Part XIX.

The evenings spent at Rosings by the occupants of Hunsford now passed more agreeably with the addition of the Darcys and Colonel Fitzwilliam. Anxious to please her daughter, Lady Catherine submitted to having her parson and his guests for dinner almost every evening, commencing but a day after her arrival. With astonishment did she witness the degree that her share of converse was not sought as often as the guests, and instead she had to resort to disapproving glares and snorts in order to express her views.

Elizabeth found herself spending most of her days at Rosings, in the company of Anne and Miss Darcy, with the frequent additions of Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam. His affability in comparison to his cousin differed greatly. He enjoyed lively conversation, professed an appreciation of music and debate, and displayed a wide knowledge of books and travelling, the latter of which attested to his position in military circles.

As for her friend, Anne seemed well enough, at least to all outwardly appearances. By the time of their first week at Rosings, however, Elizabeth descried sufficient to conclude that Lady Catherine had yet to be told of the fate which would soon befall her daughter, for in her absence Anne would cough with greater frequency and her features reverted to paleness. From that moment Elizabeth took part in the act, helping her friend to conceal whenever she needed the assistance. Whenever she acted so, it was with sadness, knowing by the oft repetition, that her friend had not long until concealment was no longer an option.

In any case, whatever the occasion, barring the evening engagements, she always had Mr Darcy as escort on her return to the parsonage. The distance between his Aunt's estate and the parsonage was many a afternoon taken up by conversation, as Elizabeth's impression of her friend's husband grew better and better. She felt much distress upon first encountering him and discerning by his form that he had neglected himself dreadfully in his concern for Anne, but as the weeks of their stay progressed, she witnessed to her relief some improvement if perhaps only slight. Despite this, he was well in all other respects, and his usual habitual reserve gradually slipped away, as Elizabeth built a greater intimacy than she had ever known with a gentleman not related to her.

For the gentleman in question, the effect of her increased acquaintance produced within him quite the contrary. As another day passed in her company, Darcy's torture grew. His absence from her had done nothing to alter his feelings, and upon his encountering her in the woods at Rosings, he had realised that his attempts to forget her were in vain. With every passing moment his love for her grew to unbearable limits, and his guilt at having such feelings doubled. At Rosings there was very little to do besides ride, billiards, or read, his estate was in good order thanks to the weeks spent on it in town via correspondence, and since his avoidance had only strengthened his inability to do without her, Darcy could do naught but spend his time with her. When they were in company with his wife and sister, the feelings were less overwhelming, but when the time came to escort her home as Anne dictated, every sense in his body and soul called out to him to declare to her the truth he had so long concealed. And he knew full well he could not.

To make matters worse, while this internal battle was raging, another more urgent concern came to the floor. On the first day of April, Anne passed out at the breakfast table. Somehow, between Lady Catherine's frantic lecturing and the frightened servants, Darcy swept her up into his arms and to her apartments upstairs. The physician was sent for at once. While he examined the patient, Darcy quietly gave the fatal news to his Aunt. Lady Catherine's reaction was extreme, and by the time the physician was down, she was preaching to her nephew on priorities and would not allow for any interruption.

When the Hunsford party, having not been informed, came for afternoon tea, the house was still in uproar. The Colonel and Georgiana were there to receive them, and Elizabeth, upon seeing the despair written on their features, requested to see Anne immediately. Georgiana, who was unaccustomed to the task of delivering bad news, took her up, leaving the Colonel to inform Mr and Mrs Collins.

Darcy looked up the moment she had entered the room, barely noticing her escort, who, with memories of her father's illness rendering her incapable of attending, left to rejoin her cousin. His intense gaze at her would, at any other time, caused Elizabeth to wonder, but she could not focus on him, only Anne. She rushed to her friend's side, gratefully accepting the chair he quitted, and took her hand. In reply she received just a listless glance. Noticing her other hand was also held, Elizabeth glanced up to offer compassion at the mother.

Lady Catherine stared at her, then at her nephew. In her grief she saw her worse fears, and exploded angrily at the two. "Get out!"

"Aunt..."

