Never even given himself the trouble to gain, in the first place.

Even a blind man could sense the devotion Bingley and his young wife shared - and Darcy was far from blind. Quite the contrary, with his perception heightened by his own wretchedness, he was aware of every look, every smile, every whisper showing that Mr. Charles Bingley Esq. was happily married to the woman of his dreams, and that her devotion for him was absolute.

And Darcy could not bear it.

The only gain from this visit had been Georgiana's obvious enjoyment of it. She had positively blossomed under Mrs. Bingley's affectionate attentions, and it had been a balm to her wounded spirits to have constant proof that not all attachments are feigned, and that true connubial bliss is not merely an imagination.

Darcy could hardly recognise the dejected girl he had brought into Hertfordshire in June in the luminous young lady who left him no more than a week ago to travel to Pemberley, in Mrs. Annesley's company.

As for himself, he had decided he could not impose on the Bingleys' hospitality indefinitely, for their sake as well as his own. And so, he had returned to town, to peruse the society pages of the London papers, looking in dread for the announcement of an engagement of which he did not wish to know.

Chapter 15

Posted on Wednesday, 18 October 2006

Darcy descended the steps that led away from his club with a brisk pace and no small measure of annoyance. The nothingness of these people! There was not a person present that day with whom there was the slightest chance of pleasant, intelligent discourse! That he could have borne with most of them for so many years was nigh incomprehensible!

He was about to return to his carriage, when the mildness of the day induced another notion. There had been some rain in the early morning, but then the weather had cleared, and the air was pleasantly refreshing. He would rather not return to Berkeley Square so soon; he could hardly find reasonable employment in any case!

Darcy dismissed his carriage with the thought that a walk will do him good. He wandered off to spend some pleasurable time in Hatchard's and James Edwards'(*1), and by the time he had left his favourite small bookseller's in York Street, his disposition had taken a decided turn for the better. He stopped in Pall Mall to buy some music for his sister - to follow the pianoforte he had recently acquired for her - knowing full well that gifts would not compensate for his absence, nor would they assuage his guilt for having left her for so long with none but Mrs. Annesley for company. Still, it could not be helped. Thankfully, this lady was completely trustworthy and her all-pervading kindness had been a long-standing support for Georgiana. Darcy sighed. He knew that although he ought to, he could not return to Pemberley yet. Perhaps the answer was to ask Georgiana if she would be amenable to return to town sometime soon.

He requested his purchases to be delivered in Berkeley Square and walked out into the cool, pleasant air. Pall Mall was busy but not offensively so and, on the spur of the moment, Darcy turned right towards the Mall and from thence into Green Park. He was still reluctant to return so soon to Berkeley Square, but he preferred to own to himself nothing more than exercise was beneficial, and that the Library ensconced in the Park had proven itself well worth visiting in the past. Darcy walked slowly up to the Reservoir, his gaze wandering over the wide expanse of green, dominated by the rather too large Temple of Concord(*2). He smiled to himself, safe in the knowledge that although Queen's Walk may be fashionable with some, the time of day was anything but, in which case he would not have to endure his enjoyment being curtailed by unlooked-for encounters with the denizens of the ton and their progeny.

Darcy walked past the Fountain, the droplets sprinkled in the air and blown about in the light breeze making the day seem even fresher. He regretted for a brief moment that he had not taken this morning's purchase from York Street with him, instead of having it delivered. It would have been quite pleasant to find an unobtrusive bench and enjoy a good book and a moment of peace, if any was to be had.

It appeared that the notion had occurred to at least two others. Just in front of him and slightly to the left, on a quiet alley, two young ladies appeared absorbed in their books. Or perhaps not so absorbed. One of them, suddenly distracted, abandoned her volume on the seat, stood and moved a few steps away from her companion, only to turn and look into the sky, her palm sheltering her eyes from the sunlight that impeded her vision.

What was she looking for, Darcy wondered, his curiosity slightly piqued despite himself. Clouds? Swallows? Were there any young ladies left in London who would show an interest in something so mundane as a lovely day? Or indeed an interest in anything at all, rather than exuding what they deemed to be a highly fashionable ennui?

Darcy looked again, then stared.

It must be another figment of his imagination, surely! It could not possibly be...

"Elizabeth? By God, Elizabeth!" his voice came in a quiet whisper and before he knew how it came about, he found himself a few steps from her, his countenance unrestrainedly suffused in all the joy such an unhoped-for encounter had produced.

"Miss Bennet! What a delightful surprise!" he said, before he could even attempt to remember common civility, or his habitual reserve - only to find, to his extreme mortification, that he had immediately followed it with "You look ... remarkably well!"

Good grief! he mentally chastised himself. Could he possibly have been more gauche? Well, yes, in point of fact. He could have said 'You look even more beautiful than I remembered', which was, in truth, on his mind at the time, he futilely reasoned.

"Mr. Darcy!"

The unexpected encounter in an unfamiliar place with a reasonably familiar person, as well as his surprisingly warm welcome made Elizabeth more open in her manifestations than she would otherwise have been. Instead of a restrained curtsey, she offered him her hand. Darcy took it, belatedly remembering to bow politely over it, and the cheeks of both were overspread with the deepest blush. Darcy nervously cleared his throat and looked away, then down at his feet.

No, this would not do! This unexpected, wonderful chance ... what fool would waste it on mere commonplaces? He swallowed and, uncharacteristically, threw reserve and caution to the wind as he offered quietly but earnestly:

"I consider myself exceedingly fortunate to have happened upon this spot, Miss Bennet. It has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of seeing you."

"Indeed, it has been a while, Sir..."

"Above seven months, I believe. We have not met since the 26th of November, when I have had the honour of dancing with you at Netherfield."

Elizabeth looked up in surprise to find his memory so exact and for a few brief moments their eyes met, before she looked away. His openness of manner was nothing short of extraordinary and although she found it pleasing, Elizabeth knew not what to make of it. She looked back to the gentleman, only to witness his countenance changing under her very eyes, from the earlier friendly welcome to a solemn and almost sombre air. Curiously, Elizabeth found that countenance much easier to read, and soon discovered she had been correct in her estimations of his thoughts, as Mr. Darcy offered her his sympathy on her father's passing.

"Thank you," she replied softly, then was again silent. Perhaps she ought to have renewed her thanks for all his efforts in preventing this very outcome, Elizabeth thought. And yet she could not do it. She could not, would not speak of those days of hope for her father's recovery - or she would find herself bursting into tears in the middle of Green Park!

To her relief, Mr. Darcy spoke again:

"Have you been long in town?" he asked, rather more sedately.

"But two weeks, sir."

"And are you staying with your relations?"

"No, with friends in Portman Square."

"Oh."

He stopped, his mind devoid of all rational thought other than he had to find an excuse to remain at her side. He hoped he did not sound as boyishly eager as he felt when he asked:

"Would you care to take a turn around the Gardens? Or perhaps walk across to Hyde Park? I would be very happy to escort you. Unless of course you were otherwise engaged..."

"No, sir," she smiled. "My sister and I are entirely at leisure. You remember my sister Catherine, of course."

Of course. He had entirely forgotten her companion. Darcy turned and bowed restrainedly to the young woman he remembered as one of Elizabeth's wild sisters. His reserve returned in full, along with some measure of disappointment. It was entirely unreasonable, and of that he was well aware. Of course she would walk with a companion. It was natural and desirable, though for his own peace of mind he would have preferred to know her escorted by someone more reliable than a younger sister, and a foolish one at that.

To his surprise, in response to his bow he received a reserved curtsey and a few polite words in greeting, without any of the girlish giggles he had come to expect from Miss Kitty and Miss... what was the youngest called? Lilly? No, something else... Lydia, rather.

"I apologise", he recollected himself, remembering their employment prior to his appearance. "I should not wish to disrupt your morning..." he added, hoping to be contradicted, and to his relief and not insubstantial pleasure, Elizabeth obliged.

"It is of no consequence, Sir. It is always a pleasure to come across an old acquaintance, particularly when least expected. How have you been keeping, Mr. Darcy? I trust you are well..."

"Very well, I thank you. And you? Is your family in good health?"

"I thank you, yes, they are well, sir."

Miss Catherine excused herself with a few words and a brief curtsey and returned to collect her volume and her sister's from the bench and gather them in her reticule. In the silence that followed, Darcy's disquiet returned in no small measure. By every standard, he was now required, he knew, to inquire about her family's comfort in Devonshire - but everything within him recoiled from any reference to Farringdon. He sighed, privately thinking that he would have been better served by far, had he more rigorously adhered from the very beginning to the original opinion that all manner of deceit was his abhorrence. Having withheld the truth of his involvement last autumn was, although condemnable, at least in keeping with his thoughts at the time. To discuss Farringdon now and feign no connection with it would be indefensible.

"Would you ... that is..." Darcy offered hesitantly, then cleared his voice and resumed with more coherence and more apparent composure. "It would be a pleasure to call on you and your family, if that is convenient", he said civilly and Elizabeth looked up, not altogether convinced he was in earnest. As far as she could remember, he could hardly tolerate her family in the past, and in some cases with good reason! However, detecting nothing but politeness in his address and some genuine interest she could not fully justify, Elizabeth allowed that they would be very pleased to receive him.

"And whereabouts in Portman Square are you staying?"

"Oh, of course, I apologise. We are houseguests of Mrs. Jennings', a family friend from Devonshire, and she lives at number twenty-one".

Darcy nodded, happy in the knowledge that he had been able to mask his relief at this intelligence. Ever since she had mentioned staying with friends in town, rather than her uncle and aunt, of which he had heard from Mrs. Bingley, part of his mind dreaded the possibility that the circumstances were as such that she and her family were Colonel Brandon's guests.

He wished - feared - that any intelligence could be had on that score, but knew he would still have to wait to acquire it. She would hardly have cause to give it, and he could not ask.

Miss Catherine had returned to their side and all three stood in silence for a few moments, until Elizabeth offered a comment regarding the changeable weather they had been having lately.

"Quite so!" Darcy concurred, recollecting himself. "Knowing your fondness for walks, Miss Bennet, I should imagine that the wet weather had taxed your patience severely. Or would I be wrong in assuming it had the power to keep you indoors?" he added, a glimpse of Elizabeth's appearance in Netherfield's gardens to tend to her sister returning to him, to warm his heart and his countenance.

"Only in part, Sir," Elizabeth laughingly owned, and the amused sparkle in her eyes robbed him of all power of speech, until with an effort he was able to turn to her sister.

"If I remember correctly, you used to favour walking as well, Miss Catherine." Either that, or the society Meryton had to offer, Darcy thought, rather unkindly, but endeavoured to check himself. He would show Elizabeth's sister every civility and would do well to remember that his own conduct had - although in very different ways - been far from irreproachable.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy, I did," he heard Miss Catherine concur, "and still do, perhaps to an even greater extent. I have to confess to being a willing participant in all of my sister's schemes," she concluded with a fond smile to Elizabeth, which Darcy unconsciously mirrored.

"Excellent!" he replied. "In this case, I have great hopes that I might be able to persuade you to take a turn about Hyde Park."

Elizabeth checked the time. It was past two o'clock and she pondered for a short while.

"I must confess myself quite tempted, Mr. Darcy, as I have caught a glimpse of the Serpentine on my last visit, and I had left town with the regret of not having had the chance to walk round it," she owned.

"I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours," Darcy offered with a warm smile, "but I feel I must warn you, it is almost three miles all round."

"What is three miles of good road?" Elizabeth returned, with a brow slightly arched in that fashion that Darcy found positively irresistible. "Little more than a couple of hours' stroll. However," she conceded despite herself, "this is probably more than today would allow, given the time. I suppose it ought to be attempted much earlier in the day..."

"Then perhaps you would allow me to escort you - and Miss Catherine - back to Portman Square, and a better time can be arranged," Darcy suggested and Elizabeth smiled.

"That is very kind, Mr. Darcy, but I should not wish to detain you. We were in fact hoping to have a look around the Queen's Library before making our way home."

"A remarkable coincidence," he replied, smiling at the thought that he would have claimed it to be so, regardless of the truth of the matter. "I have walked hither with the same intention myself. I would be honoured if you would allow me to escort you."

The Miss Bennets graciously accepted and all three wandered off in the direction of the Library, talking companionably of the good report they have had of it, as well as of the books they have recently read, with brief contributions from Miss Catherine. They have spent a pleasurable half-hour in the Library, though Darcy knew full well that if he had any interest for the books to be found therein, he ought to return at a later date, as all he could do at the time was to look at her over the book he was holding as a guise, incredulous of his good fortune and grateful for the inspiration that had guided his steps towards Green Park that morning. The thought that she would otherwise have been staying not a mile from his home - and him being none the wiser - was too much to contemplate.

Finally, Miss Bennet and Miss Catherine declared themselves satisfied and ready to return to Portman Square, and all three made their way out into the Park. They wandered along the well-shaded alleyways that circled around the Temple and the Lodge, discussing the plays that were performed in town at the time, and Elizabeth expressed her regret that they happened to visit at a time when the Opera House would be closed.

"Which music do you favour?" Darcy asked, grateful for the chance of learning anything of her.

"Oh, Mozart's, beyond any comparison!" Elizabeth answered decidedly and Darcy smiled despite himself, charmed by her unconcealed enthusiasm, as by everything about her.

"My sister's preference lies with the German composers, particularly Beethoven, and at one time Bach, but Mozart had also become a recent favourite," he mentioned casually.

The inclination towards Mozart had in effect heralded the beginning of Georgiana's recovery of spirits after Ramsgate, but that he did not disclose.

"There can be no equal to Beethoven's style, not in our time, to be sure. His music is so... majestic, so uplifting! It puts me in mind of the noblest sentiments known to man. Mozart's is delectable in an altogether different fashion. It is alive, and mischievous sometimes, but positively delightful. It can be too light, and bright, and sparkling(*3) for some, I do not doubt. But then there is no accounting for tastes, is there?"

"No," Darcy smiled, "there is not!"

He cast a glance in her direction and then forced himself to look away so as not to stare, wishing he had the liberty of letting her know that she was the most alive, the most delectably mischievous and positively delightful lady of his acquaintance, and the most handsome as well - or, failing that, wishing at least that he had had the inspiration and the intrepidity to offer her his arm when they had set out on their walk. It would have been odd to do it now ... would it not?

Nevertheless, the day had offered the lengthiest and less strained conversation they ever had, in the entire course of their acquaintance, and the enjoyment had not been curtailed by any officious or embarrassing interference. On that note, Miss Catherine had been a most agreeable surprise. She had been reserved, polite and occasionally showed herself quite well informed. She had been nothing like he had remembered and indeed had expected her to be.

"Will you be staying long in town?" Elizabeth politely enquired, after a pause in conversation.

"My plans are not fixed at the moment," Darcy replied quietly, looking away, "though I should imagine I shall return to Pemberley for at least part of the summer. Will you be returning to Devonshire soon?"

Elizabeth made no answer and Darcy turned towards her with a slightly questioning look, only to find that her attention had been drawn somewhere ahead. Darcy's gaze followed the direction of hers and eventually rested on the gentleman advancing towards them.

"I do beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy, I was not attending!" Elizabeth apologised. "You were saying...?"

"Merely enquiring about your return home," Darcy repeated slightly puzzled.

"I should imagine it would be sometime in September," she replied lightly and turned with a welcoming smile to the gentleman who had by then reached them.

"Good afternoon, Colonel. What a surprise! I apologise, gentlemen, I believe you have not met. Mr. Darcy, may I introduce Colonel Brandon, one of our Devonshire neighbours and a dear friend. Colonel, this is Mr. Darcy of Derbyshire."

And all of Darcy's delight in his good fortune of the day turned to ash.

A neighbour and a dear friend. A dear friend. She had introduced Brandon as 'a dear friend'. What did that signify, a dear friend? Her words reverberated in his mind and spun with dizzying velocity. It might have signified anything or nothing, but it was not the words that inflicted the pain. It was her obvious pleasure in the encounter that did, and her welcoming smile for the other man. And her loss of interest in his conversation. And the fact that she had not qualified their own acquaintance in any way. Brandon was 'a dear friend'. As for himself, he was apparently nothing.

The pain, as he had once imagined, was indeed searing.

Darcy bowed perfunctorily to the other man, and straightened to take a proper look at him. He looked very gentlemanly, to be sure, and - one might have to concede - had a fine countenance. Fourteen years older than Elizabeth, was he? To his distress, Darcy had to own that he did not look it, particularly at this moment, as Brandon had turned to Elizabeth with a few words of greeting.

Darcy bit his lip and looked away. He would have thought that Richard was a better judge of characters. Reserved, and a very private man, that was how he had described Brandon in the past. Darcy all but humphed out-loud. For a very private man, he was doing a remarkably good job of showing that he was clearly happy about the encounter.

"To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here, Colonel?" Darcy heard Elizabeth ask, as he forced himself to attend to the conversation.

"I called in Portman Square only to be told that the young ladies had gone out with the intention of taking a walk in this park and visit the Library. I am surprised, however, that you would choose to leave the Library before your friends," the other man replied in a quiet voice which Darcy could not but own that it was warm and pleasant, and the smile directed towards Elizabeth made him clench his hands behind his back.

No more so than the understanding smile he received in return.

"I am afraid you were sadly misled, Colonel. We left the house together, but the Miss Dashwoods were to visit in Harley Street."

The Miss Dashwoods?

"I see," was the Colonel's sole reply and for a few moments they continued their walk in silence. To Darcy's even greater annoyance, Miss Catherine, who had in the beginning walked at Elizabeth's right, had now ceded her place to the Colonel and had chosen to move to Darcy's left. Thus, when they quitted the park and discovered the pavement on Piccadilly not quite wide enough to admit four, he had found himself necessarily lagging behind at Miss Catherine's side, while Brandon remained at Elizabeth's.

And had offered her his arm, and was accepted.

Darcy seethed. He should have offered Elizabeth his arm when he had the chance, he told himself petulantly, only to wince in pain at his own childishness.

It would not have mattered. Elizabeth might still have chosen Brandon's support over his.

Having offered her his arm or not a half-hour previously was not of consequence.

Not having offered his hand half a year ago was.

He could not take his eyes of them, despite years of training in all the written and unwritten laws of conduct in polite society, nor could he refrain from attempting to listen to their conversation. With the few steps' distance and the commotion of the great boulevard, he could hear very little and understand even less. But he could not miss the air of intimacy and easy camaraderie between them. Their friendly, communing smiles and the almost affectionate fashion in which Elizabeth had patted his arm at one point in the conversation told more than words could. She was very comfortable in Brandon's presence, much more so than she had ever been in his.

Was that supposed to be a good sign?

One is hardly ever this comfortable when one is in love, was that not so?

Darcy sighed as he dismissed all such notions as rationalising and wishful thinking.

If affection was declared and reciprocated, then there would be comfort. And bliss.

For another.

"Would you be able to stay for dinner, Colonel?" Darcy heard Elizabeth ask, then she added, "I would assume that our party would be complete before too long."

The Colonel gladly accepted and Darcy had the pain and pleasure of suddenly finding himself the object of Elizabeth attention as she turned to him.

"I hope you will be able to join us too, Mr. Darcy," she offered, rather perturbed by the thought that Mrs. Jennings, Mrs. Bennet and Lydia were an acquired taste - which, if memory served, he never truly got to acquire, as far as her mother and her sister were concerned - and that they would undoubtedly grate on his sensibilities. She wished she could have introduced him instead to the society of her Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, as she would have liked him to know that Jane - and more recently, Kitty - were not her only relations for whom there was no need to blush. Still, it could not be helped. The presence of Elinor, Marianne and the Colonel would have to suffice in terms of intelligent, sensible and decorous company.

She needed not concern herself with how the renewal of his acquaintance with her less decorous relations and friends would affect him. It did not come to pass. Mr. Darcy sensed her reservations - and completely misinterpreted them. With all his previous enjoyment turned into bitterness at the thought that the affectionate invitation was Brandon's, and his was merely the forced civility, he politely but coldly declined the pleasure of dining in Portman Square.

Had he chosen to attend, he would have met the Miss Dashwoods, and would have soon come to the right understanding regarding the Colonel's affections, as the gentleman would have been hard-pressed not to betray any sign of them in Miss Marianne's presence - and had that not sufficed, Mrs. Jennings' wit would have done the trick.

He did not. He returned to Berkeley Square in spirits more dejected than ever, persuaded that the engagement Fitzwilliam had spoken of was, if not yet a reality, then a very certain possibility, and that he might as well return to Pemberley.

Yet he knew he would not. Not until the dice had fallen and all hope was lost.

Darcy could not bring himself to visit in Portman Square until full ten days had passed - only to be told that the lady of the house would be delighted to receive him, but Mrs. Bennet and her daughters were no longer in residence. A brief call sufficed for Darcy to acquire the intelligence as to them having departed for Netherfield not three days previously, and for Mrs. Jennings to rejoice in the unexpected delight of being offered such good reason to quiz and teaze her young friends, when they were to meet again, about the obvious disappointment of the distinguished young man who had come to call upon them. It was a pity she could not tell which of them he actually came to see, but after some deliberation, Mrs. Jennings decided it was not such a bad thing after all. She could of course teaze them all.

(*1)Booksellers and publishers regarded as some of the most fashionable of the time. The London Book Trades 1775-1800: a topographical guide. Compiled by Victor Berch; Edited by Ian Maxted

(*2) "The Green Park [just south of Piccadilly] is now devoid of buildings and has virtually no artefacts, but it was not always so. The Park once contained lodges, a library, an ice house and two vast 'temples' called the Temple of Peace and the Temple of Concord. During festivities in the Park the two temples were destroyed. In 1749 the Temple of Peace, erected to mark the end of the War of Austrian Succession, exploded during a firework display and in 1814 the Temple of Concord, erected to mark 100 years of the Hanoverian Dynasty, was also destroyed in a similar way during the Prince Regent's gala. The Park was enclosed by Charles II in 1668, stocked with deer and provided with a ranger's house. It was known as Upper St James's Park but by 1746 it was called The Green Park. Various improvements at the beginning of the 18th century made it more of a pleasure garden. The Tyburn Pool was built, and in the 1720s a reservoir was made to supply water to St James's Palace and Buckingham House. This reservoir was called the Queen's Basin, and with the adjacent Queen's Walk, planted in 1730, soon became a fashionable venue. Unfortunately, The Ranger's Lodge, the Queen's Library, the Queen's Basin and the Tyburn Pool had all been demolished by 1855." History and Architecture of Royal Parks of London (www.royalparks.gov.uk).

(*3)JA on P&P, in a letter to Cassandra (February 4, 1813).

Chapter 16

Posted on Wednesday, 8 November 2006

Elizabeth leaned into the cushions, a pleasant sense of drowsiness enveloping her as the carriage swayed gently, almost luring her to sleep. They have been on their way for quite some time, the Gardiners and herself, and the eager anticipation with which she had set off from Netherfield in the very early hours of the morning gradually gave way to the tiredness she was eventually bound to feel, yet she was not ready to stop or rest. The enchantment of places never seen before was enough to spur her on.

The visit to Netherfield had been everything she had hoped for - and more. The delight to see Jane, and to see her so happy, could not be surpassed by anything, and yet her joy on her sister's behalf had been increased even further when, at the first opportunity for private discourse, Jane had told her in the strictest confidence that she was expecting an addition to her happy household, by the end of the year. Elizabeth had held her and wept with joy, then wiped her face with the tip of her fingers in a most unladylike fashion, and attempted to shake off her own sensibility by laughingly remarking:

"So, the time to teach your children to play their instruments very ill is drawing near! Oh, Jane, I am so happy for you! And for Charles, of course."

Jane embraced her sister once more and whispered, close to tears:

"I miss you, Lizzy! I wish you would come to live with us!"

"Someone needs to keep Mamma and Lydia in check!" Elizabeth laughed, to make light of the situation. "It would be unfair to expect it of Kitty already. She had only recently acquired some sense herself!"

"Oh, Lizzy," Jane laughed, forgetting herself, "you remind me so of Papa!"

As soon as the words had escaped her, Jane covered her mouth and whispered, dejectedly.

"I am so sorry, my dear! I should not have said that!"

"No, Jane," Elizabeth answered, tears in her eyes, "in point of fact, it is one of the loveliest things you could have said to me."

They held each other then, and wept freely, the sisterly bond they shared making the burden lighter. Then Jane dried her face and said matter-of-factly:

"Well, we'd best dress for dinner. I hope you like your room, Lizzy. I have selected it especially for you, as it overlooks the eastern fields. The view is lovely first thing in the morning, all swirling mist and glittering dew, and I thought you might appreciate it, given you are such an early riser ... Georgiana was enchanted by the prospect, and I do believe she rises almost as early as you do!"

"Oh! You have met Miss Darcy, then."

"Yes, and she is delightful! Mr. Darcy and his sister have been visiting with us for a while last month. I only wish you had arrived sooner, or that they stayed for longer, so that you could have met her yourself. Having said that, I do believe Mr. Darcy will be quite disappointed to have missed you. He had inquired most particularly about you several times, when he was last with us!"

"I cannot imagine why!" Elizabeth answered, a slight blush colouring her cheeks at the intelligence. "We have come across him in town though, quite by accident, Kitty and I," she imparted.

"You did? How did that come about?"

Elizabeth shared with her elder sister the details of the unexpected meeting in Green Park, along with some of her own thoughts on the matter.

"It had come quite as a surprise to see Mr. Darcy devoid of his habitual reserve in the beginning, but I daresay he had regained it soon enough! I can never comprehend the man!" she finished with a smile.

"Mr. Darcy is quite an intricate character, I grant you, but I have come to discover myself that he is very pleasant company once you get to know him better."

"Perhaps!" Elizabeth conceded, with a little laugh.

The unrestrained, agreeable conversation they have had in the park led her to believe that it could be true, though the man's propensity to return to his cool reserve without any warning or apparent reason was positively infuriating!

It would have been a gross falsehood to claim that she had not thought of Mr. Darcy occasionally, ever since their paths had diverged last autumn, and quite a lot more, since their puzzling meeting in town. As she had once confessed to Jane, he would remain in her memory as one of the most intriguing gentlemen of her acquaintance. And one of the most intelligent, and perhaps one of the handsomest. It was indeed difficult not to acknowledge his superiority, when faced with the likes of Sir John. Even Colonel Brandon, whom she esteemed and regarded with great fondness, would be found lacking by comparison, in many respects.

But that is neither here nor there! Elizabeth reminded herself. Despite the obvious pleasure with which he had greeted her in Green Park - which in itself had been a great surprise - the fact remained that he had not called upon them in Portman Square, as he had requested permission to. But, perhaps he could not be in her mother's presence what he was before herself, or Kitty, or Jane. It was a painful, but not an improbable conjecture.

Or perhaps he had been unaware of their leaving town so soon. Elizabeth tried to remember if she had imparted the intelligence and found she could not.

Or perhaps he was a very busy man.

Or perhaps she ought to leave him to his own devices and return to her wise decision of old to not make herself unhappy over him!

Elizabeth squared her slender shoulders and turned to look out of the carriage window. The rolling hills and pleasant meadows leading up to Oxford and beyond were enough to entice the eye with all the delights of beautiful countryside, and the vague resemblance to the environs of Longbourn could do nothing but further raise them in Elizabeth's appreciation.

Their all-too-short time at Netherfield had been a delight, she thought with a smile, although the mere couple of days had flown by in a manner which Elizabeth would have found hard to bear, had she not known that she will have her dearest sister all to herself before too long, after the proposed trip with her dear aunt and uncle. It had been good to see old friends again, and familiar places, although some were tinged with bitter memories. The necessary visit to Longbourn, in particular, had been a very difficult moment, especially having to see her father's beloved library turned into Mr. Collins' realm. But that was the way of the world, and Elizabeth was resolved to accept it as best she could. Jane and their aunt's presence had been a balm to her soul, and Elizabeth was grateful for them, and for all the blessings in her life.

The time to start on their trip northward was upon them before they knew it and, at the beginning of August, they set off in pursuit of novelty and amusement. One enjoyment was certain - that of suitableness as companions: a suitableness which comprehended health and temper to bear inconveniences; cheerfulness to enhance every pleasure; and affection and intelligence, which might supply it among themselves if there were disappointments abroad.

They travelled to Derbyshire without much delay, stopping only in a few notable places, having determined to linger and indulge their curiosity for other worthwhile sights upon their return. Their proposed destination was Lambton, the little town Mrs. Gardiner hailed from and where she had lately learned that some acquaintance still remained.

To her surprise, Elizabeth discovered from her aunt that Pemberley was situated within but five miles of Lambton, and Mrs. Gardiner expressed a wish to see the place again.

Elizabeth was in two minds about the entire scheme. While she would have enjoyed the opportunity of touring the place, she felt awkward of doing so without proper invitation, and was compelled to share the sentiment with her relations.

"Awkward?" her uncle asked. "No more than Blenheim or Chatsworth! There was no awkwardness there!"

"No indeed, Sir, as I have no acquaintance with the families of either Blenheim or Chatsworth. There I was at liberty to be a visitor. At Pemberley, without proper invitation, I feel more like an intruder."

"We should not visit, then, if this is your wish," her aunt intervened, placatingly. "But perhaps we should at first inquire if the family is down for the summer," she wisely suggested.

Their inquiry, prior to leaving Lambton, was answered in the negative.

To Pemberley therefore they were to go.

The day dawned bright and clear, and no impediment presented itself to the planned excursion to Pemberley. They drove the five miles with undisguised anticipation, and finally turned in at the lodge. The park was very large and contained great variety of ground. They drove for some time through a beautiful wood, gradually ascending for half a mile, and then found themselves at the top of a considerable eminence, where the wood ceased, and the eye was instantly caught by Pemberley House, situated on the opposite side of a valley, into which the road with some abruptness wound. It was a large, handsome stone building, standing well on rising ground; and in front, a stream led to a lake, with nothing artificial in its appearance. Its banks were neither formal, nor falsely adorned. Elizabeth was delighted. She had never seen a place for which nature had done more, or where natural beauty had been so little counteracted by an awkward taste.

The house itself, when they applied to see it, did not disappoint. The rooms were lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor and Elizabeth saw, with admiration for his taste, that it was neither gaudy, nor uselessly fine, with more real elegance and less useless splendour than was the fashion of the time.

For the first time, Elizabeth comprehended the true magnitude of the Darcys' position in life. She had known, as far back as the year before, in Hertfordshire, that Darcy was above Charles in status, by as much and possibly more than the difference by which Bingley stood above the Bennets. However, she had never imagined that the disparity between Pemberley and Netherfield - or between Pemberley and everything she had ever experienced, for that matter - would be so marked. It was a humbling feeling, which made her feel rather uncomfortable.

The housekeeper, to whom they had applied to see the house, was a remarkably pleasant and welcoming lady, whose main enjoyment appeared to be to speak well of her master and his sister. A very favourable account of both followed, making Elizabeth wonder how could the perfect landlord and master that Mrs. Reynolds described deport himself with such insensitivity at the beginning of his sojourn in Hertfordshire. And yet she could not find fault with the older woman's account. She had seen herself that side of him which exuded consideration and kindness, as well as the power to influence other people's lives.

Finally, they were escorted to the paintings gallery, for which Mrs. Gardiner had expressed some interest. Elizabeth could not quite join her in the sentiment. She knew very little of the art, and could not find the same enjoyment as her aunt in the works of great masters. She was however interested in the library, and said as much to Mrs. Reynolds. The affable lady agreed too escort her there, while her relations admired the paintings.

Elizabeth followed the older woman down a grand staircase and along a corridor, then Mrs. Reynolds opened a door and admitted her into Elizabeth's notion of heaven. Large windows allowed the bright sunlight in, and it threw joyful, tantalising spears of gold over the most outstanding collection of books she had ever seen. Warm-coloured chairs were scattered about the place, for the pleasure and comfort of all who sought their enjoyment there, and in one of these chairs Elizabeth espied a very young lady, curled up with her book.

The lady looked up and straightened as they entered, and Mrs. Reynolds started to apologise, at the sight of her.

"I do beg your pardon for the interruption, Miss Darcy!" she said, much to Elizabeth's consternation, when it became clear that the intelligence they had received in Lambton regarding the family being from home was unfounded. "I was not aware you would be within when I offered to escort Miss Bennet to see the library," Mrs. Reynolds apologised, then added, "Miss Bennet had expressed a great interest for it."

Elizabeth was torn between embarrassment at having intruded upon the family and some curiosity to see Miss Georgiana Darcy, of whom she had heard so much. She was reluctant to claim any connection to the family, however, when suddenly, to her surprise, Miss Darcy came to greet her and asked:

"This may seem forward and rather odd, I fear, but I cannot pass the opportunity of asking. Would you happen to be related to Mrs. Bingley of Hertfordshire? She was Miss Bennet prior to her marriage, I was given to understand..."

"Mrs. Bingley is my elder sister," Elizabeth answered with surprised pleasure. "I saw her a week ago and she told me of her delight in having made your acquaintance, Miss Darcy!"

The younger lady blushed becomingly.

"The pleasure and honour were all mine. It has been a privilege to become acquainted with your sister. Mrs. Bingley is one of the kindest and most generous people I know! You will forgive my asking of your family connections, but I should not have wished to pass the opportunity of properly welcoming one of her relations!"

"You are very kind!" Elizabeth answered, wondering once more at the extent of the deceit perpetrated by that scoundrel, Wickham. That he could have described such an obliging young lady as haughty and proud added another sin to his long list of like 'accomplishments'.

"Have you had the tour of the house, Miss Bennet? I would be delighted to show you around, if you had not!" Miss Darcy offered, to Elizabeth's renewed surprise.

She acknowledged the gracious offer and replied in the affirmative, complimenting Miss Darcy on her delightful home and thanking Mrs. Reynolds for her efforts. The housekeeper concurred:

"I daresay the usual tour is largely completed, with the exception of the west wing, that is. Miss Bennet and her party have not seen it yet."

"Then perhaps I could escort you there. And it would give me great pleasure to have your company for tea afterwards, yours and your party's, of course!" Miss Darcy added, shyly. Although diffidently, the offer had nevertheless been made, which in itself would have greatly astonished her brother, had he but witnessed it, and would have made him think of Mrs. Bingley's beneficial influence once more, and more gratefully. The invitation was gladly accepted, and Mrs. Reynolds returned to attend to the Gardiners and order some refreshment, while Elizabeth and Miss Darcy were to tour the library and the west wing together.

The library, as was to be expected, gave Elizabeth great pleasure. It was very obvious indeed that it had been the loving work of many generations of Darcys, who had enhanced their collection not for effect, but out of genuine interest.

"This is indeed a delight!" she could not help exclaiming, reverently touching the spines of some of the books, friends of hers of old.

"You are most welcome to return and enjoy it at your leisure," Miss Darcy extended, albeit shyly, and Elizabeth smiled.

"Thank you, Miss Darcy, you are most obliging, but I fear a lifetime would not be enough to acquaint oneself with all the wonders this room holds!"

"This is probably the case," Miss Darcy smiled in response, "but you are welcome nevertheless."

Realising that to tarry for longer in the library would do nothing but stir an appetite which the available time could not sate, Elizabeth declared herself at her companion's leisure to continue on their tour, and they walked towards the west wing, conversing companionably about the places Elizabeth had visited in her travels.

The west wing housed the music room and, on its northern side, an elegantly fitted-up saloon, whose aspect rendered it delightful for the summer. Elizabeth expressed her admiration for the refreshing view of the high woody hills behind the house, which the saloon offered, as well as of the beautiful instrument placed in the corner of the very elegant music room.

"Thank you," Miss Darcy replied. "It is just come down for me. A present from my brother."

"I have heard much praise of your performance on the pianoforte," Elizabeth said, remembering Miss Bingley's raptures, so long ago, at Netherfield.

"I am sure it has been greatly exaggerated," Miss Darcy replied, modestly. "I must admit, I am very fond of music, and I would like my skills to do it justice, but I fear I fall short of my expectations ... Do you play, Miss Bennet?" she added, in an attempt to divert attention from herself.

"Aye, but very ill indeed!"

"I believe you are too modest!" Miss Darcy offered with a smile.

"May I return the sentiment, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth laughed, "even more confidently so, as I was given to understand that you practice constantly, which is more than I can say for myself!"

"Then perhaps you could be persuaded to visit again, during your stay in the area, and then we might compare our skills!" Miss Darcy offered, with a boldness that surprised even her, not only because she was not in the habit of giving invitations, or because she hardly ever gathered the courage to play for company, but mainly because she rarely found herself driven to further an acquaintance so recently established. There was, however, something very appealing about Mrs. Bingley's sister, an openness of manner, an easy, unaffected friendliness that made her wish to know her better.

"You would be doing me a great kindness," she added, "as I currently find myself quite devoid of company. My brother could not join me, after our visit with Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. He had to return to town, to await some news of great import, and although he did not explain further, I doubt he would return very soon."

Elizabeth was content to have acquired the intelligence she could not bring herself to enquire of, although she could not tell whether she was more relieved or disappointed at the news of Mr. Darcy's continued absence from Pemberley.

With great civility, the invitation was accepted, pending the concurrence of her companions.

At length, Miss Darcy escorted her back to the main staircase and from thence to the floor above, to a delightfully appointed room, less formally imposing and much lighter and airier than any of the ones she had visited before. Elizabeth understood she had been taken to the part of the house reserved for family, rather than that opened to visitors, even before Miss Darcy had explained:

"This is my own sitting room. Perhaps you would like to rest and we could have some refreshment. Mrs. Reynolds will escort the rest of your party here. Are you travelling with a large group of friends?"

"No, just my uncle and aunt from town."

"I should be delighted to make their acquaintance," Miss Darcy said politely, but Elizabeth could not fail to notice the return of the young lady's shyness, which somewhat belied the sentiment.

"This is a very pleasant room," she said with a genuine smile, in an attempt to draw Miss Darcy back to their former, less stilted discourse.

"Thank you. My brother had it done up to surprise me, for my return from town. He is the kindest of brothers and very attentive to me!"

"It is no more than you deserve, I do not doubt it!" Elizabeth smiled, and walked to admire a couple of charcoal sketches hung above the escritoire.

As she drew closer, the sight of one almost made her gasp. It was a very accurate rendition of Mr. Darcy, and it was not the person portrayed, but rather the air captured that made her stop and stare. She had seen likenesses of him, in point of fact there was one in the portraits' gallery, where he looked very much the undisputable Master of Pemberley. Not haughty, but powerful; not vain, but self-assured. And in no doubt about his duty, his merits or his place.

This little sketch was a different matter altogether. There was absolutely nothing formal about his air. A warm smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and the unmistakably affectionate look in his eyes lit up his entire countenance. It was almost as though the artist had caught him in one of his unguarded moments, when he had divested himself of the great, heavy cloak of Master of Pemberley, and had allowed himself to be human after all.

"I did not know you drew so well, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth offered, to fill the silence, having noticed the signature in the corner. Indeed; she ought to have guessed. It had been his sister that he had sat for. It was for Miss Darcy that light-hearted smile, that affectionate and engagingly self-conscious look. This was no surprise, as Elizabeth knew him to be a devoted brother.

The surprise was that he could look like that, for anyone.

And yet ... there was something oddly familiar about the air his younger sister had captured ... Elizabeth briefly wondered why, puzzled, and then the memory returned. Of course. Mr. Darcy's countenance, in the very first moments of their unexpected encounter in Green Park, had been closer to this sketch than to any of her previous representations of the man. It was indeed a pity that those moments had not lasted long...

Unwittingly, Elizabeth returned the smile of the portrait.

She had always thought him handsome, but this likeness made him even more so, as it was utterly devoid of the unbending reserve he displayed to strangers, and showed a very private glimpse of how he would appear to the people of his closest acquaintance. Having seen it, Elizabeth could more easily understand his sister's obvious devotion, as well as the bond between him and Mr. Bingley, and Jane's insistence that he could be quite pleasant company if one got to know him better. Mr. Darcy certainly showed very different sides of himself to different people, and Elizabeth found herself wishing she were among the privileged few who got to know him as this sketch portrayed.

"Thank you. It is a likeness of my brother," Georgiana explained, in response to the compliment, and the unexpected voice at her elbow made Elizabeth start.

"Yes, the resemblance is remarkable," Elizabeth offered, for want of a more inspired comment, and to her surprise, this made Miss Darcy eye her with a puzzled expression.

"I am happy to hear this, although I always thought that my brother and I did not look so very similar..."

Elizabeth coloured.

"I apologise, I meant..."

But she could not finish, as Miss Darcy interjected, blushing profusely herself.

"You must think me very foolish! Of course, I should have thought that, as Mr. and Mrs. Bingley's sister, you must be acquainted with my brother as well."

Elizabeth could only offer "Yes, I have had that pleasure," and then turned to admire the other drawing, before Miss Darcy might be inclined to ask her about their acquaintance. She need not have worried, however, as the younger lady's shyness prevented her from even entertaining such a notion.

To Elizabeth's relief and Miss Darcy's short-lived concern, the door was soon opened, and the Gardiners were admitted, followed almost immediately by the previously ordered refreshment. In an attempt to conceal her revived shyness, Miss Darcy busied herself with the tea things, gladly accepting Elizabeth's assistance, both in preparing the tea and in establishing the beginnings of a conversation. It did not take long, however, until she had warmed up to the new acquaintance. It would have been difficult indeed not to, as both Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were pleasant, genteel people, with a great deal of kindness to recommend them, and should that not have been enough to break the ice, Mrs. Gardiner's familiarity with the area supplied them with plenty of topics for relaxed conversation. They moved on to the subject of music and then to that of the most recent performances at the London opera and some of the theatres, and a short hour later, they parted, mutually delighted with each other.

Miss Darcy had, by the end of the visit, lost all the reserve that would have prevented her from giving the invitation, and cheerfully asked them all to return to Pemberley, thus renewing the offer made earlier to Elizabeth, and extending it to the Gardiners as well.