"Do you think I am so unseeing? I know what is in your minds. This is how you repay all my attentions to you, Miss Bennet, with arts and allurements? Well, you shall never succeed. The position which you have the presumption to aspire for is already filled. My daughter's condition is to be expected, and I expect you, nephew, to do your duty, and cast whatever pleasures you find in this upstart aside for the good of your heritage, your heir and your wife! Now, I will not be swayed any longer. Get out!"

They had no choice. Elizabeth, with a last look at Anne, quitted the chamber, not caring to see if anyone followed. As she rushed angrily downstairs, a voice called out to halt her.

"Miss Bennet!"

It was Darcy. "I apologise for my Aunt. She has difficulty believing the news we told her of this morning." He joined her a few steps above. "When Anne passed out at breakfast, she became convinced and would not be persuaded otherwise. I am sorry if she has hurt you."

"She has not hurt me, only angered me," Elizabeth replied, the emotion showing in her eyes. "How could she think things like that of you?"

"I do not know," Darcy answered, hoping his feelings remained concealed. Sighing he turned to lean on the banister. "I suppose though, that she is remembering my previous reluctance. Before.. Ramsgate... I fought every attempt to marry Anne." He closed his eyes, forcing back the sudden tears. "Perhaps I should have given a show of courting my cousin, instead of just relying that her long held wish would convince away any doubts."

"You did what you thought was best," Elizabeth reminded him. "No amount of foresight could have predicted this." She paused. "Do you want us to leave?"

"Never." The word was uttered before he could prevent it. Gathering himself he tried again. "I mean, please stay, if you could. Georgiana will need the distraction." He took a deep breath, attempting to calm himself. "Come, let us go down. I'll speak to the household, make sure everything is arranged."

Elizabeth arrived at Rosings the next morning for breakfast, at the request of Miss Darcy, to find the that the insanity which had reigned the house the day before, to be of a temporary nature. To the relief of all assembled, Lady Catherine was in her chamber, the physician having persuaded her to partake of some laudanum. To the even greater comfort, Anne was down from her bed, and eating, as if yesterday had never occurred.

After the meal the gentlemen departed for a ride and the ladies passed the day much as they had passed many before in each other's company, until Lady Catherine awoke in the late afternoon, whereupon Elizabeth thought it best to leave.

The days reverted to their previous fashion.

The door to the Parlour closed, and Elizabeth sank into a chair, her excuse of a headache now very much a reality. Determined to distract herself from what was at present only a slight discomfort, she chose for her employ the examination of all the letters she had received since her arrival at Hunsford.

Five minutes later, however, she had to abandon the attempt, for any distraction was impossible. The Colonel's words would not stop repeating themselves in her head. Leaning back in the chair, she forced herself to recollect all the events which had lead this.

Eight days after her friend's collapse at breakfast had passed, and Elizabeth had spent the majority of each one at Rosings. There was difference however, in the manner of their passing; as she did not see the gentlemen except for meals and returned to the parsonage only after supper each evening with her cousin and sister. At first she had thought nothing of it, knowing that the nephew would wish his Aunt and mother in law to see that there was no truth in her delusion. As the days wore on, certain conversations from the past began to play in her mind though, causing her to question the once firm belief of his character.

Matters had risen to a head when, only hours ago, she had encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam in the park. After exchanging the usual salutations, conversation had drifted on his cousins and their marriage, whereupon all the implications had suddenly made sense. At first, the clarity seemed preposterous; she had heard from the gentleman's own lips his intent to give Anne as much happiness as he could, therefore any illicit dealings would be impossible. Yet the idea would persist to remain in her thoughts, even going so far as to bring certain comments of his as further testament to it truth, until Elizabeth had lost all courage to face him that evening.

Her cousin had done nothing to help the conflict in her mind by lecturing her on the insult her absence would be to Lady Catherine and her daughter, insisting that she bravely attend, however ill she felt. Mary then interceded, much to Elizabeth's relief, reminding her husband that they would be late if they did not leave soon and so concerned did Mr Collins become on that point, that they departed the parsonage that very second.

Thus you have all the particulars as to why our heroine is in the state you read her to be in now. Be assured, dear readers, that Colonel Fitzwilliam's words did not betray his suspicions about the affection his cousin held for Miss Bennet. Indeed his words were only intended to be a general and philosophical rumination upon the nature of such things, and any reference that Miss Bennet might have gathered from the conversation was accidental. Indeed, it is only a few minutes ago that the Colonel realised these same thoughts she is now experiencing, and is at present regretting that he ever discussed the matter in the first place. It should also be known that he has confessed the conversation to his cousin, who is making his way to the parsonage right now.

Elizabeth was surprised when Mr Darcy entered just as the ache had begun to lessen. In a hurried manner he inquired after her health, imputing his visit to a wish of hearing that she were better. She, in no mood to be in company, answered with cold civility. He sat down for a few moments, and then getting up walked about the room. Elizabeth was surprised, but said not a word. After a silence of several minutes he resumed his seat, casting an agitated look at the mantle-piece.

Another silence ensued, with she glancing at him and he at her, each hoping the other would be the first to break it, for neither felt up to speaking. Finally, Elizabeth could stand it no longer, and inquired after Anne.

Her name seemed to at last acquaint him with his situation. Glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time, his expression of agitation faded, though not without considerable struggle. Steeling himself, he rose from the chair and announced his intention to leave.

Elizabeth rose to say farewell, but this came to be her undoing. For quite suddenly and without forewarning, a sharp pain shot through her head and she collapsed on the floor. At least she would have, had not he, seeing the torment in her fine eyes, acted so quickly, coming behind her so she fell into his arms.

As unconsciousness stole upon her, Darcy gently lifted her to the chaise-long. Softly he raised his hand to her head and felt for fever. Caressing her smooth skin, he kneeled by her side and laid the most tender of kisses upon her face. Hovering over her, he uttered huskily, "you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." Brushing a curl aside, he watched her slip into the realm of sleep, before and with a great sigh, he rose from her to ring the bell.

He awaited for the maid to enter, and then quietly departed.

"Darcy, we quite despaired of you," Colonel Fitzwilliam commented. His cousin merely offered him a tired Friday-face¹ in reply. After quitting Hunsford, he had walked the long way back to Rosings in order to talk some sense into himself and make him realise just how close he had come to letting Elizabeth know his feelings. And that's another thing, no more Elizabeth. She is and always shall be Miss Bennet to you, for you will never have that privilege.

"Is that my nephew?" Lady Catherine shouted from the Drawing Room. "Where have you been? Let him come in and explain himself, Fitzwilliam."

"No," Darcy uttered involuntarily. "Forgive me. But I have a pressing matter of business." He started up the stairs, but was prevented by a restraining arm.

"You had better come to the Drawing Room, Darce," the Colonel began in a solemn voice, leading him through the hall.

The gentlemen entered to find their Aunt standing imposingly at the door, her features stern and unyielding. Behind, Mr Collins held his hands in prayer, his face grim and suitably devout, his wife nowhere to be seen. "Nephew," his Aunt began when Darcy had closed the door, "if you had graced us with your presence a little longer this would not be necessary. Nonetheless, I know however much you ignore your priorities, you cannot avoid this one. My daughter is upstairs. The physician is with her." She raised her voice. "I did not command you to go." Darcy retreated back to his previous position. "The physician's judgement is that she does not have long. Though that is not my opinion, I shall expect you, nephew, to obey my wishes and attend to her side, as a husband should. You have responsibilities that can not be treated with the contempt you have so far shown them. From this time you are to spend your every waking moment in her company. I shall prefer it if you did not sleep. Now you may go."

Darcy bowed, and left the room. Outside, his features relaxed, and he just stopped himself from collapsing to the floor. If it were possible, he felt more grief and guilt than before. He had deserted her when she needed him the most. He had neglected both of them. As he marched up the stairs, he felt heart split, one half drifting from the house to the parsonage and the other to the woman he had left sleeping upon the Parlour sofa.

1. Friday-face: Basically the same meaning as brownstudy, gloomy, grave and mournful. From Sir James Murray's New English Dictionary, 1901. I'm taking a chance that the phrase extends this far back and it is somewhat ironical, as the day in question is meant to be a Thursday, for which authority I rely on Ellen Moody's calendar for P&P, which can be accessed via the links page at Pemberley.com.