On the part of the Gardiners, the invitation was regretfully declined, as their previous engagements with a number of families of Mrs. Gardiner's acquaintance left them unable to do otherwise. They saw no reason, however, why Elizabeth should feel compelled to join them, particularly as she did not know any of Mrs. Gardiner's friends. It was decided, therefore, that Miss Bennet will visit Pemberley again the following morning.

Shortly after, the Gardiners and their niece returned to their lodgings in Lambton, charmed by young Miss Darcy's amiability and gentle manners. No less pleased with them, as soon as she had escorted her guests below-stairs, Miss Darcy hastened back to her sitting room, to write her brother of the delightful young lady of her recent acquaintance.

Chapter 17

Posted on Wednesday, 8 November 2006

'All good comes to those who wait' claimed the old adage, but Fitzwilliam Darcy seriously doubted its wisdom, as he tugged absent-mindedly at his cuffs, his countenance closed and his jaw set. With a short, impatient huff, he turned to cast a cursory glance in the tall looking-glass, only to note that he seemed prepared to face another day - outwardly at least.

"Thank you, Wilson, that would be all."

The valet bowed and withdrew, leaving his master to his thoughts, none pleasant. Unwilling to indulge them, Darcy hastily left his chambers and crossed the wide hallway towards his private sitting room, wishing he could leave his thoughts behind with the same ease with which he would discard a coat. His eyes rested briefly on the small collection of choice volumes lining the bookcase behind his desk, but he impatiently waved off the mere thought of such pursuits, for which he currently lacked both patience and inclination. Hands behind his back, he wondered instead towards the vast windows overlooking Berkeley Square and cast a disinterested eye over the ornamental trees, the neatly trimmed topiary and the 'figure-of-eight'-shaped flower borders. Bright, cheery sunlight filled the square and Darcy's sitting room. It did not lift his spirits.
He felt restless, heavy-hearted and at odds with himself.

The resolution he had taken at Rosings, very much against his every wish and inclination, had to be cast aside, surely! Not rushing to Devonshire on the spur of possessive jealousy was one thing. Not letting Elizabeth know of his sentiments months later, while she was still unattached, was quite another!

All is fair in love and war. The sudden though made him start. This was not a principle he had ever envisaged following, and yet he now found it ringing painfully true. Needless to say, it was not fairness to Brandon, or rather lack thereof, that had ever concerned him, although in a better world perhaps it should. All that he cared about was Elizabeth.

What would she wish for? What would make her happy?

Yet how was he to know, if he did not ask?

He rubbed his forehead and drew a long breath, as he raked his fingers through his hair.

He will have to ask, and soon. Although he knew not how he was to go about it, nor how would he bear it, if all it brought was pain.

He winced as he turned away from the window thinking, as many times before, that perhaps he had already got his answer, on the day of their encounter in Green Park. There was not enough vanity under heaven to make him believe that Elizabeth had not chosen Brandon's company over his, that day.

Darcy walked to his desk and sat, leaning his head against the back of the high-winged chair, his gaze fixed beyond a distant spot on the ornate ceiling.

The meeting with Brandon - and Elizabeth's obvious pleasure in it - had severely undermined his confidence and had done away with any ease he might have felt in her company. Whatever opinion he might have held of Brandon, from Fitzwilliam's casual references, had to be cast aside upon making the man's acquaintance. Darcy had seen an amiable, well-spoken man, with pleasant, unaffected manners and a particularly gentlemanlike address, in possession of what appeared to be the quiet confidence of one several years his senior, who had experienced a lot more of the world and its ways than the young master of Pemberley ever had the opportunity or the inclination to. Reserved as he might be in indifferent company, Brandon clearly had no such encumbrance in Elizabeth's presence. Their discourse had appeared open, almost intimate, with all the ease and friendliness of a close acquaintance - which, despite having known Elizabeth for so many months longer, Darcy could not claim.

It was an altogether novel and very uncomfortable feeling for Darcy to envy another man. Without being vain, he had always been more than aware that his attributes, personal, as well as those pertaining to his position in society, were making him the object of envy to others. There had been times, no doubt, when he had wished for different traits in himself, a greater ease in new and uncomfortable circumstances for instance, perhaps a touch of Bingley's effortlessness in company, if not his readiness for conversation. Heaven help him, there was even a time in Cambridge when he had found himself wishing for a dash of Wickham's openness and charm. That was, of course, well behind him now. Not only because he could not wish for what he could not respect - he had come to respect Charles, after a fashion - but in general, with his own character and disposition he had no reason to be dissatisfied.

Until now, that is. He now found himself wishing for Brandon's ease and confidence in Elizabeth's company, for his intelligent discourse, which appeared to flow effortlessly, without any need to impress. He wished he could dismiss the other as an older, staid, unattractive man, but he could not, on any of those counts. Brandon did not appear staid, was definitely not unattractive, and even the difference in age seemed to work in his favour, making Darcy feel quite the inexperienced, gauche schoolboy by comparison. Indeed, it appeared that he could not feel superior to Brandon in anything but wealth - with which Elizabeth was, by all accounts, least likely to be impressed.

As to her welcoming manner towards their Devonshire neighbour and dear friend, it had been exactly wrought to rob Darcy of any confidence of his own reception.

He had been at odds with himself for days, painfully aware of her presence within less than a mile from his home and unable to determine whether he would be better advised to visit in Portman Square to propose, or to spy. He had done neither, held back by a sense of self-doubt more alien to his nature and more crippling than anything he had ever experienced before.

By the time a visit had become long overdue, he had yet to decide on the best course of action, but he had called in Portman Square nevertheless, only to discover that her passing comment about returning to Devonshire in September had not meant they were to remain in town until then. How foolish to have thought it so! Of course she would want to visit with the Bingleys, and return at least for a while to the place she had been used to call home! It was with no great surprise, therefore, just with a great deal of disappointment that he had heard of the Bennets' removal to Hertfordshire.

And yet there he was still, battling with the same demons of his own making, instead of following her post-haste to Netherfield!

The thought made him pound the armrests and propelled him out of his chair.

"Enough!" he said aloud, his voice ragged.

Yes, hell and damnation, yes, he was afraid. Of what he might see. Of what he might learn. Afraid that knowing would be much worse than any torment of uncertainty. Afraid that Brandon would have escorted Elizabeth to Netherfield and that he would find them engaged. Or that she would reject him, should he have the chance to declare himself. Afraid of not choosing the right time or the right words to persuade her that his life was not worth living without her!

"Enough now!" he repeated in a whisper, as he strode to tug the cord that summoned Wilson.

He had to ask. He had to know. He had to. He will go to Netherfield, by Jove! And finding her still not engaged - God willing! - he will ask for her permission to court her, and lay open his heart and his intentions, do with them what she may!

The door opened quietly and Wilson bowed.

"I am sorry, Sir, I have arranged for your coffee and papers to be readied for you in the study, but should you desire them here, they will be brought up directly."

"Thank you. That will not be necessary. I have summoned you for another matter entirely. I should wish to travel to Netherfield as soon as it can be arranged," Darcy stated, with an evenness of manner he did not feel.

Spur-of-the-moment departures were as unheard-of in the Darcy household as can be, but Wilson was too well trained to let his surprise show.

"Very well, Sir. May I ask if your visit is to be brief or of some duration?"

Brief? Good heavens, I hope not!

Darcy looked away as he tried to maintain an expressionless countenance. He cleared his voice.

"That I cannot say. Thank you, Wilson. I wish to be gone by noon," he added, before quitting his sitting room to descend the wide and intricately carved staircase, and from thence to stride decisively to his study, to read that blasted paper for one last time!

The coffee had gone cold, of course, but Darcy did not order another. He sat at his desk with a frown. Had anyone but told him, earlier in the spring, that he would be devouring the society pages before the summer was out, he would have dismissed them for foolishness and impertinence, he thought bitterly and opened the paper, only to fold it in some haste as the door to the study opened and Colonel Fitzwilliam was announced. His cousin bounded into the room in his habitual manner, leaving Darcy no time to relegate the paper to a more discreet location.

"Good morning, Darcy," Fitzwilliam greeted as he advanced and seated himself in the chair across the desk from his cousin. "I must say, I was expecting you to be up and about at this time in the morning, but not that you would have finished breakfast already and installed yourself in your study with..." - he leaned over the desk and casually unfolded the paper Darcy had in front of him - "... the society pages?" Fitzwilliam finished his sentence, with no small measure of surprise and disappointment. "Why would you be reading that drivel, Coz? I thought you were already caught up in estate business, or that you would be reading of the campaign on the Continent, but that?" Fitzwilliam shook his head. "I never thought you in need of any advice of the kind, Darcy, but it appears you have been spending too much time in the wrong company. Speaking of which, for your sake as well as for many others', I hope you do not entertain the notion of making Miss Bingley an offer of marriage!"

Darcy folded back the paper, his annoyance clearly showing, fuelled in no small measure by the fact that he still did not know whether it contained the dreaded announcement or not.

"Thank you for your concern, Cousin, but I can assure you it is entirely misplaced!" he said in a clipped manner, then thinking better of it, he softened his tone. "In any case, I have not had breakfast. Would you care to join me, for coffee at least?"

"As a matter of fact, I was hoping to avail myself of the delights of your breakfast table," Fitzwilliam quipped good-humouredly, "particularly as I had to leave altogether much to early to do justice to mine!"

"Then, by all means, please do!" Darcy invited, as he stood and gestured for his cousin to walk ahead of him out of his study.

They repaired to the breakfast parlour, and the Colonel was soon persuaded to fill his plate and sample the delicacies prepared by his cousin's cook - though it would remain a mystery to Darcy why would Monsieur Gérard even give himself the trouble, since he hardly ever did them justice, and even less so in the last months.

Finally, Fitzwilliam poured himself a coffee and Darcy refilled his cup.

"So, Richard, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit so early in the morning? It is hardly your hour, is it not? Besides, I thought you at Matlock!"

"I ought to have been. A friend came to ask a favour of me the other day though, so I agreed to remain, until today at least."

"Oh?"

"Let us just say I had to make a brief appearance on Wimbledon Common(*) in the early hours of the morning, and that should answer both your questions, in point of fact!"

Darcy turned to eye him with genuine concern and Fitzwilliam waved it off with a light laugh.

"Do not look so anxious, Cousin, I had very little to do with it. I was merely Brandon's second."

"Brandon!" exclaimed Darcy, shocked in no small measure.

Why would Brandon feel he had to call somebody out?

Sudden, intense panic gripped him. Did anything happen to Elizabeth?

The thought that he had no knowledge of anything that might have befallen her, and that it was another man's duty and privilege to protect her and defend her name was nigh unbearable.

"Yes, Brandon," replied Fitzwilliam casually. "Why are you so surprised?"

"I though him at Netherfield, that is all," Darcy replied with feigned unconcern, but his feinte only served to pique Fitzwilliam's curiosity further.

"Why would you think that? I did not know he was acquainted with Bingley."

Darcy made a show of sipping his coffee, to mask the slip of the tongue, then inquired, attempting to sound as disinterested as possible:

"What was it all about, then?"

"I do not know the particulars, Cousin, nor would I gossip if I did know, not even with you!" Fitzwilliam replied, slightly put out. "All I know is that there was some sort of offence involving Brandon's ward."

His ward? Darcy breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"And is your friend well?" he inquired, casually.

"Well enough. No one was seriously injured, thankfully, although I do believe his opponent ought to have been! Nevertheless, it is done now and Brandon is safe. His fiancée must be relieved."

Darcy felt the sudden blow with all the force of a physical impact.

"Fiancée," he repeated, numbly. "Is he truly engaged to be married, then?"

"Aye. These two months or so, I gather," Fitzwilliam confirmed unconcernedly and poured himself more coffee. "It will be announced soon, from what I understand," he continued. "They both wanted to get over this sad business first."

Darcy stood and walked slowly to the window, his arms crossed over his chest, the full weight of his despair crushing. He stared outside, unseeing, for what seemed like a very long time. The Colonel made to join him, but thought better of it. Instead, he finished his coffee, allowing his cousin his privacy, as he had once promised he would.

At length, Darcy said quietly, without even turning.

"Perhaps you would be so kind, Richard, and give them my congratulations."

"I will, of course," Fitzwilliam agreed and added, rather puzzled. "I was not aware that you were acquainted with either of them."

"We have met," Darcy said briefly, then finally turned away from the window. "There is another favour I would like to ask, Cousin. I would appreciate if you did not mention my connection to the Farringdon estate. It is of little consequence, all things considered," he added tiredly, "but as you will probably be thrown more frequently in Miss Bennet's company, you may have cause to refer to it - and I'd much rather you did not."

This turn in the conversation Fitzwilliam truly did not follow.

"Miss Bennet? Miss Elizabeth Bennet? Is she in town?"

"No. She is currently at Netherfield," Darcy owned, heartily sick of the futile game of cat and mouse, "but I would assume she will return to town soon."

"Oh! Glad to hear it, actually. It would be good to see her again. What is this business with Farringdon, though? Fear not, I shall do as you ask, but why the mystery? Not quite your style, Darcy!" Fitzwilliam quipped good-humouredly and his cousin shrugged.

"As I said, it is of little consequence. Has the date of the wedding being fixed, then?" he asked after a short silence, unable to stop himself.

The Colonel looked up. His countenance sobered and he slowly shook his head.

"Not that I know of," he said gently, the implications of his cousin's line of questioning finally becoming almost as clear to him as the obvious pain in Darcy's voice. Fitzwilliam put down his cup and advanced to lay a hand on his cousin's arm.

"Have you known her long?" he asked, his brotherly concern and affection undoing Darcy more than most things could. He nodded, confirming all of Fitzwilliam's misplaced notions - until the memory of a conversation they had at Rosings in the spring returned to the Colonel to momentarily confuse him. There had been no mention of Miss Dashwood then, yet Darcy had appeared scarcely less affected...

Putting two and two together and finally making four - instead of any other number - Fitzwilliam said gently, with no small amount of contrition:

"I am sorry for giving you the wrong impression, Cousin. I meant that Brandon was engaged to Miss Dashwood, not Miss Bennet."

The effect was instantaneous.

"What did you say?"

"He is marrying Miss Marianne Dashwood," Fitzwilliam repeated and to his shock and not insubstantial pleasure, his younger cousin finally acted anything but middle-aged, as he forcefully raked his fingers through his hair, exhaled deeply and, excusing himself, all but ran out of the room.

Darcy sought refuge in his study and shut the heavy door behind him, the transition form abject misery to this current state being more than he could bear with equanimity.

He gripped the lion heads that adorned the back of an armchair until the wooden features dug into his palms, for the first time in months drawing a full, unhindered breath that filled his lungs as readily as relief flooded his heart.

Elizabeth was not engaged. Elizabeth was not to be married.

Well, not to Brandon, in any case!

A sobering thought checked his elation. Did she know of this other attachment? Had she been hurt by Brandon's different preference? Or was her heart as blissfully unengaged as her hand had been shown to be?

Darcy released the wooden figurines and absent-mindedly rubbed his thumb against his injured palm. Only Elizabeth held the answers to these questions, and many more, and he intended to ask the ones pertaining to his own happiness as soon as may be.

A knock on the door distracted him from his whirlwind of hopeful notions and at his invitation the butler entered, with a number of envelopes on a tray.

"The post has just arrived, Sir!" he announced.

"Thank you, Heathfield. Please leave it on my desk," he requested rather impatiently, hoping to regain the solitude of his study, only to find that on Heathfield's retreating heels, his cousin advanced into the room, carrying two glasses of brandy.

"Dear old Simmonds was rather shocked when I asked her for these, at such an hour in the morning, but I believe it is in order," Fitzwilliam said with an affectionate smile and Darcy could do nothing but return it. He would have been hard-pressed to be annoyed with Richard today, or indeed any other day, all things considered.

"There, Coz," Fitzwilliam continued, handing him one of them. "Get this down, there's a good lad, it'll do you a world of good - though I believe you must be rather giddy already, without the benefit of brandy," he ribbed, not unkindly, then settled down in Darcy's chair, behind the desk. He poked at the paper Darcy had left there and pushed it away to make room for his own glass. "Well, at least we have established why you were busying yourself with that", he quipped. "I am delighted to discover that you have not gone mad, because I was seriously beginning to wonder!"

"Leave off, Richard!" Darcy replied, laughing despite himself, and the Colonel made himself more comfortable in his cousin's chair.

"I believe you owe me a very long and interesting story," he drawled, and Darcy waved impatiently.

"That may be, but I fear you will have to wait. I will have to leave London very soon, and I cannot stop and chat, not even for you, Coz."

"I should imagine I can hold my curiosity until we're on the way to Netherfield, then," Fitzwilliam replied lazily and laughed at Darcy's perplexed stare. "Why, do you think Bingley would mind if I invite myself? I should imagine not, he's a pleasant enough chap and his wife is delightful. Come now, Cousin, you do not think I could possibly miss the chance to see you acting the lovesick fool! Not to mention the inducement of renewing the lovely Miss Bennet's acquaintance!"

Darcy smiled at him and rolled his eyes in a manner so unguarded and reminiscent of their boyhood that Fitzwilliam laughed.

"Come now, own it, you just cannot be annoyed with me today, can you?"

"I should recommend you do not try your luck!" Darcy quipped in response, and walked to pull the cord. He sent word to hasten his departure, then collected his post from the desk. There were several letters of business, one from Charles, one from Georgiana, and another from Lady Catherine. Darcy discarded the letters of business, as well as the one from Kent, and took up Bingley's missive, slightly amused at the thought that he would have opened it with a lot less evenness of spirit, had it arrived but an hour ago.

He unfolded the letter and picked up his glass as he read, only to forcefully return it to the table. Bingley's blots and scribbles had become more annoying than anything. What was that? Elizabeth expected at Netherfield? When? How? Was she not there already?

Much to Fitzwilliam's guarded amusement, Darcy cursed as he attempted to read his friend's illegible hand. Why did he give himself the trouble to putting pen to paper, if no intelligence was to be conveyed?!

After some effort, the contents had been revealed. Elizabeth had visited at Netherfield for but a couple of days and then had left for a tour of pleasure with her uncle and aunt.

"Bad news, Darcy?" Fitzwilliam asked at his cousin's sigh of frustration.

Why did Charles have to be such an unreliable correspondent?! He might as well tell him at Christmas that she had visited for Easter, Darcy thought impatiently, too disappointed at having missed her to concede that although he might have had earlier intelligence of Elizabeth's travel plans, Bingley could not possibly have guessed the nature and indeed the strength of his friend's interest in them.

His eyes followed the uneven script, only to stumble upon the phrase: "... we are expecting them to return from their tour by the end of August. Miss Elizabeth will spend some time at Netherfield, with Jane and I, and as you can imagine, Jane is delighted...."

Much as he understood Jane's delight, Darcy chose to forgo its description and returned to his brandy. He would have to cancel his travel plans, he thought, or rather to amend them. He would not travel to Netherfield that morning, but in about a fortnight, to ensure that he would be there well before Elizabeth's arrival. He returned to Charles' letter, more sedately this time, as he mused over what he could possibly do to occupy his time, until it would be appropriate to make his way into Hertfordshire.

His sister's letter, read shortly after, gave him his answer. In less than a couple of hours, Darcy and his cousin were travelling at break-neck speed to Pemberley.

"I will not press you now, but should you wish to talk, I am more than willing to listen," Fitzwilliam offered kindly, without any of the light-hearted ribbing of the earlier hours, shortly after they had left Camden.

Darcy nodded his appreciation, but still could not bring himself to do so. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and the dizzying speed they were travelling at, instead of comforting, was further fuelling his impatience.

As his carriage took him relentlessly onwards, Darcy looked once more in his pocket-book for his sister's letter and perused it for what must have been a hundredth time. Georgiana's delighted description of Elizabeth warmed his heart, and the thought of Elizabeth at Pemberley, Elizabeth in the library, or in the music room with Georgiana, Elizabeth alive and real where he had but imagined her to be made him curse every single one of the many miles separating him from his heart's desire.

(*) Wimbledon Common and Putney Heath have been a popular place to stage duels on matters of honour for a number of years.

Chapter 18

Posted on Wednesday, 15 November 2006

Elizabeth settled herself comfortably in one of the great chairs in the Pemberley library and opened her book. It was an early edition of Mr. Swift's 'Gulliver's Travels', one of her father's favourites and eventually a favourite of hers as well, as the acerbic irony could not but appeal to both.

She found, however, that she could not concentrate on her reading, her mind being very much engaged with her present circumstances.

At Miss Darcy's earnest entreaties, she had agreed to spend the entire day at Pemberley. They had thoroughly enjoyed their time together, walking the grounds and comparing their musical skills, chatting amiably about anything and everything and finding each other's company so delightful that, after luncheon, an invitation was extended for Elizabeth to return the following day, should it be convenient. It was not merely convenient, but exceedingly pleasurable, so the invitation had been gladly accepted, leaving them both in joyful and eager anticipation of the morrow.