Part XX.

When Elizabeth awoke the next morning, it was without any idea of how she had come to be in her bedchamber. The events of last night she could not bring to her mind, other than saying farewell to her sister and cousin as they departed for Rosings. Everything that had occurred afterwards was a complete blank. Her room appeared normal, nothing was disturbed or out of place that could reveal a clue as to how she had passed her time, and why she had escaped an evening under the accusing eye of Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

Matters were not improved by the time she had come down for breakfast, to find that the Parlour was devoid of all but the food that Mr Collins' had not managed to scoff down before his usual pre-midday exertions. A note addressed to her from his wife sat quietly on her plate and, upon the closing of the door, a solemn faced Colonel Fitzwilliam was revealed. Barely had she time to take in all that she saw and add it to the other puzzling sights, before she was asked to sit down and given the terrible news of Anne's latest collapse. Her heart awoke the quiet dread that was once more alive in her head. Her friend had not long.

The Colonel persuaded her to eat, and then escorted her outside, to the rich blue damask upholstery of the Darcy coach. During the short journey, oblivious to the passing countryside, Elizabeth read her sister's note, learning that her cousin was at his church, where a service had been call to pray for Mrs Darcy, and that Mary had spent the night by her bedside. Leaning against the back of her seat, her distraught mind seemed not to notice the comfort or her facing passenger, as her eyes gazed beyond the passing greenery, willing the journey to be over.

Rosings Park seemed already to be in mourning as the carriage came to a halt in front of the imposing north face. As she descended from the carriage, Elizabeth noticed the unopened blinds, darkened rooms and empty gardens, palpably casting a shadow over the sunny April day. As she entered the house, it appeared even more shrouded in sadness, the entrance hall giving way to countless fanned out doors, revealing empty rooms. The building, so usual alive with activity and baronial importance, now looked barren and devoid of occupation. The house had said its goodbyes.

Elizabeth parted from Colonel Fitzwilliam to the upper floors. She found her sister nearly asleep from exhaustion in a chair by the large ornate four poster that practically conquered the bedchamber. In the rich sheets, Anne lay. Her friend was shocked at her appearance. Too early did she have the quietus pallor upon her. Shrunken, pale cheeks accompanied limp arms. A cold but ineffectual compress covered her forehead. Her eyes were closed.

Nothing seemed real. Elizabeth woke Mrs Collins and shepherded her out of the room in a trance-like state. As if in a dream she took the chair, reached out, and placed her hand over the thin ailing, one of her friend that lay limp upon the sheets. Unable to look at Anne's stricken face, she glanced at the room. No candles had been lit, applying an even more grave sense to the dark mahogany furniture. Mural walls stared at the scene before them, their own depiction's acquiring a new tragedy. In short, nothing offered hope. She clutched the hand, trying to ignore the troubled pulse and cried for a miracle which she knew would never arrive.

With much gloomy deliberation Colonel Fitzwilliam made his way through the empty and silent rooms to the library. Foregoing a knock that would be refused admittance, he entered the dark room and found the object of his quest; encased in one of the dark green leather armchairs, staring morosely at a half-empty decanter of whiskey. Richard took a long, hard look at the hunched figure, and silently sat opposite him.

"What am I to do Rich?" His cousin asked, surprising him, for the Colonel had not thought that Darcy had noticed his presence. "I do not know what to do." He raised his head and fixed his eyes imploringly on his cousin. "Give me an occupation or I shall run mad."

Richard looked into Darcy's eyes and saw the torment, the guilt, apparent for the first time in months. He wondered how long his friend had been carrying the burdens. The control, the carefully rationalised walls that usually formed whenever his emotions, his equilibrium were attacked, enabling him to appear still detached and calm that Richard had always admired in his cousin, were gone, no trace of them remained. His entire form appeared older than his years. Obscurely his mind recalled the night before, wracked with the outraged voice of Lady Catherine. She had yelled continuously at her son in law, Darcy all the while sitting silently before her, offering no defence. It was only now that Richard knew why. "Georgiana is in the music room," he replied softly, remembering, as he had passed the room, the sounds of the most mournful tunes emanating from the gap underneath the door. "All she has is child memories of illness and what it can do. Miss Bennet is with Anne. If you cannot be strong for your wife, be strong for your sister."

Darcy nodded, and left the room. As the door closed with click, Richard took the decanter from the table and poured himself a glass. The liquid brought little comfort. He dreaded to think what else the coming days would bring. A part of him wanted his leave over, to be back in Spain, fighting battles made of gun, sword, canister, shot and shell. Not the emotions of illness and death. He felt guilty for wishing himself away, but also felt unable to help anyone. His Aunt was upstairs, sleeping off another of the physician's laudanum doses. Miss Bennet was with Anne. Mr Collins in his Parish. Mrs Collins most likely abed, and he had sent Darce to his sister. His parents and brother had been informed by express the night before. The estate had been comfortably and effortlessly run by Lady Catherine's Steward since Sir Lewis' death, and besides, it was a task that he had little experience in. There was nothing else that needed to be done, and to pass the time by playing billiards, or horse riding would be completely inappropriate.

Outside the sun rose higher, doing nothing to alter the mourning house. Richard emptied his glass and stood. He remembered his cousin's face, the torment etched in his eyes, and the struggle to rise from it, to draw upon the strength that previously had helped him many times before. He quitted the library, his decision made. He would help his cousin and friend, prevent him from loosing control completely. There would be time enough for that later.

Somehow, the day passed, although the occupants of Rosings and Hunsford parish hardly noticed. The weather surrendered to the state of the former, rainclouds replacing sunshine, grey sky replacing blue. Its sudden change made the building look worse, even to the impartial observer.

Inside the house was still silent, none of its guests or occupants daring to make the slightest sound for fear of it damaging the fragile state of their young mistress. She herself did not even notice. In fact, there was great concern about if she had noticed anything since her collapse. She had passed the day after it in a restless sleep, broken frequently by coughing that seemed to have no end, and now her unmoving form threatened the same activity once more. Nothing brought her comfort. Every draught of doctors and old wives tales had been attempted, and failed. Lady Catherine forbade the scarifier,¹ lancet and leeches being used, leaving only those who watched over her daughter to do nothing other than holding her hand and hope for the worse to pass.

The Hunsford guests had spent the night at Rosings, Elizabeth in the chair she had occupied most of the day, watching over her friend, gripping her hand, afraid to fall asleep or relax in case Anne grew even weaker. Throughout the day she had attended her, propping her up when she coughed, holding the bowl underneath, changing the compress, trying in vain to feed her the broth proscribed. Mary replaced her sister at the daylight of that second morning, leaving Elizabeth to wander the house in an attempt to distract her mind and make it face some sleep.

She found the gentlemen in the Music Room with Miss Darcy, who sat motionless at the pianoforte, watching her brother. He was by a window, trying to escape the room, only turning at Elizabeth's entrance. One look at his expression was enough. Elizabeth left the building for a walk before the rain that was to come, rebuking herself for misjudging his character. She knew not why now she had ever supposed him to be in love with another. The concern for his cousin ran deep on features, clearly marked for anyone to see. He had not the room to care for someone else at the same time, despite his marriage of convenience. The speculation spoken by Colonel Fitzwilliam had been but that; nothing more. It had be stupid and prejudicial to interpret it any other way, especially the way that she had done so. He did not deserve her condemnation, nor did she have a right to give it, let alone believe it. She had been so wrong. She who prided herself on intelligence, discernment and professed to know a person by their actions, expressions, manner and converse. She could not have been more blind. Her sister Jane's generous candour would have been far more wise to adopt.

With all this in mind did Elizabeth return to the house, to find it in uproar. Lady Catherine was awake, and yelling, as Lizzy soon discovered, at Georgiana, who was now alone in the Music Room. Upon her entrance the elder woman stopped, glanced at her, snorted in contempt and left. Georgiana burst into tears. Elizabeth pulled the girl into her arms, and carefully helped to calm down. Slowly the circumstances were revealed; how she had been playing the harp when her Aunt had come into the room. Instantly Lady Catherine had attacked, accusing her young niece of neglecting her cousin and sister by not taking part in the bedside vigil, and playing her music while Anne lay dying upstairs. Georgiana had tried to explain that she felt it beyond her, her memories of her father's sickroom making her struggle to breathe, but her Aunt would have none of it.