Elizabeth raised her eyes to look around the warm, welcoming room, and remembered, despite herself, Miss Bingley's officious praise that conveyed no understanding of the place, merely her desire to ingratiate herself with the owner. She had failed dismally in her endeavours, Elizabeth could tell even at the time. Mr. Darcy had appeared to receive her unending compliments for his library, his estate, his sister's accomplishments or his own evenness of writing with nothing but the coldest civility. If anything, it had been his cold impassibility to Miss Bingley's assiduous courting that had made Elizabeth dislike him less, in the very beginning of their acquaintance, as the all-pervasive trace of veiled sarcasm that had coloured his every response to such ridiculous fawning could not but appeal to her own like-minded nature.

Elizabeth could not help but wonder what would Mr. Darcy think of her increasing intimacy with his sister. Would he be displeased that Miss Darcy had befriended one of the Bennets, or would the distinction he had made, on the night of the Netherfield ball, between herself and Jane, as opposed to the rest of the clan, still apply? Presumably it would, since he had, of his own free will, introduced Miss Darcy to Jane's society at Netherfield, and for a full month, too. However, she could not help wondering what his response might be, were he to return unexpectedly from his endeavours in town, to find her availing herself of the delights of his own library.

Elizabeth closed the book in her lap and stood to restore it to its place, then leisurely walked along the shelves, absent-mindedly perusing the spines. Miss Darcy would return soon from the brief conference with the housekeeper, which had called her away a few minutes ago, and there would be little time to engross oneself in a tome of any description.

She wandered towards some of the more secluded shelves, in a tiny alcove. It appeared they held not literature, but sketch books.

There will be time enough to leaf through those, she thought. A short glimpse at Miss Darcy's previous works would occupy her time delightfully. It was indeed a shame, Elizabeth thought, with a small impish smile, that Miss Darcy was so much younger than her brother. It was not to be expected that her drawing skills at the age of ten or less would have done any justice to her subject matter, otherwise it would have been quite interesting to see a younger version of the likeness above her escritoire...

Elizabeth selected one of the sketch books, only to find that the yellowed quality of the pages made them unlikely to be the product of Miss Darcy's efforts, as they looked much older than her sixteen years of age.

Even to Elizabeth's unpractised eye, the mastery of the artist was indisputable. She could recognise renditions of various views that caught the eye from Pemberley's great windows, and the accuracy and the lightness of hand, as well as the fineness of detail was astounding. Elizabeth looked for a signature, and could decipher 'Isabella Darcy' in one of the corners, along with a very old date. On one of the next pages she found a likeness which gave her pause, for it reminded her greatly of Mr. Darcy, although there were marked differences around the mouth and the eyes. She did not need to see either the date in the corner or the resemblance to one of the portraits in the gallery to guess that it must have been a likeness of Mr. Darcy's father, in his youth. She wondered whether there would be one of his mother, as she turned the pages, drawn in spite of herself by the artist's skill.

Having finished perusing the entire sketch book, Elizabeth replaced it and selected a random one, further down the shelf. It was unmistakably the same hand, but she could not readily recognise the setting, although there was definitely something quite familiar about it.

Elizabeth looked up at the sound of the opening door and smiled to her new friend.

"I do apologise for having taken so long!" Georgiana said.

They had agreed, after a few hours together, that they should be 'Elizabeth' and 'Georgiana' to each other. Almost an entire day of easy camaraderie, which included some very happy hours at the pianoforte, appreciating each other's skill in performing some of the pieces, as well as having a decidedly girlish giggle at the rendition of the more light-hearted ones, could not but lead them to progress to the intimacy of Christian names very shortly.

"Do not concern yourself, Georgiana. I was well entertained."

"Have you found anything of interest?" Georgiana asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Yes, these sketch books. Whoever the artist was, the talent is undisputable!"

Georgiana came to look over her shoulder.

"I think you would appreciate that volume over there," Elizabeth pointed towards the one she had just seen. "There are some beautiful views of Pemberley, and a portrait of the former Mr. Darcy, I believe."

Georgiana extracted the recommended item from the shelf and was instantly absorbed in its perusal.

"Yes, I remember. I have not seen these in ages. My aunt's old sketch books. Isabella Darcy was one of my father's sisters. She was very talented indeed. I wish I could draw like that!"

"You are not too far off, you know!" Elizabeth offered encouragingly, turning to leaf through the volume she was holding. "Are your own sketch books somewhere here, Georgiana?" she asked. "I should like to see some of them, if you would allow it."

"No, they are still under lock and key in my chamber," Georgiana confessed with a blush, "though they may finish by being displayed here, to embarrass me in front of future generations, particularly when they compare my efforts to my aunt's..."

Elizabeth blinked, suddenly not attending. The sketch she had just seen... She could have sworn that it depicted the view over the valley in front of her home. Her new home in Devonshire. It could not be, surely! And yet the similarities were outstanding. The same turn of the valley, the same slope to the hills in front, even the same two cedars on the left, towards the foot of the hill, where the winds would not be that strong.

Elizabeth shook her head, dismissing the impression as wild imaginings. There must have been a valley around Pemberley that looked so strikingly similar to the view which had become one of her most familiar sights. There was no other explanation.

"This is indeed a remarkable likeness of my father!" Miss Darcy exclaimed, a slight tremor in her voice, as she had turned the page. "So young as well!"

Elizabeth looked up to regard her friend with affectionate understanding. She too would have treasured a glimpse into her own father's youth. She was about to offer some words of comfort, when her attention was brought back to her own book.

If the previous sketch could have been dismissed as coincidence, she could hardly dismiss the one before her. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, it depicted the front elevation of Farringdon Lodge, viewed from the left side of the lawn, just beyond the magnolia tree.

"Georgiana," Elizabeth suddenly asked, unthinkingly, "did your aunt ever visit in Devonshire?"

Miss Darcy looked up, mildly surprised at the question.

"She lived there. She was married to Sir Edmund Farringdon of Farringdon Park, near Exeter."

Of course. Farringdon Park. The first sketch that looked vaguely familiar, but she could not readily place, depicted Farringdon Park, she could see that now.

Farringdon Park? Was Georgiana related to the owners of the Park? Or to her own father's former school friend? It was a small world indeed!

"Did your aunt have any children?" Elizabeth cautiously pressed on, then thought better of the direction of her questions. Any children that Lady Farringdon might have had could not have bequeathed Farringdon Lodge to her own father, as they could hardly be old enough to have known him in his Cambridge days. It could not have been Lord Farringdon himself, either. Although his age made him a likely candidate, Elizabeth understood that he had died rather a long time ago, many years before the bequest. Perhaps it had been a younger brother, then, or a cousin of Sir Edmund's, who had known and befriended her father, in their youth.

"No," Georgiana answered at length, her attention barely spared from the book. "My aunt did not have any children. My brother inherited the Farringdon estate."

Elizabeth looked up.

"Your ... brother?"

"Yes," Georgiana replied, airily. "My uncle had no legal heirs. My aunt inherited his estate when he died, and she left it to my father."

Elizabeth walked back to one of the chairs and sat, with the sketch book in her lap, her mind blank but for one thought.

Mr. Darcy. The owner of the Farringdon estate was Mr. Darcy.

Georgiana closed the volume she was perusing and came to sit by her friend.

"Why are you asking, Elizabeth?"

She could not answer. She could not even think clearly. Snippets of conversation were chasing each other in her head. Mrs. Jennings assuring her that the Lodge used to belong to the Farringdon estate. Georgiana's revelations about her brother's connection to the Farringdons.

Georgiana's eyes dropped to the sketch book Elizabeth was still holding.

"Is this in Devonshire?" she asked and Elizabeth nodded, numbly.

Georgiana looked at the sketch, and then turned it over.

"'Farringdon Lodge'" she read the notice on the back. "Are you familiar with this place?"

"I have ... seen it," Elizabeth admitted quietly, not wishing to say more than she should, until she had had a chance to think.

Did Mr. Darcy own the Lodge, as well?

Before she knew it, the question had passed her lips. Georgiana looked puzzled.

"I would assume so..." she pondered. "I hardly know. I was very young at the time. My brother would know, of course, or Mr. Stratton, our attorney in London."

Stratton and Wells, Attorneys at Law.

The elaborate lettering on the documents pertaining to the bequest to her father flashed before her eyes and Elizabeth blanched as the pieces fell into place.

He had known.

He had known of her father's illness and he had known of the entail.

He had devised a ruse to allow them to have a roof over their heads at Farringdon Lodge.

Because he pitied them.

And all her present comfort, and that of her mother and sisters, sprang from charity.

Mr. Darcy's charity.

The thought was unbearable.

Chapter 19

Posted on Wednesday, 13 December 2006

Elizabeth took the glass of water to her lips, but her hands shook so badly that she could hardly drink.

"Oh, where, where is my uncle?" she cried. She needed his advice, and the reassurance she had always derived from his calm, sensible demeanour, much more now than at any time in her life. And her aunt's. Their wisdom, their good sense.

They would help her know what to do!

Elizabeth sat at the table, but a minute later was on her feet again, unable to rest either her mind or her body.

She had returned from Pemberley much earlier than she was due to - she had run from Pemberley, unable to maintain a semblance of composure in Georgiana's presence. In a futile endeavour to save appearances, as well as for her new friend's sake, she had attempted at first to escort Miss Darcy to the music room, as originally planned. She could not play, however, and was grateful to Georgiana for offering to do so. The beautiful music could not soothe her spirits. Nothing could. She could only think of what had been unravelled in the library.

Mr. Darcy had given them a home, and a means to decently support themselves.

Why? Why would he do so? Why would he take upon himself to support her family?

So that the responsibility would not fall on the shoulders of his less wealthy friend? So that his dear friend Mr. Bingley could be spared the burden and embarrassment of his newly-acquired connections?

Elizabeth pressed her hands together until her fingers hurt. It did not hurt more than the knowledge that Mr. Darcy had striven to put all possible distance between the Bennets and his own circle. Only Cornwall was further away from both Pemberley and Netherfield, and perhaps if he had had the option, he would have relegated them there, she thought bitterly, fresh tears coming to her eyes. The pain and the folly, the utter folly of having hoped in a renewal of their acquaintance. The inexcusable folly of allowing herself to wish she could know him better. He clearly had no expectations of the kind!

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth had soon found that she could not rally her spirits against the wretchedness of her thoughts. She had pleaded a sudden headache, but she was convinced that her excuse had not been believed for one moment.

No wonder, after the display in the library! she thought, ashamed of her own weakness, wishing she had had the ability to conceal her struggles from Miss Darcy.

Georgiana had been the perfect hostess, regardless. However much or little credence she had given to Elizabeth's excuses, she had offered her the comfort of a guest bedchamber, in which to rest until her headache had abated, and it was only when the suggestion had been insistently declined that she had been persuaded to order the carriage that was to convey Miss Bennet to Lambton. Despite Elizabeth's protestations, Miss Darcy had personally seen her to the carriage and, as the door was opened for her friend, she had impulsively walked up and held her hands.

"Elizabeth, I wish you did not feel you had to leave, and I hope we can meet again, as soon as may be. It was a great pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I hope you will be well soon."

Elizabeth had smiled in return, tears coming to her eyes. Miss Darcy was a delightful young lady and it pained her to know that any future connection between them would be strained beyond endurance. She had turned to wave at her young friend and then allowed her tears to run freely, in the privacy of the carriage, at least until they had reached Lambton.

She had returned to their lodgings and had paced the length of their parlour, her distress extreme and her impatience for the return of her relations slightly less so.

It took several long hours until their voices were heard down the corridor. Elizabeth ran to open the door for them, and her pale, tear-stained face made them start with shock and concern.

"Lizzy! Whatever happened, my dear? What news from home?" asked her uncle, as her aunt took her arm and led her to sit back at the table. She then sat on a nearby chair and, holding her hand, urged her to tell them what had distressed her so.

Elizabeth pressed her aunt's hand and looked up to her uncle. The confidence-inspiring look of strength and quiet determination in his eyes forcibly reminded her of Mr. Darcy, that long while ago at Netherfield, as much as his demeanour had reminded her of her Uncle Gardiner at the time, when the news of her father's illness was first made known to her.

The association brought fresh tears in her eyes. He had become, she could see it now, one of the few gentlemen she truly esteemed and respected. Had she even come to love him, despite her determined efforts to the contrary? Such thoughts were not likely to help stem her tears. Quite the opposite, in fact, as they were in vain. She did not have his respect, nor could she have his love. All she had was his pity. And it burned with all the scorching flames of shame.

At length, she succeeded to rouse herself sufficiently to give them an account of what had transpired, and of the obvious conclusions she had drawn.

"But are you absolutely certain, my dear?" asked her aunt kindly, her eyes full of concern. "Could there not be some mistake?"

"I wish there was," said Elizabeth tiredly, "but I cannot see how. The Farringdon estate belongs to Mr. Darcy. His London attorneys have drawn the bequest. It is too much for a coincidence."

"It has begun to look that way," Mr. Gardiner agreed, coming to sit next to her and cover her hand with his.

"This cannot stand!" Elizabeth said quietly but firmly. "We cannot allow it. We will have to quit Farringdon!"

"There is no doubt about it!" her uncle solemnly concurred but, with a sigh, Elizabeth pursued her own thoughts, oblivious to the interruption.

They have succeeded in starting a new life in Devonshire, make new friends, take roots. Friends will be missed, missed very badly indeed, and Elizabeth did not relish telling her mother, or any of her sisters, for that matter, that their present comfort was in point of fact not truly theirs. But it could not be helped.

"You know you are welcome to come and stay with us, for as long as you need to," Mr. Gardiner said with determination, still holding her hand. "I am sure a satisfactory permanent arrangement will be found. Bingley will want to have his say in the matter, I do not doubt..."

"Goodness!" Elizabeth exclaimed. "Jane! And Charles! They are the closest of friends with Mr. Darcy. It would grieve them dreadfully to put such a strain on their connection. Particularly Charles, and through him, my sister! Do they have to be told?"

"Lizzy", Mr. Gardiner admonished gently, "you are not being sensible. Of course they will have to be told. None of them would appreciate such attempts to protect them. Rest assured, my dear, I have great confidence that your brother can perform that task very satisfactorily himself!"

"I cannot envisage telling Jane..." Elizabeth whispered, sadly.

"Do not concern yourself, my dear. Of course Madeleine or I can break the news to your sister and Mr. Bingley. And you should not distress yourself at the thought of an unpleasant discussion with Mr. Darcy. I will gladly take that office upon myself!" Mr. Gardiner added, with unprecedented sternness, privately thinking of all the connotations that society would have attributed to Mr. Darcy's misguided gesture, had it - Heaven forbid - ever become public knowledge. With some effort, he refrained from mentioning his concern to his wife, as the subject was hardly appropriate to be discussed in the presence of their niece.

"I believe Mr. Bingley will insist to be the one to discuss matters with his friend," Mrs. Gardiner interjected, sensibly. "They have known each other many years."

Elizabeth nodded, wretchedly.

"My dearest girl," her aunt Gardiner said gently, bringing an arm about her shoulders. "Do not distress yourself so. It is unfortunate, to be sure, to find yourself devoid of all the security you had been assured of..."

"It is not that, Aunt," Elizabeth whispered, and then amended. "It is not only that."

"What is it, then?"

Elizabeth shook her head. She could not tell why Mr. Darcy's implied contempt hurt more than the knowledge of finding herself at the mercy of others.

That morning they had been equal. He was a gentleman, she was a gentleman's daughter. The difference in their stations was great indeed, but there was no denying that their chance meeting in town, as well as the intelligence acquired from Jane, that he had been sufficiently interested in her pursuits to inquire 'most particularly' about her had been ... attractive.

Elizabeth had sought to maintain last autumn's determination not to raise her own expectation and make herself unhappy over him but, until that day, there had been some hope of an interest from Mr. Darcy's part, and it had gratified her even more as her visit to Pemberley had shown her sides of him she never knew existed. Mrs. Reynolds' commendations; Georgiana's devotion; little snippets here and there, showing him to be a thoughtful, considerate master, a good landlord, an attentive and loving brother, had worked together with Elizabeth's continually improved opinion of him, to present a rather irresistible picture.

She had begun to comprehend that he might be the man who, in disposition and talents, would most suit her. His understanding and temper, though unlike her own, would have answered all her wishes. It would have been a union that must have been to the advantage of both; by her ease and liveliness, his mind might have been softened, his manners improved, and from his judgement, information and knowledge of the world, she must have received benefit of greater importance.

That, however, was a distant dream, entertained in the morning - and the difference between what was then and the present moment was devastating. It was exactly calculated to make her understand her own sentiments; and never had she more clearly seen that she had come to love him, than now, when all love must be in vain.

"I wish he did not do this," she whispered at last.

Mrs. Gardiner stroked her hair.

"It was exceedingly ill-judged indeed, my dear..." she began.

"It was - is - humiliating beyond measure!" Elizabeth cried.

"That it is, without a doubt. But I would like you to see it in a different light, which might give you at least an ounce of comfort..."

"There is no comfort to be had in this situation!" Elizabeth bitterly disagreed.

"It made your father's last days peaceful," Mrs. Gardiner offered gently, as she held her niece's hand.

Her uncle reluctantly concurred:

"We all might find Mr. Darcy's gesture officious and more than a little insulting, but there is no doubt that my brother would have been very distressed by his concern for you all. You are right, Madeleine. With this thought, Elizabeth, perhaps we could all find it in our hearts to be less incensed by the man's high-handed interference!"

Elizabeth smiled at her uncle, not altogether certain whether that was intended as a sally, or was truly meant as such.

Her aunt and uncle were right. If anything good had come of all this, it had been her father's peace of mind, and for that Elizabeth could find it in her heart to be almost grateful.

Before too long, all that could have been said on the subject, at the time, had been said, and there was little for them to do but prepare for the night. It had been decided between them that they had little inclination to continue on their tour. They would depart in the morning, as soon as it could be arranged, and return to Netherfield.

Chapter 20

Posted on Wednesday, 13 December 2006

Having readily come to an agreement regarding the manner in which their daily pursuits - necessarily abandoned on the previous day - should be resumed, Miss Darcy and Mrs. Annesley left the smaller breakfast parlour together, only to go their separate ways shortly after, the former to practice her music and the latter to attend to her correspondence abovestairs. As she turned into the corridor leading to the music room, however, Georgiana's attention was drawn towards the sound of voices coming from the main entrance hall. It was rather faint, to be sure, but its mere occurrence, unexpected in the large and very quiet residence, particularly at such an exceedingly early hour in the morning, was enough to draw her steps thither. She had not yet rounded the corner, when the butler's voice reached her, an earnest, joyous ring to its habitually subdued tones.

"... I will see to it directly. And may I add, it is very good to have you back, Sir!"

"Thank you, Barlow," a most familiar and very dear voice replied, bringing a wide smile to Georgiana's lips. It was all she could do to continue at a sedate step befitting the de facto mistress of the house, rather than rush into his arms, as she would have been more than inclined to do. She made her way into the hall just in time to see her brother handing his hat and gloves to their butler and stopped in her tracks for a moment, taking in the welcome sight. He looked tired, his face drawn, but there was an unmistakable look of joy about him that made her dear, handsome brother look ten times more handsome in her eyes! She advanced towards him, her hands outstretched.

"Fitzwilliam! What a delightful surprise!"

It was not to be the only one. As she approached, Georgiana could see her favourite cousin, on the other side of the grand staircase, his head cocked to one side just so, an affectionate smile lighting up his eyes.

'He would twirl me about just like he used to do when I was ten, if Barlow was not here!', Georgiana thought, amused, and felt quite proud that she could suppress a giggle.

"And Richard! How lovely to see you both!" she said instead.

"So good to see you too, dearest," Darcy answered first, as always touched by her earnest welcome, the joy of their reunion mirrored in his countenance as he took her proffered hands and carried them to his lips.

Fitzwilliam greeted her in his turn and Georgiana smiled to both.

"You must be so very tired! Have you travelled all night?" she asked, incredulously.

"We have indeed, dearest. There was no reason for me to remain in town," Darcy answered cryptically, then added: "And Richard was kind enough to accompany me at such short notice."

"As I said, Coz, I wouldn't miss it!" Fitzwilliam quipped but said nothing further and, all things considered, Darcy chose not to be drawn into it.

"Would you care to rest first? Or have some refreshment?" Georgiana recollected herself. "Allow me to see to your breakfast. Or coffee, at least!" she added and would have left them, had her brother not detained her.

"Do not trouble yourself, dearest. We need to change from the road, in any case, before we are fit for civilised company," he smiled, briefly indicating his appearance.

He had obviously just alighted from the carriage, his great coat rumpled and covered in dust in places, and Georgiana returned the smile, privately thinking that she could not remember the last time she had seen her brother looking anything other than clean shaven and impeccably attired - if indeed she ever had!

"As far as I am concerned, a cup of coffee with you will suffice, but I daresay Richard might appreciate something rather more substantial," he added.

After the journey they had, and the last few hours in particular, Darcy was rather disposed to regard him as an opinionated busybody, but, in the eyes of most, that was perhaps an insufficient reason to starve him!