Elizabeth knew not how, but she managed nonetheless to comfort her friend, see that she partook of a little luncheon, and went to find a servant to fetch it, before making a search for the gentlemen. She found them where she had expected, the library, and acquainted them with the situation. Darcy thanked her, and left to attend his sister, leaving Colonel Fitzwilliam to help Miss Elizabeth to a chair, a fortifying sip of wine and a bite of food before she went back to the sickroom.

She woke with a start, her fine eyes rapidly glancing around the room to see that she was still in Anne's bedchamber. Across from her sat Mr Darcy, his hand gripping Anne's. He nodded a silent good morning. Elizabeth returned to gaze at her friend. She at last seemed to be easier. As she was about to murmur a prayer of relief, Lizzy noticed the other symptoms, ones that bespoke not a recovery, but of the afflicted surrender to the inevitable. She did not even have to glance at the other attendant to know that he had witnessed the same.

The day reasserted its dream quality, hours passing with aching slowness. Anne woke at the tenth, causing the room to acquire more people as those who wished to say farewell did so, one by one. Elizabeth, feeling that she was intruding, waited outside until all but herself was left.

Anne did not say much. Elizabeth leaned closely to her, listening carefully to the softly spoken words, pronounced in a rush, for fear she did not time to make her point clear. She glanced up at the one who had been present throughout each visit, unable to leave, and back at her friend, shock and grief overriding the full understanding, but realising what was mainly required of her. Solemnly she uttered the promise.

The room slowly drifted back into stillness. Quietness reigned once more, as the vigil was resumed and the sufferer closed her eyes. Outside the wind swept through the trees and the rain crackled upon the window panes. Flames inside the hearth attacked shriven wood. Above, upon the mantle, the clock struck the first stroke of midday and Anne Darcy drew her last breath.

1. Scarifier: A device used in the nineteenth century to bleed for medicinal purposes, replacing the traditional leeches and lancet. A small metal box, concealing a mechanism which released two blades that clasped the skin, cutting it for the blood to run. Those who have read Bernard Cornwell's Sharpe's Eagle, will realise this is where I got the name from. You can also see it on the Carlton adaptation of the book.

Part XXI.

Georgiana, memories of her father's funeral still vivid in her mind, broke down and had to remain at the house. Elizabeth stayed with her, her own mind still in a state of shock about the whole course of events. Anne's death had an unreal quality to it, one that she could not ignore, even though she had witnessed the passing herself. It was not right, it was unfair that she should have so little time on this world compared to others. Elizabeth was well aware of the injustices of life, in her situation it would impossible to avoid them, but nothing seemed just in the death of her friend. She had only known her a short time. Was it really only since Michaelmas last? Time was frequently all too cruel.

The house, if it was possible, mourned all the more deeply now the event had occurred. The sadness, the grief had drifted to the outside, where a thick mist hung over the grounds and formal gardens, clothing everything in its despondence. A coldness, like some deadly plague of centuries past, had inflicted the house and it occupants, one that was impervious to any fire, no matter how blazing. Fortunately none of the occupants seemed to notice it.

Elizabeth knew not how the day had passed. She felt herself at times to be watching the world as if she were an outsider and did not exist within its harrowing aftermath. She did not witness the mist fade into the darkness of the night. She did not remember standing with Georgiana to welcome Lady Catherine, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and Mr Darcy back. She knew nothing of the meal that followed their arrival, nor her escort back to Hunsford Parsonage where a dour-faced Mr and Mrs Collins were waiting.