"Why, thank you, Cousin. The perfect host, as always!" Fitzwilliam smirked, as though he had read his thoughts. "There is no reason to keep anyone waiting, though. I would be more than satisfied with a tray in my room, if that can be contrived."

It had been on the tip of his tongue to quip about the lack of both opportunity and incentive to take one's time over the change of attire, when one is following the drum, but then had thought better of it, and contented himself with a brief and light-hearted chat with his younger cousin. Then, having agreed to take their coffee in Georgiana's sitting room in about an hour's time, the Colonel excused himself and retired towards his own chambers.

Having relinquished any pretensions of having either the patience or the inclination to practice her music, given the circumstances, Georgiana repaired to her sitting room instead. Darcy escorted her thither and, upon the realisation that these were the very first moments of real privacy they have had since his return, he swept his sister in an embrace as he earnestly searched her eyes.

"Are you well, dearest?" he enquired quietly. "Truly?"

"Yes," she whispered back, her eyes misting with tears. "Very much so! Especially now! And you? Are you well?"

"Yes. I think so. I hope so," Darcy replied quickly, unthinkingly.

Georgiana was puzzled.

"You hope so?"

"I am well, dearest," Darcy answered and pressed his lips on her forehead. "It is good to be back, Georgiana, and I hope you will forgive me for having left you for so long!"

"Do not concern yourself! It is good to have you here, and that is all I care about!"

Darcy tightened his hold about her slender shoulders and bent his head to kiss the tip of her nose.

"Thank you! You are too good! No, do not protest! For once, I know what I am talking about!" he said quickly and soon left the room, a delightedly confused younger sister staring after him.

Darcy repaired to his chambers, a spring in his step despite the overwhelming tiredness. It was good to be home, to be sure, and the joy of it filled his heart, yet the calm, welcoming atmosphere of Pemberley could not truly reach him, could not truly soothe him. An eager, restless anticipation unsettled him, and he knew that, despite his best efforts, it was not at Pemberley that he was to find his peace. Unfortunately, it was much too early in the morning for a visit to the inn at Lambton, therefore any endeavours of the kind had to be postponed, of that he was well aware. He settled for making himself presentable instead and, in the hope of a modicum of tranquility and comfort, he ordered his bath.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to unwind, to think of nothing but the calm joy of the moment, of the warm water loosening the knots in his tired muscles, as well as the knots in his stomach. He willed himself not to think of how she would look, later in the morning when he would see her, or of what he was to say on the occasion.

The room was perfectly silent but for the crackling of the fire and after the long, punishing ride, the luxury of a quiet, peaceful time in the privacy of one's apartments and in the welcome comfort of a warm bath was so enjoyable that it almost lured him to sleep. And yet the tension would not dissipate. In part, it was the tiredness, he knew. The result of having been highly strung for the best part of twenty hours, waiting for something to happen, for the end of his journey to come within sight. He had reached the physical end of his self-appointed journey, but by no means its real end. And the anxiety engendered by the conversation he was soon to have with Elizabeth, substantially fuelled by Fitzwilliam's liberally expressed opinions on subjects pertaining to which, in Darcy's frank estimation, he had no right to possess one, let alone express it, apparently required a lot more than a warm bath to abate.

In the late hours of the previous night, when Pemberley had become tantalisingly close but still sufficiently far away to rob him of any remaining shreds of patience, Darcy had finally given in to the temptation to speak of Elizabeth, and had opened his heart to his cousin, regarding all his convoluted history with the woman he loved.

The Colonel had listened quietly enough in the beginning, with only the occasional huff here and there in the narrative. All that had changed, however, when Darcy got to tell of Devonshire and of Farringdon Lodge.

"Excuse me? I fear I do not quite catch your meaning. Exactly what did you just say you did?" Fitzwilliam had asked, the precise, distinct enunciation a clear warning of his opinion on the matter - which he had not the slightest reservations about sharing, as Darcy was soon occasioned to find out. "Clearly, Cousin, you must have taken leave of your senses!" Fitzwilliam had stated matter-of-factly, and Darcy had had to rub his aching temples and cover his eyes, wishing he could have covered his ears as well, as his cousin had proceeded to abuse him and his harebrained scheme for more reasons than Darcy could count.

"I do not doubt you were very pleased with yourself, congratulated yourself on your good deed, I'd wager, but have you by any chance considered the implications? Like the small fact of the utter humiliation Miss Bennet and her family are likely to feel, should it ever become known that they are indebted to you? Or the position they would be in, should this become public knowledge? Did you not consider what sort of malicious gossip could have been attached to the name of any of the Bennet sisters? Ours is not a forgiving society, Darcy, you do not need me to tell you that. Ensconced in the country as they may be, it would have tainted them nevertheless and because of who you are, rumour would not have died down easily! Of all the damned idiotic notions!" Fitzwilliam had cried, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

There was no other person in his circle who knew him half as well, and have as little qualms about challenging his actions in like fashion - nor would he tolerate it from anybody else. They had been close, inordinately close all their lives, their bond stronger in many ways than the blood ties of brothers. On this occasion, however, it was not merely due to their closeness that Darcy had allowed his cousin to berate him in this manner. How could he, in all fairness, reproach Fitzwilliam for wording the same recriminations with which he had taxed himself, several months earlier? Or indeed, how could he bring himself not to own the truth?

"In all honesty, Richard, no," he had answered tiredly, "I had not considered all the implications. Not until it was too late to do anything about it..."

"Good grief, Cousin! I thought you prided yourself on your understanding!"

"Yes. I did, did I not?" Darcy had replied dryly.

"Well. You know what they say..." the Colonel began with a mirthless laugh and Darcy had huffed in response.

"Pride goeth before a fall and all that! I thank you! I know!" (*)

"I can scarce credit it, Darcy! This is beyond everything! I knew you'd trip and fall one day, Cousin, with all your deeply-held notion that you know what's best for everyone so much better than they know themselves, but I never expected a blunder of such magnitude! You do everything in a grander scale than the rest of us, do you not?"

"Fitzwilliam, desist! I am in no humour to be laughed at!"

"Oh! But you will have to learn, my fine fellow, from what I gather! You will have to learn, and learn fast, otherwise we might as well turn this coach around and head back to London!"

Darcy's incipient smile, the first in the past half-hour, was lost in the darkness of the carriage.

"So you thought that Farringdon was the answer, then," Fitzwilliam had continued, making full use of the licence silently given - not that he had ever felt he needed any. "The right answer between the call of duty and the call of the heart," he had added, an unmistakable touch of derision in his address. "What of the duty to the full preservation of the family estate, then? Apparently not a part of your grand design. How did you plan to reconcile that, pray?"

"I felt that duty could go hang!" Darcy had burst, with the same indignation of months ago, but it did not wash with his cousin.

"It could go hang, but not to death!" Fitzwilliam had replied sarcastically. "You were prepared to relinquish your professed source of happiness, you have exposed a most worthy woman to the threat of the vilest form of gossip, all in the name of duty, but 'duty can go hang', you say. Cousin," he had laughed, "that is rich, even from you!"

"Fitzwilliam, you go too far!" Darcy had warned, stung not only by the validity of the criticism, but especially by his cousin's defence of Elizabeth.

For his own sake, Richard would do well to overcome last spring's partiality to her! he had thought darkly, then instantly relinquished the thought as unworthy of either of them.

"That's as may be," the Colonel had owned, suddenly abandoning his flippant manner. "I will not conceal it, Darcy, the full account of your qualms about the connection has made me more than uneasy! This is not the greatest match you could aspire to, we both know that, nor will it improve Georgiana's prospects in any way. Quite the contrary... No, allow me to finish," he had asked, lifting a hand, when Darcy had started to protest. "I know you must have thought of that and in many ways it is your own decision to make. You cannot be a slave to duty all your life and you can afford to marry wherever you like, after all. I was not aware that this is how you felt, though, about Miss Bennet's connections. Personally," he had continued after a slight pause, "I have not thought them that bad, but then I have not considered them from the perspective of a future alliance. Besides, I am not you..."

"Are you saying I am more vain than most, Cousin?" Darcy had asked, not really offended.

"No. Only more fastidious..."

Darcy had given a short, wry laugh at this.

"In any case," the Colonel had continued in the same rather solemn fashion, "when we set off from town earlier this morning, the last thought on my mind was to expostulate the merits of choosing one's partner in life from one's own circle, as my esteemed father would have been inclined to do, but I see now that he might have had the right of it..."

"Fitzwilliam, you are not attending..."

"Darcy! Either by accident or by design, you are beginning to sound like our aunt. Desist, I beg you!" the Colonel had interrupted, only partially in jest. "I know what you are about to say! That you have thought long and hard on it. That I do not doubt. And yet have you considered it from Miss Bennet's perspective? Torn loyalties, and the discomfort that engenders? Would you imagine her untouched by your views on her family? You know as well as I do that society will not reward your choice, Cousin," Fitzwilliam had stated quite emphatically, "and neither will family, not for quite some time, if ever. Your sole reward shall be in your home. And I fear for your felicity, and that of Miss Bennet's, if that should be tainted by notions of her inferiority. Early months of joy would turn into a lifetime of bitterness and recrimination. Not a fate I would wish on either of you!"

Darcy had straightened in his seat, about to protest, but in the end he merely smiled. A small, knowing smile that Fitzwilliam did not see.

"I know that, Richard," he said at last. "And you are correct in your estimations. I have thought long and hard on it," he added, ruefully.

"And?"

"Misuse of time and energy. I thought it mattered. 'Society' and the opinion of a handful of small-minded people. Their scorn. Their censure. It matters not."

"I find that hard to believe, particularly of you, of all people."

"I thank you for your flattering estimation of my character! Be that as it may, rest assured, I have been occasioned to learn. It matters not!"

"You have not been put to the test..." Fitzwilliam had pointed out, matter-of-factly.

"Perhaps not..." Darcy had conceded. "I have been put to a different test, however," he had added, thinking of all the months of self-inflicted hell that he had endured, ever since he had foolishly determined to distance himself from Elizabeth.

"And have you passed it?"

"I know not. I hope so." Only Elizabeth could tell.

A long silence had followed, eventually broken by Fitzwilliam's wistful tones.

"It is not my place to offer you absolution, Cousin. And you should know better than expect me to applaud your actions if I think them indefensible!" he added with a mirthless laugh, which Darcy ruefully echoed. "I am sorry, Darcy," the Colonel had resumed, his manner once more solemn. "I had set off with you from Berkeley Square with every intention to support you, regardless ... That is, I had no reason to doubt you or any of your actions. Your account was ... unsettling, though. You are a good man, Cousin, a kind man, a good brother and a loyal friend, but you tend to be rather overbearing at times ... And self-centred, after a fashion ... Not that you do not care for others! You do, a great deal, but you tend to hold the unshakeable opinion that you know best. I hope you learn to accept that sometimes you do not. And that you cannot always have your own way!"

"Fear not, Fitzwilliam!" Darcy had replied, an edge to his voice. "Believe it or not, I already know that!"

Unaffected by his cousin's obvious displeasure, the Colonel had replied evenly, with an edge of his own.

"See that you do, Cousin! For Georgiana and Miss Bennet's sake, as well as your own!"

Not long after the appointed time, the door to Miss Darcy's sitting room was opened to admit her brother. Her cousin was already within.

"I apologise for my tardiness, Georgiana!" Darcy said, not about to admit that exhaustion had finally got the better of him after all and he had dozed off in the tepid water until roused by Rochester, who had assumed Wilson's duties until such time as his man would have completed his much slower journey from town.

"It is of no consequence," a delighted Georgiana reassured him. "I should be happy to have another cup of tea with you. I should be happy to have another breakfast with you, in point of fact," she laughed. "Fitzwilliam, it is so good to have you back! And you too, Richard," she added, not necessarily as an afterthought, but even had it been, the Colonel could not have had the heart to be offended. His young cousin had been the apple of his eye ever since she could talk, and possibly before then, and in any case, everyone in the family knew and appreciated the singularly strong bond the Darcy siblings shared.

Darcy reached to press and hold his sister's hand as he said quietly but earnestly:

"It is good to be back, dearest, and I hope never to leave you for such a length of time again!"

Georgiana replied in kind, her beautiful eyes wide and only for him, before she remembered to stand and order him fresh tea and coffee.

"How have you been keeping, then, little Miss?" Fitzwilliam teazed to lighten the moment and Georgiana laughed through unshed tears.

"I wish you would acknowledge I have grown up, Cousin!"

"Oh, but I do! Otherwise I would have called you Poppet Miss Moppet as I have done these twelve or thirteen years!" replied the Colonel after a sip of coffee and the various tensions coming at loggerheads around the table dissipated for a while as they all laughed.

Fitzwilliam relaxed back in his chair, fondly regarding these two cousins of his that have, in their very different ways, always tugged at his heartstrings. And hoped, for both their sakes, that Miss Elizabeth Bennet was indeed everything that he had thought her to be.

Darcy's thoughts were not too far from the lady, albeit in a different fashion. He did not waste much time before bringing up her name in conversation.

"I received your letter before I set off," he introduced cautiously, hoping that Richard would have sense and kindness enough not to teaze him as mercilessly in his sister's presence as he had done to his face, when it had become apparent that Georgiana's letter, rather than a bye-and-bye, was the major inducement for their hasty removal north. "I understand you have made the acquaintance of Mrs. Bingley's sister, as well as her uncle and aunt from town."

"Yes, and it has been such a pleasure! I truly cannot recall a more enjoyable first hour spent with a new acquaintance! With the exception of meeting Mrs. Bingley, perhaps," Georgiana amended with a smile. I have not been in company with Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner for very long, just enough to see that they are very kind, very pleasant people, with truly intelligent conversation. I can say, though, that it has been most enjoyable to get to know Miss Bennet better. Have I told you that we spent the day together yesterday?"

"No. Merely that you intended to."

"Well, we did. And it was delightful! A great surprise, in many ways..."

"How so?" Darcy inquired, rather too quickly.

"Miss Bennet is... very different from most young ladies of my acquaintance... There's an openness of manner, a warm friendliness that is very pleasing - without any hint of officious presumption... Oh, forgive me!" Georgiana broke off, blushing. "I don't quite know what I'm saying!"

Darcy knew. Only too well.

"And moreover ... you will laugh at me..." Georgiana turned towards the Colonel with a self-conscious smile, "there is also the notion that she truly wanted to spend time with me, rather than..." She blushed, but continued nevertheless. "Rather than put herself in my brother's path," she concluded, with a shy, almost apologetic smile in the direction of said brother.

Colonel Fitzwilliam indeed laughed heartily at this.

"Well! I daresay you have grown up indeed, little Miss, if you have started to notice!" he quipped, rather to Darcy's displeasure.

In his view, Georgiana was uncomfortable enough in company as it was, without the added encumbrance of doubting people's motives. But then again, Richard could be right; she probably had grown up. Georgiana's next sentence rather went to prove it.

"You know I speak the truth, Richard," she said, somewhat diffidently. "Hardly any of the young ladies who seek my society in town do so for the pleasure of my company. Indeed, I would be vain and rather foolish to think so, when more often than not they would invariably ask, five minutes into our conversation, 'And how is your dear brother, Miss Darcy?', followed by oblique but insistent inquiries into my brother's concerns! Elizabeth was different and I must own, it was rather refreshing! Why, she would not even claim an acquaintance with Fitzwilliam! I would not have known they had met, had it not come up quite by accident."

"Oh! Is it 'Elizabeth' now? Already?" Fitzwilliam remarked, and looked over towards Darcy with the sole wicked purpose of amusing himself with his cousin's reaction. To his delight, he got more than he had bargained for, as Darcy's countenance darkened when Georgiana finished her sentence. Fitzwilliam shook his head and chuckled.

"Indeed!" the Colonel drawled, amusement clearly evident in his voice. "Pray, how did it come up?" he asked casually and Georgiana turned to smile at him.

"Miss Bennet noticed my sketch over there," she explained, gesturing towards the wall behind her, and Fitzwilliam left his chair to examine it better.

"Not bad work, little cousin," he said dryly. "You have made your brother here look almost human, which is more than he achieves for himself in some circumstances. What say you, Coz? You look... tolerable, I suppose... in this likeness, do you not think so?" he added as he returned to his seat.

Darcy rolled his eyes and could not suppress a smile.

Clearly, he had told Fitzwilliam much more than he should.

"I must confess myself truly glad, in any case, for having left the impression, in Lambton and the environs, that we were away for the summer..." Georgiana added with a shy smile.

"Why would that be?" Darcy asked.

"It encouraged Miss Bennet to visit. She had made it abundantly clear that she would not have intruded upon the family, had she known otherwise..."

"Oh!"

So she would have avoided Pemberley, had she known him in residence...

Darcy looked away and tried to hide the discomfort engendered by the unwelcome intelligence. Colonel Fitzwilliam's sudden huff took him completely by surprise.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Darcy, desist, I beg you!" he exclaimed, then turned to his other cousin. "But of course, little one. I should not wonder if she did not feel comfortable touring the place without an invitation. Miss Bennet seems hardly the type to attempt to ingratiate herself at all cost, push herself forward or claim a connection merely to impress..." he elaborated, visibly to Georgiana, but Darcy was in no doubt that the tirade was actually for his benefit.

Darcy glanced briefly at his cousin, only to be met with his quizzically raised brow. It was by no means the first lecture he had received from Richard regarding his own misjudgements, nor, he feared, would it be the last. The reassurance derived from the opinion of a detached third party was by no means unwelcome, and yet in some respect Darcy could not help feeling a certain degree of annoyance at his cousin's manner. Not for the first time, he almost regretted having brought him along on this occasion - and having spoken to him about Elizabeth, for that matter.

Darcy shook himself from the unpleasant reverie and returned to the present. He was not, however, to be granted a respite.

"What displeases you, brother?" Georgiana asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Yes, Darcy, what displeases you?" the Colonel echoed, leaning further back into his chair, by all accounts clearly enjoying the opportunity to taunt him.

"Surely you do not disapprove of my efforts to know Elizabeth better! Do you?" Georgiana added, with just a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

"Of course not! Do not make yourself uneasy, Georgiana! Of course I approve of Elizabeth! Miss Bennet!" Darcy amended hastily, with undue emphasis.

Fitzwilliam chortled and covered his eyes, sadly missing the scowl Darcy aimed in his direction.

"Good! I am glad!" Georgiana retorted, too caught in her own musings to note the otherwise very obvious undercurrents between her brother and her cousin. "I have to own I was rather concerned, for a while, after having extended the invitation to Miss Bennet to return to Pemberley and spend the day with me. It had crossed my mind that perhaps I should have reserved judgement, as ours was such a short acquaintance, and not be so hasty in bestowing my good opinion. Sadly, all three of us know where that had led me, in the past..." she added, with suddenly dejected spirits.

Both brother and cousin abandoned their private concerns and raised their voices in heated protest at her self-doubt and mortification; then Darcy came to sit by her and clasp her hand in his, forgetting to take Fitzwilliam to task for ill-advisedly affixing a vast selection of unsavoury epithets to Wickham's name, not altogether suitable in the present company. The thought that Georgiana would doubt herself to the extent of fearing she had been as wrong in her estimation of Elizabeth as she had been about Wickham, the mere thought of associating the two in this fashion almost made him shudder.

When their indignation was spent, Georgiana turned to smile tremulously at the two people she cared most deeply for.

"Thank you! You are both too kind to me!"

Another wave of protests followed. Georgiana allowed them to finish, then turned to her brother.

"I am glad you think I was right to trust my first impression of Miss Bennet. I was not completely comfortable at first, but then I remembered Mrs. Bingley and I was reassured. I knew that you approved of her, and besides, as Mrs. Bingley's sister, Miss Bennet could not be otherwise than lovely and amiable!"

Darcy forbore to comment on Georgiana's assumption, happy - for everybody's sake - that, as far as this sister was concerned, it happened to be a correct one. Fitzwilliam met his eye and cleared his voice, making Darcy wonder if any of the disclosures he had made the night before will return to haunt him, but in the end his cousin just turned back to Georgiana.

"And what else did you do when Miss Bennet visited?" he asked, recommencing to earn Darcy's gratitude rather than his annoyance.

"Not enough. I wish she could have stayed for longer. We walked the grounds, we played the pianoforte and we talked of everything under the sun."

"That I can well imagine," Fitzwilliam smiled, remembering the young lady's ease in conversation, and was not surprised at her having succeeded in drawing his young cousin out. Or both his cousins, for that matter.

"There was but one circumstance that gave me some unease," Georgiana began hesitantly, and regained Fitzwilliam's attention. Darcy's she had never lost. "It appears Miss Bennet was rather discomfited by some references to our aunt..."

"I should have thought that most people would be discomfited by references to Lady Catherine," Fitzwilliam quipped, earning a reproving stare from Darcy, and he readily apologised, in the full knowledge that his cousin was right, he ought not have shared the uncharitable and indeed impertinent thought with Georgiana.

"I am sorry, Richard, I had actually meant Fitzwilliam's aunt and mine. Lady Isabella," Georgiana clarified, and Darcy looked up in some concern.

"How did you get to discuss Lady Isabella?" he asked hastily.

"We came across some of her old sketches in the library, and one of the Devonshire ones seemed to capture Miss Bennet's attention..."