Indeed the only thing that did manage to somehow force itself upon her notice was a thin piece of paper, folded in half and sealed, lying on the bureau in her bedchamber. Closer examination revealed the directions written by a familiar hand; it was her father. Anxious for some partial relief, no matter how temporary, Elizabeth set herself down and opened the paper. The contents were brief and succinct, as such that might be expected coming from a source so usually hateful of sending correspondence. He asked her to come home. The letter, delayed by the usual modes of travel for such mail, was dated earlier than the express she had sent to Longbourn, informing them of her friend's death. However at this moment, none of that concerned her. She wanted to go home, to put some distance between herself and the weeks at Rosings now so horrible to her. She wanted the chaos of her sisters, the nerves of her mother, her father's whimsical and often barbed humour. But most of all, she wanted Jane. The outlet to whom she could finally pour out all her grief. She had been forced to be strong for others far too long. It was time for her to grieve herself.

The morning brought little alteration to either the people or the weather. At breakfast Elizabeth informed her hosts of her desire to be on the road by the afternoon. Unfortunately proprieties interceded, Mr Collins vowing on their behalf. Elizabeth was forced to delay a day, so she could make proper farewells to those of Rosings.

Whether Lady Catherine had realised her daughter was dead or not was not for Elizabeth to judge. All she could remark about to herself after the visit was that her cousin's patroness seemed unchanged by the circumstances around her. That Miss Bennet should leave so soon was not to be borne. That her father could not do without her was, to Lady Catherine's mind, even more incomprehensible. Daughters are never of so much consequence to a father. Why would she not stay a fortnight longer? If she would stay but another month complete, it would in her power to take Miss Bennet to London herself;- in the Barouche box.

Careful to make sure her host was placated, Elizabeth exclaimed that as sensible of the honour as she was, she believed that she must abide by her original plan. To which, her host's reply was to make inquiries as to if a servant was to be sent with her. When she heard that Miss Bennet's uncle had already taken care of that, Lady Catherine turned to making sure that the equipage by which Elizabeth was to travel would change horses in Bromley, and that if Miss Bennet mentioned her name at the Bell, she would be attended to.

The visit ended shortly after that. Mr Darcy, understandably morose and silent, escorted Elizabeth and the Collins to the carriage. As he held her hand in assistance, Elizabeth had occasion to look into his eyes. Seeing the sadness she felt and more besides, she turned away, only to glance up once more as he pressed a thick envelope into her hands. She had no time to question its author or contents, only to stare at him from the carriage window as it moved out of the front drive.

Not until she was inside the parsonage did Elizabeth open the envelope and take out the two sheets of letter paper contain therein. Even then, it was only to skip to the end and find out the author. It was Anne. Elizabeth rapidly put the letter back, and then out of her immediate sight. She was not ready to face such a letter yet, nor did she presently possess the will or ability to read it. Her emotions and thoughts were still tangled too complexly for the contents of the letter sheets to make any sense to her current frame of mind. Slowly she returned to her trunks and travelling clothes, making a final check on all their content. She placed the letter in a deep pocket of her coat, hoping to read it after she had put a distance between the neighbourhood of Hunsford, Rosings and herself.

The next morning passed slowly. Mr Collins sequestered her company soon after breakfast, thanking her for the honour that she had paid him and her sister in coming to visit them so soon after their happy union. At length did he hold monologue over the bliss that was his marriage with Mary, and how well suited, in fact seemingly designed, they were for one another. Most fervently did he summarise the hours and days spent in the company of his gracious patroness, underlining the value she had showed by choosing to invite them so many times to Rosings Park.

At length the chaise arrived, the trunks were fastened on, the parcels placed within, and it was pronounced to be ready. After an affectionate parting between sisters, Elizabeth was attended to the carriage by Mr Collins, and as they walked down the garden, he commissioned her to send his best respects to all her family, not forgetting his thanks for the kindness he had received at Longbourn in the winter, and his compliments to Mr and Mrs Gardiner, whom he had been so happy to make an acquaintance of at the happy occasion of his wedding. He then handed her in, and the door was on the point of being closed, when he reminded her with some consternation that she had hitherto forgotten to leave any message for the occupants of Rosings.

For that duty however, he was willing to take on himself, and then the door was at last allowed to be closed, whereupon the carriage drove off.

Part XXII.