"Farringdon Lodge..." Darcy whispered and Georgiana looked up in wonder.

"Indeed. How did you know?"

Darcy made no reply but instead he stood to pace to the door of the sitting room and back again, rubbing his forehead.

"She did not seem too affected initially," Georgiana continued, thinking aloud, "but for some reason she was quite put out when she learned you owned it..."

Fitzwilliam gasped. Darcy spun on his heels, his countenance dark and forbidding.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "You did not tell her that!"

Georgiana looked up, petrified by their response.

"I said I thought you did," Georgiana owned, distraught. "but that I was not sure, and that you or Mr. Stratton would know..."

"Good Lord!" Darcy repeated, this time in a whisper, and closed his eyes, but Georgiana's small voice, almost close to tears, brought him back.

"Fitzwilliam, I am sorry, I did not know ... Brother, what is it? What did I do?"

"Darcy, come now! This is hardly fair!" Fitzwilliam cried, the first to recover form their shock, but his admonishment was not needed. Recollecting himself, Darcy had already rushed to his sister and, having noticed her tearful, almost frightened countenance, he had knelt by her side and took both her hands in his.

"Dearest, do not distress yourself. I should apologise, Georgiana, for frightening you," he added, with a light kiss on her brow. "You did not do anything, my dear, it is not your fault."

The fault is mine. Nobody's but mine.

Georgiana peered earnestly in his face.

"What is it, brother? Why is everyone so upset by the very mentioning of this place in Devonshire?"

Darcy drew a long deep breath and stood, passing his hand over his face. He walked away from his sister, his countenance darkening further with every second, and suddenly returned to the sofa beside her. Georgiana took his hand and pressed her lips against it.

None of them noticed Fitzwilliam quietly standing and leaving the room.

"Dearest brother," she whispered. "What is it that distresses you so?"

Over the last few months, Darcy had grown accustomed to the idea that he would speak to his cousin about the cause of his turmoil. He had thought of his best friend as well, but had reluctantly dismissed the notion, as Bingley was too close to the Bennets for Darcy to deem it appropriate to burden his friend with such a confidence. He had never envisaged opening his heart to his much younger sister, though. Regardless, that was exactly what he did - and in some measure it had been a better choice, as he received no judgement from Georgiana, just the absorbed attention and the unmistakable devotion in her deep blue eyes, fixed on him, larger than ever, for the entire duration of his narrative.

He could not look at her, but he told her all. Of Hertfordshire and Elizabeth's unshakable hold on him, of her unsuitable connections and his decision to forsake her, of Devonshire and Brandon and his despair ever since.

Georgiana cast none of the condemnations which had been liberally bestowed by Fitzwilliam and would undoubtedly have been echoed by Bingley, for similar and different reasons.

She simply held his hand and listened, wide-eyed and still, until there was no more to tell.

"So this is why she left Lambton in such a haste," Georgiana said quietly, her voice nevertheless too loud for both, in the stillness of the room.

Darcy looked up, too exhausted to feel anything.

"When?" he merely asked.

"Yesterday morning," Georgiana replied, still stroking his hand.

Silence filled the room, until Georgiana broke it with a soft whisper:

"Shall we travel together to Netherfield, then, brother?"

"We?"

"Take me with you, Fitzwilliam!" she pleaded, and Darcy took her in his embrace.

He pressed his lips on her forehead and agreed.

He needed all the support he could get.

Author's Notes

(*) Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. (Proverbs 16:18; King James Version)

Chapter 21

Posted on Wednesday, 13 December 2006

Elizabeth walked with a spring in her step. She had arrived at Netherfield the morning before, and was already feeling much better. It was a great comfort to be able to roam the old, familiar paths and there was no doubt that she would be happy to return to live in Hertfordshire. The long walk she had just taken had undoubtedly a lot to do with the improvement of her spirits, and so had Jane's presence, and the discovery that her mother and younger sisters had already left for town, prior to Elizabeth and the Gardiners' unexpected return. For all of those blessings Elizabeth was grateful, particularly the latter, for she knew not how she was to face them yet.

Bingley and Jane had been all that was kind and supportive and good. They were shocked by the revelations, Bingley slightly more so, but they left Elizabeth in no doubt that they would support her in whatever she would choose to do. A long discussion had taken place, in the first evening of their arrival back to Netherfield, and although not all details had been put in place, it had been eventually decided that Mrs. Bennet and her remaining unmarried daughters would come to live at Netherfield as soon as their sojourn in London was completed. The Gardiners offered their own assistance, but Bingley could not be swayed, and everyone saw the wisdom of his suggestion that the family should return to live in a neighbourhood where most of their acquaintance was, and in a house that could readily accommodate them.

Elizabeth had to own that, despite the troublesome circumstances, she would be happy to come to live at Netherfield. Returning to the familiarity of Hertfordshire was a pleasant prospect in itself, but calling Netherfield her home was perhaps even more so.

For obvious reasons, Elizabeth had long thought it a beautiful house, with a lot to recommend it, but unfortunately pervaded by Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst's arrogant superciliousness. Elizabeth smiled. Netherfield was a different place now. It was happy and welcoming, no longer exuding its former mistress' haughtiness, but Jane's kindness and warmth, and the love she and her husband shared. It was ironic but exceedingly rewarding, Elizabeth thought with amused satisfaction, to see Jane rule over the place of her previous disparagement, and the perpetrators of said offence having lost all their power over Mr. Bingley and his happy home.

Having largely decided upon the course of action, Mr. Gardiner decided he would return to his business, despite Jane and Mr. Bingley's earnest entreaties to prolong their stay, in compensation for their curtailed tour of pleasure. They had left earlier that day.

Soon after seeing them to their carriage, Jane, well attuned to her sister's mind and sensibilities, suggested she should take herself on a long walk and revisit some of her favourite places. Oakham Mount had always been a decided favourite, and it was in its direction that Elizabeth bent her steps. The rather taxing, but not unfeasible ascent had drawn enough of her energy to leave her with little ability or inclination to dwell on unpleasant thoughts, and Elizabeth had enjoyed every step of the way. It felt good to be on top of the familiar eminence once more, to feel the wind in her face and look around at the sun-lit countryside.

It would have been difficult not to remember, as Elizabeth took in her surroundings, that it was on the very stretch of open field at her feet that she had caught her first glimpse of the two gentlemen that were to influence her own life and that of her family so greatly.

Elizabeth did remember, and with a long sigh she bent her steps back to Netherfield.

The house was very quiet when she returned, which was rather unusual, as although they were but two in their happy household, Mr. Bingley had the propensity of filling it with all the bustle of his ebullient personality.

Elizabeth made her way to the drawing room - and froze. Jane was there, but she was not alone. Georgiana sat at her side, and so did Mr. Darcy. At her entrance, he rose and bowed very deeply, then remained standing, his eyes fixed on her, the most solemn look darkening his countenance.

Instinctively, Elizabeth's hand returned to the doorknob, and the urge to turn back and flee the room was overpowering. She let her hand fall, though, to smooth the side of her dress, as she drew a long, steadying breath. For the sake of her sister and brother, for the sake of his own sister even, she would have to become accustomed to being in the same room with him at least, sooner or later, and it might as well be then. With another deep breath and a small, rather self-conscious smile, Elizabeth advanced towards the party.

"Miss Darcy!" she greeted her new friend, with real, albeit restrained pleasure. "What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon!" She let go of the sister's hands to turn to the brother, and could do nothing but drop a curtsey and acknowledge him with constrained civility.

"And Mr. Darcy. Good to see you, sir."

The greeting so obviously lacked genuine sentiment and warmth that even she felt the awkwardness of the distinction between the sister and the brother, and could not be surprised to see him look injured. There was nothing to be done about it, though, and Elizabeth took a seat across from Jane. Georgiana returned to her seat as well, but Mr. Darcy remained standing, resting a hand on the back of his sister's chair. Elizabeth could not bring herself to look in his direction, but she felt his steady gaze fixed on her, as unsettling as ever. The silence in the room was overpowering, and Elizabeth could think of nothing to say, as there seemed to be an embargo on every subject.

At length, her own wise sister asked whether she had enjoyed her walk, and they proceeded to talk about the beauties of Hertfordshire with great perseverance, assisted by the occasional tentative contribution from Georgiana, who would venture an opinion about the comparative merit of the Derbyshire countryside when a lull in the conversation threatened. They had been thus engaged for above a half-hour when the door to the drawing room opened and Mr. Bingley made his appearance. Elizabeth was left in no doubt about his purpose, or his loyalties, for that matter, as he came to sit by her on the sofa, and enquire with great gentleness and interest whether she had enjoyed her walk.

Elizabeth could not suppress a slight smile at this obvious confederacy destined to make her more at ease, and a trace of her former spirits returned to her repartee as she turned to her brother with an affectionate smile.

"Thank you, Charles, it was very pleasant indeed, but as we have already discussed the comparative merits of Hertfordshire and Derbyshire, at my sister's instigation, perhaps I should refrain from a repetition and retire to dress for dinner."

With that she rose and, dropping a curtsey to no one in particular, she left the room.

Without any rational thought other than the compelling urge to do so, Darcy moved to follow - and would have, but for Bingley's interference.

"I would appreciate a word, Darcy," he said to his friend's retreating back.

"Not now, Bingley!" Darcy replied curtly, but Bingley would not be gainsaid. He advanced to his friend and stayed the hand that reached to open the door.

"Now would be most convenient, in point of fact!" Bingley said quietly, but without a trace of diffidence. "My study?" he offered, and at his friend's surprised and resigned nod, Bingley opened the door and motioned to Darcy to exit before him.

Darcy could only catch a brief glimpse of Elizabeth's retreating form down the hallway towards the stairs, and with a barely suppressed huff, he followed Bingley in his study.

"Would you say it is too early for port?" Bingley asked companionably, but Darcy had no taste for civilities.

"I understood you wanted a word, Bingley, and although I fail to comprehend the urgency, I am at your disposal!" he said stiffly, barely refraining from concluding with 'so come now, out with it!'. Nevertheless, the inference was there.

Bingley turned and eyed him steadily, though not unfriendly, with a trace of regret in his countenance.

"Darcy, I am sorry, but I cannot allow my sister to be made uncomfortable in any way!" he said quietly, and Darcy stared.

"Your sister?" he asked, all astonishment, failing to see where either Miss Bingley or Mrs. Hurst came into it, before inwardly abusing himself for his stupidity. "Your sister. Of course."

"Elizabeth is my sister now - and my responsibility," Bingley clarified, and the authority in his voice surprised them both.

Although it was indeed rather too early for port, Bingley poured two glasses nevertheless. He took one to his friend, then perched himself on the arm of one of the chairs, at Darcy's elbow. He took a sip, biding his time, and finally brought himself to resume.

"I hope you do not mind my asking, Darcy, but would you tell me whether the report is true?" Not that he doubted Elizabeth's word any more than her judgement, but he could not bring himself not to at least attempt to hear his friend's side.

Darcy leaned against the desk and cleared his voice.

"I do not know what you heard, but if you are asking whether I had signed away a property in Devonshire in favour of Mr. Bennet before he died, then yes, the report is true," he owned tiredly.

Bingley shook his head and stared into the glass, then looked back up at his friend.

"So are you saying that when we were last at Netherfield, and you attempted to dissuade me from offering for Jane, you stood here listening to me telling you of the supposed inheritance, while you were behind it the whole time? I thought we were close friends, Darcy!" he added, not insubstantial disappointment in his voice.

"I am sorry, Bingley," Darcy offered with genuine contrition. "The fewer people knew, the better, in my view, particularly as you were to become connected with the family. Not that I did not trust your secrecy," he amended, "but the deed was done, and I had no wish to discomfort anyone, least of all you."

Bingley made no answer. A long silence reigned, until Bingley looked up again.

"Why did you do it, Darcy? I had been most curious to know ever since I heard of it."

Darcy walked to the window and turned to stare outside.

"Because I did not want E-... any of the Miss Bennets to contemplate marrying such a reprehensible character as Mr. Collins for their family's security," he said at length, resigned to owning at least part of the truth.

"But was he not already engaged to Miss Mary?" Bingley replied, puzzled, and Darcy gave a brief gesture of annoyance.

"No, Bingley, he was not. Oblige me, and give me credit for at least some intelligence!" he snapped, then rubbed his forehead and apologised. "Perhaps the engagement and the announcement of the so-called bequest were concurrent, but I had no knowledge that it was about to happen when I had instructed my attorneys, some weeks previously."

"Would all of this account for your avoidance of the Bennets and your subdued spirits at the time, then?" Bingley enquired and Darcy shrugged in lieu of any response. He was loath to lie to his friend, but he was not ready to bare his soul to him, either. Not to mention that Bingley adored his wife, and Mrs. Bingley was inordinately protective of her sister. Maybe they would have kept his confidence, but Darcy had neither the inclination to demand it of either of them, nor the willingness to take the risk. When Elizabeth was to know of his sentiments, he would have preferred that she heard of them from himself!

Bingley took another sip of his drink and swilled the remainder in his glass.

"A very generous gesture, Darcy ... I am sorry, but it still remains beyond my understanding, though, why you would take so much upon yourself. I can understand your opinion of Mr. Collins and I fully concur with you on that score, but in what way could it affect you if any of the Miss Bennets were to marry the man, to such an extent as to offer them a home and an income? In what way would you feel it incumbent upon you to ensure the Bennets' security any more than any other family's? Why, you do not even like them, for goodness' sake!" Bingley exclaimed, rather forgetting himself, as it was not in his nature to plague anyone of his acquaintance in this fashion, and least of all his best friend.

He lifted his glass to his lips and his arm froze in mid-gesture.

"Unless..." he pondered aloud and then sighed. "Oh! I see..." he said quietly, before finishing his move to have another sip of his port.

Darcy turned to observe him with no small measure of panic. What? What did he see?

"I appreciate your friendship, Darcy," Bingley resumed, with some sadness, "but you can be awfully high-handed at times. I am sorry if you squandered a small fortune in your effort to 'protect' me from offering for Jane, but I can hardly feel responsible for it! In point of fact, I am rather disposed to regard your interference officious at best!"

Darcy advanced to his friend, his countenance full of contrition. He was rather glad for his misapprehension and was not about to correct it, but Bingley's sadness and obvious displeasure weighed on him.

"I am sorry, Bingley," he offered. "For all my misguided notions, I am heartily sorry. All I can say is that I hold valid none of the considerations that have prompted me at the time," he added, truthfully, inwardly thankful that his friend did not know the extent of his misjudgement.

Bingley looked up from his glass with a sigh. Theirs was a long-standing friendship and Darcy appeared genuinely contrite. After a pause - slight, but noticeable nonetheless - he rose and took Darcy's outstretched hand.

"Bygones, Darcy?" he offered with a smile, but there was nothing humorous in his manner, regardless of the lightness of his tone, as he added, "As long as you refrain from protecting me or mine despite our own wishes in future, that is!"

Darcy gladly shook his hand as he nodded his understanding and his thanks, and for a while the room was very quiet; then he looked up at his friend again.

"You will have to let me talk to her sometime," he said, more in response to his own thoughts than to any of Bingley's comments, and his friend sighed.

"Not if she does not wish it, Darcy," he said at length, with no small measure of regret. "I hope you can see that. Elizabeth is part of my family now, and a guest in this house. I cannot conspire against her peace of mind!"

Darcy could not suppress a gesture of annoyance. That Bingley should presume to act as Elizabeth's defender, and protect her from himself, of all people! A sharp retort came to his lips, but Darcy swallowed the bitter recriminations. He might have had, by now, the privilege to stand at her side and protect her for the rest of their lives.

It had been his own choice not to seek it.

"Do you wish me to leave, Bingley?" he asked tiredly.

There was always The Red Lion in Meryton, or some other inn he could remove to, but Darcy heartily hoped it would not come to that.

"Good God, no!" his closest friend protested, with the energy of old. "I just hope we can find a way out of this messy business!"

So do I, Bingley. So do I.

Chapter 22

Posted on Wednesday, 20 December 2006

Darcy had readied himself for dinner with greater haste than at any other time, in the vain hope that he might be fortunate to gain a few minutes alone with Elizabeth, but he could easily see that his efforts were destined to be outdone. Mrs. Bingley had come down for dinner at the same time as her sister, and although she was as warm and welcoming as ever, there was no doubt of her determination to support Elizabeth in her avoidance of him.

All that was left for him to do was to bow deeply to both and content himself with the formalism of common-place civilities, all the while endeavouring not to dwell on the fact that Elizabeth would not meet his eyes for above two seconds, nor would she answer any enquiries he dared make in more than monosyllables. There could not have been a greater contrast to that glorious afternoon in Green Park than this stilted, strained exchange, and it was painful to behold.

How was he to tell her that he loved her and ask her to trust him with her heart and her hand, if she would not even talk to him? If she could not even bear to look at him?

The tension was somewhat eased when the others joined them, Fitzwilliam at first, much to Elizabeth's astonishment, until the connection was explained to her, then Bingley and Georgiana. A brief attempt at general conversation followed, where everyone was trying rather too hard to be voluble and mask their discomfort, until dinner was announced.

To Darcy's dismay, the atmosphere at dinner was hardly any different. Mrs. Bingley had chosen the smaller dining room for the occasion, to avoid their none-too-numerous party being dispersed around an uncomfortably large table, but the snugness of their current arrangements and the apparent family atmosphere was not making anyone more comfortable, least of all Darcy.

He was seated at Mrs. Bingley's right and Elizabeth at Bingley's, as far from each other as the table could divide them, with Georgiana by his side and across from Elizabeth, and Fitzwilliam between Mrs. Bingley and her sister. For all that was worth, Darcy could not but acknowledge to himself Mrs. Bingley's abilities to diffuse the situation as much as possible. The seating arrangements were a credit to her diplomacy, and her efforts at keeping up a conversation with him throughout dinner a testament to her kindness and delicacy of spirit.

Much as Elizabeth's continued withdrawal from him pained him, he could not but rejoice, for her sake, in the fact that Mrs. Bingley's diplomacy had borne fruit. As dinner progressed, Bingley's end of the table became animated with his - and eventually Elizabeth's - light-hearted discourse, punctuated more and more frequently, to his surprise and only joy, by Georgiana's laughter and well-placed comments. All that was left him was to look on, when least observed, and delight in her wit and sparkle, although it was for the benefit of others.

As for Fitzwilliam, he had attempted to keep the conversation going in both of the separate groups but had avoided singling Elizabeth out, and for his understanding and forbearance Darcy could be nothing but grateful, as he did not know how he could have borne it otherwise.

When the time came to separate after dinner, Darcy could not dismiss the uncomfortable sentiment that, had it not been for him, the custom might have been forgone, but the discomfort such a notion engendered was nothing to the distress occasioned by their return to the ladies.

Darcy and Fitzwilliam had followed Bingley to his study for another glass of port. Nothing of consequence had been discussed this time, in part because Fitzwilliam's presence precluded it, although Bingley could not doubt his good information.

After a while, which appeared to Darcy dreadfully long, Bingley signalled the time for their return and Darcy agreed with alacrity. He had followed his friend to the drawing room, sounds of laughter and animated voices beckoning them therein. The door opened, and to Darcy's dismay, their entrance - no, his entrance - cast a pall over their obvious enjoyment. The laughter died out, and the room filled with all the suppressed tension of the previous encounters.

Darcy's spirits sank beyond redemption. He could not bear to be party to this any longer. He most certainly would not impose his presence upon them, upon her, if all it engendered was this dismal atmosphere. He turned to Mrs. Bingley with a bow.

"I was hoping you would excuse me, Ma'am", he said formally, "and allow me to deprive myself of the pleasure of your company. There was something in Bingley's library I would have liked to peruse." And with that he turned towards the door and would have left, but for an intervention from the least likely quarter.

Elizabeth had no need to think of the remarkable collection housed at Pemberley, or to remember a conversation held months ago, in the same room, about the deficiencies of Bingley's library, to ascertain the unlikelihood of Darcy having found therein anything worthy of his urgent perusal.

It was clear to her that, against his own wishes, Darcy had excused himself to ease her discomfort, and the look in his eyes, as well as the turn of his countenance, spoke of his distress and of his unwillingness to remain in the present company as persona non grata, despite his obvious reluctance to leave them.

Elizabeth found herself unable to allow it. Yes, his presence made her extremely uncomfortable, and yet she could not bear the thought of spending a pleasant evening with her family and friends, while he exiled himself to the cheerless solitude of the library, for her benefit.

Before she knew how it came about, Elizabeth heard herself say, with a gentleness of address she did not deliberately choose, but could not regret:

"Mr. Darcy, must you leave us so soon? We are to have some music in a little while. Your sister has kindly agreed to play for us and, from what I understand, this is a delight you would not care to miss," she said with a genuine smile, surprised at her own daring, as well as at the ease with which she had found a credible motive for urging him to stay.

The difference her words had made in his countenance almost brought tears to her eyes. The surprise of such a request coming from her was replaced almost instantly with a look so much akin to gratitude as to make Elizabeth heartily ashamed of herself.

She had been given to understand, over the course of the day, from his obvious contrition, that no slight had been intended or implied by his actions. No, it had not been his intention to remove the Bennets from his circle and, in having suspected him of it, she had greatly wronged him. His interference had been misjudged and high-handed at best, but her aunt Gardiner was right; it had given her father peace of mind in his last days, and that was worth any humiliation she may have felt. As to the humiliation itself - yes, she would have experienced it anyway, but it was only made worse by her own disappointment at having found herself the object of his pity, just as she had discovered she would have desired his love.

Elizabeth drew a long breath and, acknowledging it was perhaps time she stopped punishing him for her own disappointed hopes, she turned to Mr. Darcy again.

"Well, sir, what shall it be? The joy of music or of the printed word?" she asked, in a manner so highly reminiscent of their past interactions as to make him almost giddy with renewed hope.

The joy of you. My greatest folly was to ever walk away from it!

For an agonising moment, Darcy feared he had voiced his thoughts aloud, but the countenance of none of the party indicated that it had been so. Reluctant to trust himself to speak, he bowed his acquiescence to Elizabeth instead, and returned to the small company gathered at the other end of the room. He sat across from Elizabeth and his sister and smiled at the two ladies dearest to him in a fashion that almost made Elizabeth gasp, as she had recognised the look in Georgiana's sketch and wondered at it becoming evident in her presence, considering all that had transpired.

"I would like however to apply to you for the indulgence of music as well, Miss Bennet, for I have rarely heard anything that gave me more pleasure," Darcy said, daringly.

Blushing, Elizabeth declined in favour of Georgiana's superior talent, and her friend was finally persuaded to perform, as long as Elizabeth would turn the pages.

They seated themselves companionably at the instrument and Miss Darcy leafed through the selection of music, to finally choose a piece which had been a longstanding favourite.

Drawn in the enjoyment of music and in her duties to follow the progress, in order to timely perform her task, Elizabeth was for a long time unaware of Darcy's steady gaze.

A chance look in his direction, however, overwhelmed her. Their eyes met and locked and none would look away. The unmistakable warmth in his eyes was mesmerising, and the devotion so evident that Elizabeth felt convinced she only found herself in the way of a look destined for his sister. As their eyes held, however, she could not but acknowledge that the tenderness was not brotherly, nor was it for Georgiana.

It was for her.

Little as she would have credited it, it was for her.

He could not sleep. There was no way under heaven for him to be able to rest after all that had occurred, and in the knowledge that she was under the same roof, no more than ten doors away.

Darcy had dismissed his man a long time ago, without even attempting to prepare for the night. Had he been at Pemberley, he would have roamed the halls in search of memories of her, and of this evening. As he was but a guest in this house, he resigned himself to leaning against the back of his chair and closing his eyes. He was no less successful in conjuring up her image than had he walked to the now deserted drawing room. She was with him always, as she had been for months, and for the first time in the whole length of their acquaintance, there was a glimmer of hope in the picture his mind's eye presented. He would never forget the turn of her countenance and the look in her eyes, earlier that evening, during his sister's performance. There was none of her recent painful reserve; there was forgiveness for the embarrassment his misjudged gesture had engendered, of that he was almost sure, but it was that look of wonder, and the warmth therein that deprived him of his rest and left him impatiently counting the minutes till daybreak.

He could not sleep, but the thought of her beautiful face resting on a pillow some doors down the hallway made him forcefully grip the arms of his chair and propelled him to the window to stare into the darkness outside. A long sigh punctuated the futility of his endeavours to still his racing thoughts. Darcy turned away from the window to collect his dinner jacket and don it, then quietly left his room for the illusory sanctuary of the library, where he vainly hoped to find a way to cease thinking constantly of Elizabeth. The candle in his right hand cast long, tremulous shadows down the hallways of the great silent house.

She could not sleep. She had not even attempted to prepare for bed. As soon as she had retired to her chambers, at the end of a most unsettling evening, she had curled on the chair in the corner of the small balcony her room led to, and rested her flustered face in her hand.

What on earth would possess him to regard her in that fashion, during Georgiana's performance? She did not dare hope, and yet she could scarcely prevent herself from doing so.

Teazing, teazing man! If he cared for her, why did he remove himself from her society for such a length of time? If he did not, why did he regard her as though he did?

With the wise, but not so easily kept resolution to think no more of him, Elizabeth stood. It was very late and the advanced hour gave her pause, but she was not to sit and stare out into the night with no purpose, on the account of Mr. Darcy! Poorly stocked as it might be, there ought to be something in Netherfield's library to prevent her from constantly thinking of him!

She walked quietly to the door and opened it, only to be stopped in her tracks by the sight of the receding figure - very tall and very familiar - that appeared to be heading in the same direction, his progress made evident by the soft glow his candle projected on the walls.

Elizabeth quietly closed the door. She leant against it for a while, a distant smile on her lips, then started to remove the pins from her hair and ready herself for bed.

It was rather comforting to know that he could not sleep either. In truth, she owned, it was very comforting indeed!

After a while, she blew out the candle and nestled under the covers, with the heart-warming thought of them being the only ones to keep vigil, in the sleeping household.

She was still awake much later, when the sound of returning footsteps could just about be heard approaching down the corridor. They appeared to slow outside her door, and then faded in the opposite direction. Elizabeth gathered the corner of the pillow under her chin and finally fell asleep with a smile on her face.

Chapter 23

Posted on Wednesday, 10 January 2007

Darcy walked the path to the clump of trees at the side of the house, head down and hands behind his back. He would have resented any implication of lying in wait, even though that was exactly what he was doing, with little hope of success, as he had no idea in which direction Elizabeth's penchant for an early walk had taken her.

He cursed his misjudgement of not having instructed his man to rouse him at an early hour and relying on habit instead. As it happened, it had been a poor choice, as habit had been overridden by the sleepless night, and the utter exhaustion of body and mind that the last few days had brought. He had awoken when the sun was well into the sky, simply because, at some point in his restless pacing the night before, he had come to open the carefully drawn curtains and had forgotten them thus.

Darcy walked back to the house and up the flight of stairs that led to the terrace, for a better view, only to be met by his cousin, who was just leaving. Fitzwilliam merely bade him good morning and Darcy thanked heavens for his cousin's perception, which had allowed him to see that he was in no humour for either sallies or conversation. Come to think of it, Fitzwilliam had been uncharacteristically reserved with his opinions lately which, given their quite recent heated discussions, was a source of wonder and not insubstantial gratitude for Darcy, as he knew not how he would have borne another lecture, under the circumstances. On impulse, he offered his cousin his hand.

"Thank you, Richard," he said simply.

"Whatever for?"

"Your restraint."

The Colonel gave a light laugh at this and shook his cousin's hand, then clapped him affectionately on the shoulder.

"You're having enough of a hard time as it is, I gather!" he noted, not unkindly, then added, with a touch of real concern in his address. "I take you have not had a chance to improve matters..."

"No. Not as such..."

There was no denying the sudden surge of hope the previous evening had brought, but the truth remained. He had not had a chance to improve matters as yet. Darcy wondered briefly what was his cousin's real opinion on what had occurred - for he would have been quite naďve indeed to assume that Fitzwilliam had missed the undercurrents between Elizabeth and himself, or perhaps he should have said the altogether different undercurrents. Fortunately, despite his inclination to talk rather excessively about concerns that were not his own, Darcy was in no doubt that his cousin was too much of a gentleman to even attempt to prompt a confidence in a case such as this. It was rewarding to note that, for once, he was not mistaken, as the Colonel turned away.

"I was going for a ride," he said casually. "Would you care to join me? It might do you good."

"I thank you, Cousin, but no. You could ask Bingley, though," he added, as an afterthought.

Fitzwilliam laughed.

"Anything for you, Darcy. I can but try! I take he has been somewhat of a monkey on your back lately, has he not? Still, you cannot fault him for his loyalty," he added and Darcy grimaced.

As soon as Fitzwilliam left him, Darcy returned at his post overlooking most of the approach to the house and, to his relief, after a while he was finally rewarded by the sight of a light-coloured spot progressing briskly across the distant fields.

Darcy set back to meet her and reached the end of the designated path in just enough time to espy Elizabeth running down the slope at the back of the house and deftly crossing over the sty, her dark-honey-coloured bonnet in her hand.

She looked up as she became aware of his presence, without any of the self-consciousness he dreaded. In fact, there was something in the turn of her countenance that reminded him of that evening at Netherfield, when she had bid him to despise her if he dared. No thought was further from his mind. In fact, the only thought he could grip hold of was how beautiful she looked, her eyes and complexion brightened by the exercise, her hair in slight disarray as though ruffled by the wind and - by Jove! - with skirts still six inches deep in mud! Where did she find it? Bingley said it had not rained in Hertfordshire in weeks!

He ought to stop standing there and grinning like a fool, Darcy's remaining sense told him, to no avail. He had wanted to kiss her that morning long ago in the autumn, when he had come across her on her way to Netherfield to visit her ailing sister, and even more so now, when her bright eyes were radiating that endearing archness instead of the open hostility he now knew full well that she had shown him then.

"Lovely morning for a walk," he had managed at last, having erred on the side of caution, after wondering for a while if she would take offence at his presumption, were he to tell her how beautiful she looked.

Elizabeth agreed with a smile as she busied herself with tying the ribbons of her bonnet and Darcy pressed on towards his chance.

"Are you fatigued from your walk, Miss Bennet, or would you be inclined to take a turn with me?"

"I am not fatigued, sir," Elizabeth replied and took his offered arm, an incipient sensation of comfort in each other's presence warming them both.

In Darcy's case, all ease soon dissipated, at the thought that this was his chance to speak, and he had no notion how to start and, for that matter, how to continue.

The feel of her fingers in the crook of his arm gave some measure of comfort. It would have been quite out of place, he knew, to reach and cover them with his other hand, much as he wished to, so he kept his hand to his side and his thoughts to himself - for the time being, at least.

"Where have you been walking this morning, Miss Bennet?" he asked at length and Elizabeth smiled.

"I was not aware you were familiar with the local paths and the intricacies of the Hertfordshire countryside," she teased.

"I was not, until yesterday," he retorted and Elizabeth looked up at him in surprise and laughed. That he should be able to jest about yesterday's ridiculously restrained and staid conversation, despite - or perhaps particularly because of - the tension everybody felt at the time was a source of delighted wonder to her, and she welcomed the intelligence that Mr. Darcy appeared to have a sense of humour after all, over and above his other admirable qualities.

"I have not walked very far this morning," she answered at last. "Only about three quarters of the way to Longbourn."

"Do you miss it?" he found himself asking, and cursed his foolishness. He already knew the answer, of course, and besides, this was not the direction he would have liked their discourse to take. That was not to say that he did not welcome the openness, even the intimacy of their conversation, but the light-heartedness was gone, more was the pity.

Elizabeth was quiet for a while, then answered truthfully.

"I miss it for what it used to be. I miss the Longbourn I used to call home, and... I miss my father." At that, she halted her progress and looked up towards him. "I may not have given that impression, particularly yesterday, but I am grateful to you, Sir, not least because my father's last days were content and free of anxiety," she said with quiet honesty, and Darcy's spirits sank.

You had to speak of Longbourn, you fool!

Of course the conversation would sink down the path of all the unpleasantness still left unsaid between them, once he had asked about Longbourn.

"Pray, Miss Bennet," he urged tiredly and looked away, as he recommenced walking, "could we possibly not talk of this? I was wrong in many respects. Very wrong. Whatever good may have come of it does not right it, nor does it justify it."

"The intention was good..." she defended, and he frowned.

"The road to hell is paved with good intentions, is it not, Miss Bennet?" he retorted, with some bitterness.

The road to his own hell most certainly had been!

Darcy drew a long breath to ease his annoyance. The folly, the incommensurable folly of having ruined the disposition of the morning in such a dim-witted fashion!

All too aware of his dejection of spirits and pained for him because of it, Elizabeth briefly brought her other hand to rest on his arm.

"Mr. Darcy," she said, stopping to look at him until she caught his eye, "although I very much wish to understand your reasons, I do believe that now would not be a good time, for either of us. So perhaps we could agree to put Farringdon aside for a while, and speak of it no more for now."

Her words surprised him no less than her gentleness of manner, but it was the warmth of her compassion that filled his heart with disbelieving wonder at finding himself its recipient, all things considered. Quite unwittingly, his eyes lit up with the tenderness he had long wished to otherwise express - and when he spoke, he did so.

"I should not wish to keep anything from you... But how can I hope to gain your good opinion if I start by recounting all my misguided notions, which I had long discarded?"

"You already have my good opinion, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied, almost in a whisper, with a fleeting glance in his direction before the intensity in his eyes compelled her to look away.

Darcy stood rooted to the spot, his gaze fixed on her blushing countenance, in an earnest attempt to ascertain her meaning. She would not turn towards him, but her hand was still ensconced in the crook of his arm, and the hope her words had kindled was exhilarating. They fell into step once more as she resumed their walk, his gloved hand clasped protectively over her smaller one this time, this simple joy more soothing than many words had been.

"Thank you," he whispered at last.

Her eyes returned to him for an instant and he took a deep breath.

"Miss Bennet..."

"It was a..."

Uneasily, Darcy exhaled.

"Pray, continue..."

She did not, however, and neither did he. As the path they had slowly followed joined another, their eyes fell on Mrs. Bingley, seated on one of the benches, with what appeared to be a letter in her hand. Jane's presence, never unwelcome to either, was on this occasion an intrusion they both could well have done without. Elizabeth withdrew her hold of Mr. Darcy's arm, and he clasped his hands behind his back, his frustration overwhelming.

Was there any privacy to be had, ever, at Netherfield?

At the sound of their footsteps Mrs. Bingley looked up and her pensive countenance brightened into a smile.

"Elizabeth! I have been walking this way in the hope of meeting you! Mr. Darcy," she belatedly acknowledged him, and Darcy bowed stiffly in response.

Elizabeth advanced towards her sister, concern clearly evident in her countenance.

"Nothing serious, I hope...?!"

"I ... Well, no ... I merely wanted you to see this," Jane said at length, offering her the letter.

"What is it?"

"I have just received the most puzzling communication from our mother. It is about Lydia. She writes ... My mother writes that Lydia is married!"

Elizabeth was astounded.

"Lydia? Married?"

"Yes. Two days ago, by special licence, to a Mr. Robert Ferrars."

By mutual agreement, they have returned to the house, to conduct their sisterly conversation in the privacy of Mrs. Bingley's sitting room. The letter was produced and read again, even though not much could be gained from their mother's abilities as a correspondent. All that could be ascertained was that it had been a coup-de-foudre, which Mr. Robert Ferrars could well afford, as he had recently acquired all the rights and privileges of a first-born, although he was in reality a younger son.

'Mr. Ferrars has an elder brother, but he had displeased their mother exceedingly, I know not in what fashion', Mrs. Bennet had written, 'so that she had settled upon her second son a fortune which should by rights have gone to his brother. And this had worked to the greatest advantage of our dear girl, who had caught Mr. Ferrars' eye, and before I knew it, I was asked to give my consent for them to marry. I granted it, of course! Just think of the pin-money, the jewellery and the carriages my dear Lydia will have! So they were married by special licence yesterday, in the parish of St-Martin-in-the-Fields, where Mr. Ferrars' townhouse is, and are now on their way to Dawlish, for a few weeks, which place dear Mr. Ferrars had great curiosity to see....'

The rest of the letter was awash with details of the wedding dress, and how beautiful Lydia had looked, despite the suddenness of the arrangements.

Elizabeth folded the letter, amazed by the development and not insubstantially concerned for her friend Elinor. It was not difficult for her to fathom, given the intelligence she had received from the Miss Dashwoods the night Elinor's engagement had been made known to her, which was the circumstance that had prompted Mrs. Ferrars' acute discontent.

She was cautiously pleased for her sister that she had made such an obviously advantageous match and reserved the right to judge its merits better, as soon as she had had the chance to become acquainted with her new brother, but she could not help a sense of disquiet at the thought that Lydia's fortunes had been gained at the expense of Elinor's.

Little did she know at the time that neither Elinor nor Mr. Ferrars had any taste for such elevation in fortune, and would have considered it dearly bought had they been obliged to submit to his mother's constant interference. Mr. Ferrars was perfectly happy in his choice of wife and as to their income, they were soon to find that, although substantially smaller than what it could have been, it more than adequately met their needs, especially as it was soon augmented by the offer of the Delaford parish. Thus, in addition to their other sources of happiness, Elinor and her future husband had the joy of being settled in the vicinity of a loving mother, a very affectionate sister and an amiable new brother. Elizabeth knew nothing of it at the time, but was able to rejoice with her friend, when the extent of Elinor's blessings was made known to her, several weeks later.

Alone in the library, Darcy paced.

Circumstances had conspired against him many more times than he was prepared to count, and that had begun to rile him in no small measure. It was hardly Mrs. Bingley's fault that they happened upon her, instead of choosing any other path. This gave him no comfort, however, as he resumed his pacing, wondering how many misguided interferences or unfortunate circumstances were still left to divide him from Elizabeth.

The door opened and Darcy looked up.

Elizabeth had entered and greeted him, then sat at the escritoire by the window and, producing a sheet from within, she began to write.

Having offered a belated bow, Darcy sat and took up a book, mindlessly turning the pages, with an acute sense of deja-vu. Of course. That distant day when they had sat together in the library and he had foolishly attempted to deny any interest whatsoever in her, before the notice of Mr. Bennet's illness had been brought in. Such unmitigated folly was not remotely possible anymore.

Darcy closed his book and placed it on the table beside him, then leaned his head back against the cushions, filling his senses with the sight of her. Loose tendrils swayed as she wrote, her brow was slightly creased in delightful concentration and she was still occasionally biting the corner of her lip in the same endearing fashion.

He could not live without her. He had no wish to try. He only prayed she would have him.

As soon as her letter was written and folded, Darcy came to kneel by her side and took her hand, in a manner decidedly indicative of a proposal.

"Miss Bennet, will you allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you?"

Chapter 24

Posted on Wednesday, 10 January 2007

He had beautiful hands, she thought, incongruously. Very beautiful hands. Reassuringly strong, with long, perfectly formed fingers. The thumbs were a little flatter, slightly upturned at the end, and Elizabeth watched, mesmerised, as they gently brushed across the backs of her hands, in so light a touch that she could barely feel it. Yet there was very little else of which she was more acutely aware.

How odd that he should have warm hands. Strange, that. She did not know why, but she would have expected them to be cool. They were not. They were warm and firm and very gentle.

He had held her hands before, of course. In a dance. In a greeting. In handing her down from a carriage. But not without the double barrier of gloves, and most certainly never with such exquisite intimacy.

Miss Bennet, will you allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you?

The words coursed through her, delightfully alive in her mind long after they were spoken, their chant silencing all else that followed. Tears threatened as she listened to his voice. Low and caressing, it held a warmth that had never been there before - and also a tinge of uncertainty, as unmistakable as it was endearing.

Elizabeth blinked. This distraction - it simply would not do! With some effort, she willed herself back from the clouds to listen.

"... and indeed how could I not, with so much beauty and warmth before me! I was entranced before I knew it, before even knowing, truly knowing you. It was your loveliness that I saw, your sparkling wit that drew me, and your unequivocal rejection of every form of artifice that I admired. It was only... later... sometime later," he faltered, in a manner she could not quite account for, "that I have been granted the chance to see that there was so much more. That your affections ran deep, your loyalty was steadfast and absolute and that there could be no greater prize than your love, for any man. I could never find your equal, Elizabeth!"

He did not correct himself, indeed he did not even appear to notice. His words - and the exquisite sound of her name on his lips - made her smile in wonder as she raised her eyes from their joined hands to his face. He had beautiful eyes as well. And long, dark lashes. She had not noticed this, not ever, but then she had never seen him in such close proximity before.

How utterly amazing that she could think his eyes cold and disapproving! So many months ago, such little perception... The warmth was unmistakable now. And overpowering. So much so that she blushed - profusely - and lowered her gaze.

"For many months, I have known that there is no one I could possibly esteem or admire more. That there is nobody else I could come to love. I have known, beyond any doubt, that life without you would be barren and empty, barely half lived. Nor would there be companionship, fulfillment, or joy. It is with you and you alone that I can find them..."

He stopped and she looked up.

"I should have spoken long before," he said, his countenance darkening, and he released one of her hands to rake his fingers though his hair. "I was..."

He looked away, distinctly uncomfortable, and a deep crease formed between his eyebrows.

She thought she would quite like to smooth it over with her fingers and, come to that, she would very much like to brush off that adorable set of unruly locks that had fallen in disarray over his brow. To see him so discomfited was yet another source of wonder. She never would have thought it possible that he should succumb to such nervousness, much less display it. Her heart - or whatever was left of her heart that he did not as yet possess - went out to him, and it was with no small measure of self-restraint that Elizabeth held her peace and allowed him to continue.

He took a deep breath.

"There is much that I would change if I could! It serves no purpose to speak of it, particularly at this juncture, and particularly as making speeches is not something that I do well. Come to think of it," he added with sudden bitterness, "I rather doubt there was anything I did well throughout the course of our acquaintance, except perhaps impressing you with the fullest belief of my arrogance, my conceit, and my selfish disdain for the feelings of others!"

Elizabeth decisively shook her head at this and, on impulse, she reached to hold the hand that had released hers, some moments earlier. He looked up as she did so and a little smile brightened his countenance.

"Quod erat demonstrandum!" he almost laughed. "I cannot make speeches. Here I am, reminding you of all my faults and follies, at a time when..."

He carried her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, reverently.

"I love you," he said simply. "And I beg you to consent to be my wife."

The library door was suddenly opened behind him - nonchalantly and audibly - but, other than an involuntary start and a fleeting but fierce grimace of annoyance, Darcy did not move. He did not even turn towards the door, and thus missed what might have been, under very different circumstances, the rather diverting sight of a very embarrassed Bingley, quite obviously torn between his amiable, discreet nature, on one side, and what he perceived to be his duty, on the other. It was impossible to misapprehend what he had unwittingly interrupted, and his consternation was great and his mortification slightly less so, as every fibre of his being urged him to excuse himself and close the door. Yet Bingley remained rooted to the spot until Elizabeth turned to smile at him, equally embarrassed, but substantially less distressed.

"I thank you, Charles. I am ... All is well," she concluded with a self-conscious smile, wondering whether there ever was a polite way of asking her brother by marriage to excuse himself from his own library.

"It is?" asked Bingley, not entirely convinced. He had noticed the sparkle of tears in her eyes, and mortification could go hang, he would be sure!

"Is it?" Darcy whispered, almost at the same time, searching her face in an attempt to gauge her answer a moment sooner.

Elizabeth turned back to him and tightened the hold of her hands on his.

"Yes," she replied, laughter in her tear-strained voice and the brightest smile lighting up her countenance. "And ... yes!"

Their eyes held as Darcy stared, willing himself to believe that he had understood her rightly. He felt like a fool, but he had to ask,

"That is... You do mean that you consent, I hope!"

"That is the meaning generally assigned to the word, sir!" Elizabeth laughed through her tears, this time running freely, and then persuaded herself that this was not the best time for archness. "I do," she added, quietly and earnestly. "I..."

She stopped. Abruptly. She could not very well continue this conversation in Mr. Bingley's presence! Their situation was awkward enough; but his, she thought, must be still worse.

All thought of her brother was suddenly removed from her head, however, as she witnessed the most becoming expression of heartfelt delight diffusing over the face of the man still kneeling at her side. Mr. Darcy. Her betrothed.

She was brought back from her incredulous reverie by the sound of his voice whispering earnestly "Thank you!" before bringing her hands to his lips again. He then stood and turned to Bingley at last, an expression of unalloyed happiness in his countenance such as his friend had never seen him display, in the entire course of their acquaintance.

Bingley cleared his voice, embarrassed as never before.

"I ... hm! ... believe I should ... I understand ... congratulations are in order!" he eventually finished and advanced with his hand outstretched. Darcy took it in a firm grip.

"They are indeed, my friend! I am very fortunate - perhaps more so than I deserve! - but be that as it may! As you have had cause to hear for yourself," he added with an odd look, not quite able to forgive his friend the intrusion into what must have been the happiest moment of his life, "Miss Bennet had just agreed to marry me. We are to be brothers after all!" he added, too happy to even consider that his last comment might have been somewhat of a faux-pas, in light of Miss Bingley's all-too-well-known disappointed ambitions. Fortunately, the thought occurred to neither, and no shadow was cast over the moment when Bingley, honestly and heartily, expressed his delight in the prospect of their relationship.

With a soft smile, Elizabeth acknowledged the proof of their long-standing bond of friendship, and counted amongst her blessings the fact that her dearest sister and herself will never suffer the pain of drifting apart because their chosen partners in life could not like or respect each other.

"Gentlemen, if you would excuse me," she suddenly said. "I have just been shamefully reminded that I have a dear sister who must not be longer neglected!" And, with a swish of skirts, a curtsey and an impish smile to her betrothed, she vanished from the library.

Darcy followed immediately, with a perfunctory "You will excuse me, Bingley!" and, unlike the previous day, this time his friend made no attempt to detain him. He went and poured himself a glass of port instead and wandered off to the window to berate and then amuse himself with thoughts of his untimely intrusion, and eventually attempt to make sense of the unexpected denouement. It explained a great many things, he could see that now, and raised a different set of questions as well, but now that he had overcome the initial shock, Bingley could be nothing but delighted for them. They were a good match, come to think of it, in every way - or at least in every way that mattered. And they would be happy, although their felicity would undoubtedly be of the more tempestuous variety than the one he himself and his darling Jane shared.

For his own part, he was overjoyed that his best friend was to become his brother. And Jane would undoubtedly be pleased. He could not wait to talk to her of it! Elizabeth was presumably with her now, unless she was still detained in the hallway! Jane would undoubtedly prefer to hear it from her rather than from himself, with all the details which he - mercifully - did not have, and to which only a conversation between sisters could possibly do justice.

Bingley took his time, briefly wondering just how long should he allow for it, quite determined that he had interrupted one too many private conversations that day as it was. He got his answer not much later, when he caught a glimpse of the newly engaged couple walking away from the house, at a sedate pace. With a light, satisfied tap on the windowsill, Bingley abandoned his unfinished glass and went in search of his wife.

Having left his friend in the library, Darcy lost no time in following Elizabeth down the wide corridor. At the sound of his footsteps, she turned, the brightest glow lighting up her countenance. He caught up with her in a few strides and took her hands, for once in his life quite indifferent to the fact that they might be observed.

"Wait! Please, wait!" he said hurriedly. "I cannot bear to see you leave so soon! Tell me again!"

"Yes! I will marry you. Nothing could make me happier," she complied with a smile, her head slightly tilted to one side as she caressed his fingers with hers.

The look of devotion in her eyes was beyond everything he had dared hope for and Darcy sighed at the thought that he was not so utterly lost to all sense of shame as to succumb to the temptation to kiss her, then and there. As he could not do that, he pressed his lips against her hands instead.

"Walk with me, Elizabeth," he urged earnestly. "Walk with me and persuade me that I have not dreamt all this!"

She laughed lightly at that.

"I rather concur with the sentiment! Yes, I will walk with you, Mr. Darcy. But I should see Jane first! I would not on any account trifle with her affectionate solicitude; or allow her to hear it from anyone but myself!"

"No, indeed!" he smiled and reluctantly released her hands. "I should say the same about my own sister, in effect. She would be delighted! She thinks very highly of you."

It took them little time to ascertain the whereabouts of Mrs. Bingley and Miss Darcy and, upon the butler's recommendation, they repaired to the drawing room, to find the ladies sitting together, in what appeared to be earnest and, for Georgiana, quite animated conversation. Had he not known better, Darcy could have well suspected that it involved either himself or Elizabeth or both, for their sisters had become very quiet and rather conspicuous upon their entrance. The ladies looked up and, by all accounts, lost little time in accurately guessing what was about to be imparted, for Jane smiled brightly at them both, while Georgiana blushed with delighted anticipation. A brief look was exchanged between Elizabeth and himself and, with a smile and a nod, Darcy ceded the floor. Elizabeth went to sit with her sister and his, while Darcy remained standing at her side.

"I hope you would both be pleased to know that Mr. Darcy and I have just become engaged," Elizabeth announced, to everyone's delight and utter lack of surprise.

In other circumstances, a flurry of questions would have followed from either side, had they been alone with their respective sibling, but as it was, both Mrs. Bingley and Miss Darcy expressed only their great joy at the intelligence, in the full knowledge that the details will have to wait.

"Nothing could give either Bingley or myself more delight!" Jane added, with great fondness. "Have you shared your news with my husband?"

"Oh, yes - very much so!" was Darcy's succinct reply as he pursed his lips and, hands behind his back, walked over to the mantelpiece.

Somewhat puzzled, Mrs. Bingley cast a glance towards her sister, just in time to notice a sparkle of mischievous amusement in her eyes, before she looked away to conceal a smile. It was quite obvious that there was rather more to the matter than Mr. Darcy was prepared to let on, but Jane held her peace, knowing that, if there was a story to be told, she would undoubtedly hear it soon enough.

"Are we to return to town soon, then, Brother?" Georgiana asked.

"That I cannot say. We have not, as yet, discussed any of the details, but ..."

He turned to Elizabeth with a smile, quick to recognise the opportunity to excuse themselves.

"I daresay now would be as good a time as any. Would you care to take a turn with me, Miss Bennet, so that we might resolve upon such matters?"

Elizabeth agreed with alacrity and, before too long, they were able to walk away from the house and from those whose society, although delightful at any other time, was at the moment hardly indispensable to their felicity. Little or no time was spent, however, on making plans for the future. The novelty of their declared attachment and the happiness their current situation produced was much more likely to occupy their minds. Perhaps for the first time in her life, Elizabeth found herself devoid of both the ability and the inclination to say much. She was, however, more than happy to listen, and he told her of feelings which, in proving of what importance she was to him, made his affection every moment more valuable.

There was a lot he could not speak of, and what was better left unsaid weighed on him, but there was nothing to it. He could not mention the many months that he had longed for her, nor should he speak of the prideful obstinacy that had kept him away. But he could tell her everything else.

It was entirely out of character, he knew, for him to bare his soul in like fashion. Never one for loquaciousness, he had always mistrusted or despised abundance of words, as a sign of disingenuousness or, at best, a weak understanding - with the notable exceptions of his cousin and Bingley. As for the inclination to talk of one's emotions, it was, he had found, more often than not in reverse proportion to the depth of one's feeling. And yet, the avowal of all that he felt, and had long felt for Elizabeth was effortlessly forthcoming. It was natural and just. He could speak of his thoughts. His hopes. His passionate admiration and regard. He could tell her that, for a long time now, she had been with him wherever he went. In town and elsewhere, and above all, at Pemberley. That he had long felt that she belonged there, giving a new breath of life to the only place he truly could call home. That it would be one of his greatest joys to be able to take her to Pemberley at last.

Elizabeth had looked up for a moment at this, before observing quietly, almost hesitantly.

"You forget that I have already been to Pemberley..."

"Yes. So you have..." Darcy replied uncomfortably, unwelcome recollections suddenly intruding to cast dark shadows over the moment's brightness.

"I have yet to see a place more happily situated," Elizabeth offered, in an attempt to draw him from his unpleasant musings, as she could not but think that it was much too soon to discuss that unfortunate chain of events, of which he was, by now, undoubtedly well informed.

"I wish I had been there to welcome you," he replied wistfully but abruptly ceased speaking as, to his surprise and not insubstantial pleasure, a small hand came to rest on his sleeve in an affectionate offer of comfort. He lifted his eyes towards her, only to see the most charming blush overspreading her countenance.

"You will be," she whispered at last and breath caught in his throat at the overwhelming thought.

She had agreed to be his wife. She will be with him, always.

Mistress of his house, mother of his children, his joy and his purpose, for the rest of their days.

His hand came up to caress her cheek, almost by its own volition.

"You have made me so happy, Elizabeth, so very, very happy... Words fail me..."

He stopped. There was nothing left for him to say about the light she had brought to his life, nothing that she did not know already. Slowly, tentatively, his lips found hers in a light and very gentle kiss, nothing more than the briefest touch. A warm puff of air brushed against his face as she gave a little sigh of surprise. He swallowed, hard, and reluctantly withdrew, just far enough to search her eyes for her response and further consent. A rosy hue crept back into her cheeks and her lips slowly curled into a vague, misty smile, before she stood on tiptoe to close the distance between them. For now, there was no further need for words.

Elizabeth ran up the stairs towards her own chamber to dress. They had been walking for hours, quite predictably oblivious to their surroundings, their direction and the time. Under the circumstances, it was nothing short of wonderful that they happened to be within reasonable distance of the house when it was time for dinner, without the embarrassment and imposition of a search party!

She laughed aloud at the absurdity of her own reflections, a bright, sparkling little peal of laughter that seemed to uncontrollably burst forth from the unexpected, boundless happiness that had become her life. She reached the upper floor and covered her mouth in passing embarrassment as her eyes suddenly rested on Georgiana, already dressed for dinner and ready to make her way downstairs.

"Forgive me, I was..."

She stopped. There was little she could say.

In the clouds? Utterly, completely in love with your brother? Happier than ever?

To her surprise, Georgiana put her arms around her in a quick but very warm embrace.

"Thank you, Elizabeth!" she exclaimed earnestly. "I have never seen Fitzwilliam as happy in my entire life!"

"Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth asked, rather puzzled.

The Colonel? What had he to do with it?

"My brother," Georgiana replied with a rather odd look and Elizabeth blushed at the sudden perception that it was probably for the first time that she had heard of Mr. Darcy referred to by his Christian name. She had had no cause to, previously, of course, and it engendered a small smile of surprise to think that she had known the gentleman for about ten or eleven months now, she had promised herself in marriage to him that very morning, and yet it was only then that she had learned his name. Fitzwilliam Darcy.

It suits him, she thought. It had ... resonance. And distinction. And charm. In point of fact, it appeared to her that it held all that she knew of him, all in one name.

"What's in a name?"(*)

The beauty of the long-ago learned lines returned to her, bringing back memories of a very young girl, no more than fifteen years of age, curled up with the revered tome in a large chair by the window, in her father's library.

"... that which we call a rose,

By any other name would smell as sweet;" (*)

That's as may be! Elizabeth thought, amused to discover that she could not quite imagine him having any other name, come to think of it.

"'Fitzwilliam' was my mother's maiden name, as you probably have guessed by now," Georgiana explained further, bringing Elizabeth back from her reverie. "Lady Anne Fitzwilliam, as was," she added with a small sigh which had found its way into Elizabeth's heart, as she remembered the intelligence acquired last autumn, that Miss Darcy had lost her mother in her infancy, and then her father, almost six years ago. Suddenly, her mind conjured up the picture of the fair-haired young girl of ten and her very solemn older brother, living alone in that beautiful but much too quiet house and depending solely on each other for every ounce of warmth and happiness and comfort. The poignancy of the picture tore at her heart. And not for the first time, she wished him all the happiness that was his just desert, and hoped it would be in her power to ensure that it would be his to enjoy.

(*)William Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene II

There could not have been a greater contrast between the dismal atmosphere at dinner the night before, and the festive air that surrounded their small party gathered around the table, in an almost palpable halo of joy. There was none of the hesitant, faltering discourse, none of the heavy cloak of discomfort that had hung above and stifled them.

The seating arrangements were once more a credit to Mrs. Bingley's good sense, for this time Darcy and Elizabeth were placed next to each other, close enough to be acutely and unsettlingly aware of each other's presence. Neither were inclined to say much. Darcy was not of a disposition in which happiness overflows in mirth and as for Elizabeth, the novelty of their understanding, their doubtless felicity, measured against what the reverse had been, was enough to keep her mind so busily engaged that she did not always know when she was silent.

By mutual agreement, they have not separated after dinner and the evening passed in enjoyable, light-hearted conversation, carried mostly by the Bingleys and Fitzwilliam, with occasional contributions from Georgiana.

After a while, Elizabeth agreed to play for the company, although she could not, by any means, be prevailed upon to sing. It came as no surprise to anyone when Darcy offered to sit with her and turn the pages and no-one but Georgiana was able to tell that, occasionally, the tempo was not quite what it should have been, particularly towards the end of the page. Fortunately, thorough knowledge of music was lacking amongst the rest of the party. To them, the fact that no false notes were played was quite enough to satisfy.

Elizabeth could not remain at the instrument above a half-hour, as the effort of sparing some attention to the music in order to ensure a tolerable performance was proving more taxing than she would have thought. Darcy's presence at her elbow was - she found - thoroughly distracting. Delectably so, but distracting nevertheless. She eventually put the music sheets away and allowed him to reluctantly escort her back to the others, where she took a seat next to Georgiana, quite happy to be delectably distracted by his person while doing nothing more demanding than chatting to his sister. Darcy, followed by the rest of the party, soon joined in their conversation and they spoke of books and music and Pemberley and town, of plays and concerts and little childhood memories, favourite walks and favourite places and before they knew it, the hour to retire had come and gone. Eventually, with no small amount of surprise, Elizabeth noticed the time, and also, with substantial guilt, Jane's drawn countenance. Hastily, she rose and declared herself ready to retire and Georgiana soon followed suit.

Darcy escorted them both to the bottom of the stairs and followed them with his eyes, as the young ladies dearest to his heart ascended to the upper floor, arms linked and laughing softly at something or other. When she reached the landing, Elizabeth turned to smile at him and Darcy bowed in return, very deeply. Then, as soon as she disappeared from sight, he gave a short, impatient huff and repaired to the games' room in search for an occupation - and some of his friend's brandy, with any luck.

He found the latter without any difficulty and was pondering the wisdom of honing his skills at the billiards table, when Fitzwilliam walked into the room, from the darkened hallway.

"Cousin."

"Richard."

Fitzwilliam advanced towards him with his hand outstretched.

"I am happy for you. I wish you joy" he said, simply.

There was nothing more to say. Everything else had been said already.

Darcy put down his glass and shook the proffered hand as he nodded his thanks and the understanding of the sentiment. To the utter amazement of both, Fitzwilliam's arm went about his cousin's shoulders in a tight and very brief clasp, before the Colonel awkwardly turned away.

"Yes, well!" he huffed, as he cleared his voice. "Care for a game, Darcy?"

"Shortly, yes, I thank you," his cousin replied, not altogether recovered from his astonishment.

They must have been no more than boys last time either of them had even considered such an open manifestation of their brotherly affection, despite their acknowledged closeness. It was simply not done, nor was it in the nature of either. And yet, on this occasion at least, it had not been out of place. On the contrary. It had been heart-warming and oddly reassuring.

Darcy cleared his voice as well before retrieving his glass.

"I was actually hoping to have a word with Bingley," he owned. "Or has he retired?"

"No, I should imagine not. I believe he said he will join us shortly."

"Brandy?"

"No, I'd rather not, I thank you. I think I shall settle for port instead."

Fitzwilliam accepted a glass from his cousin and lowered himself in one of the chairs. He was about to ask Darcy about his plans for returning to town to inform their relations of his engagement, but thought better of it. It was not a pleasant prospect, for a variety of reasons, and there had been quite enough unpleasant discussions between them lately. For once, their silence was companionable as they both toyed with their drinks, more or less lost in their own thoughts.

"Oh! I thought you had both retired for the night!" Bingley's cheerful voice brought them back.

Fitzwilliam stood.

"No, not as such. I was in some danger of drifting off to sleep in your billiards room, though," he quipped, as he turned to place his empty glass on a nearby table.

"Not to be encouraged," Bingley laughed. "Will you not join me for a game instead? Darcy?" he inquired of his friend as well, as he divested himself of his dinner jacket.

Fitzwilliam agreed and went to select a cue, but Darcy declined once more. He came to stand at the end of the billiard table, swilling his brandy in his glass and wondering how he could possibly work the question foremost on his mind into casual conversation. It did not take him long to resolve that it could not be done, so he sipped his drink, then came straight to the point.

"You would not happen to know whose consent I should be seeking, Bingley? I did not wish to inquire it of Miss Bennet - or Mrs. Bingley, for that matter. Hardly sensitive, by all accounts."

"Consent?" his friend asked, intent upon lining up his shot.

"Yes. Consent. To marry Miss Bennet. Not yours, I daresay, despite the fact that your recent displays of brotherly concern tends to indicate the contrary," he added, slightly put out by his friend's apparent obtuseness, as well as his untimely interference over the last couple of days.

Bingley looked up with a laugh at the novel though of acting the part of the figure of authority to his not much older, but substantially more imposing friend. He shook his head. Not an irony his sister Caroline would have appreciated! He took his shot, then offered, in like-for-like retribution for Darcy's display of temper.

"Have you considered their cousin? Mr. Collins?"

Darcy all but choked on his brandy.

"You are not in earnest, Bingley, I hope!"

Of all the unpleasant, weasel-like creatures... The thought of having to approach that man to ask for her hand, of him having that sort of power over Elizabeth almost made him shudder.

"I was rather hoping it was Mrs. Bennet, or their uncle Gardiner..." he added, but to his disappointment, Bingley shook his head.

"I should not wish for Mr. Gardiner, if I were you. He was not particularly disposed in your favour the other day, when they left Netherfield to return to town..."

Of course. Farringdon. Will the deuced notion forever come to haunt him?

Bingley abandoned his cue and walked to his friend.

"Elizabeth is of age, Darcy," he finally, mercifully, disclosed. "You need not concern yourself with their consent. I would advise, though," he added, with no trace of the earlier banter, "that you make your peace with the Gardiners, as soon as may be. I can assure you that, amongst their relations, it is them that both Jane and Elizabeth feel the closest kinship to."

Darcy nodded, uncomfortably. He did not need Bingley's assurances to ascertain that.

He finished his drink and squared his shoulders.

It had to be done and, one way or another, it shall be, and he saw no reason to lose sleep over it.

He had Elizabeth's consent, and she was of age. That, amongst others, was reason enough.

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