Elizabeth found the ride first to London then to the last stop before home, too short to take the time to dwell upon her friend's letter. In remained in her pocket throughout each carriage ride. As she stepped out of the post at the Inn which had been appointed as the place to meet her father's carriage, she happened to look up at the building, causing an instant sigh as a result. Her younger sisters were behind an open window, Lydia shouting down to her, laughing at the surprise and gesturing for her to come up. Elizabeth obeyed, trying at the same time not to regret her earlier desire to be returned to chaos of her family life.

"Is this not nice? Is not this an agreeable surprise?" Lydia uttered as soon as Elizabeth had entered the dinning room. "We have been here but an hour and we mean to treat you as well, Lizzy, but you will have to lend us the money, for Kitty and I have just spent it at the delightful shop opposite. Look at this bonnet! I do not think it is very pretty, but I thought I might as well buy it as not."

"It is frightful, isn't it, Lizzy?" Kitty declared.

"Indeed it is. Whatever possessed you to buy it, Lydia?"

"Oh there were two or three much uglier in the shop, but it will not signify much what one wears this summer, for the militia are leaving Meryton in a fortnight."

"Are they indeed?" Elizabeth cried with great satisfaction. Even though she had not seen much of them, she was thankful that her sisters would no longer be subjected to their charms.

"They are to be encamped near Brighton, and I do so want Papa to take us all there for the summer. Especially as Mr Wickham is still safe. Mary King was taken to Liverpool by her uncle."

Lydia's chatter continued throughout lunch and into the carriage ride beyond. It turned from the departure of the regiment to inquiring whether her sister had gained a husband, and laughing protesting to be married herself before she was twenty, on to what she believed a delightful scheme that she and Mrs Forster had played on an officer, then back to the Brighton plan as the carriage drew up Longbourn's drive. Elizabeth focused her mind upon as much of it as she could, unwilling to think of the sadness she had left behind in Kent.

Mrs Bennet rejoiced to see her home, asked constantly after Mrs Collins, and more than once during dinner did her father say voluntarily, "I am glad you are come back, Lizzy."

The party was large for dinner, joined as it had been by the Lucases and Mr and Mrs Charles Bingley. Elizabeth was overjoyed to see her sister looking so well, so happy with her life as the mistress of Netherfield, although they were to move very soon. Being seated so with her father, Jane and Charlotte, she was able to return to serious conversation, though Lydia did try much to rule the discourse in general with her desire for Brighton. It was a topic Elizabeth found her parents to have debated frequently, and adamantly persistent in their positions upon it; her mother for, her father just as steadfastly against.

The next morning, Elizabeth met Charlotte at the gate, and together they called on Jane at Netherfield. It was a meeting which had been planned the night before, and only once in the calm solitude of her sister's new home did Elizabeth feel able to touch upon the subject of the late Mrs Darcy.

Jane and Miss Lucas listened carefully and solemnly to her, as she related everything that passed; having no secrecy between her best friend and sister. With quiet sadness did she tell of Anne's gradual decline, and the reaction of everyone there, including her shameful thoughts concerning misperceptions of Mr Darcy. Jane, anxious that no blame be attached to anyone, struggled hard to reconcile her sister being at fault rather than her husband's dearest friend, neither of which she could rightfully choose between. Charlotte added her usual collected rational side, and soon Elizabeth felt all the better for having confided in them.

Lizzy and Charlotte stayed to luncheon with Mrs Bingley; the conversation drifting on to what had passed while the former was in Kent, and descriptions of her future home; Pearlcoombe Abbey. Sad as she was to part from her sister, Jane was reassured by her Charles' promise that Lizzy could visit them often, and the latter expressing the wish for her sister to be happy, that she was perfectly right in wanting to move from the risk of their mother visiting daily.

Indeed, Jane was happy. Married but three months, and enjoying every moment of it. Netherfield had fallen rapidly under her charms, and was now as besotted as its master. She managed the household perfectly- a relief to the housekeeper, who had feared herself captive of Miss Caroline for life. Mr Bingley joined them at Lunch, and Lizzy was glad to see such love between them as she had hoped for her sister.

She parted from Charlotte at the gate of Longbourn, and entered the house to find it in chaos. The reason was soon discovered; Lydia had been invited to Brighton by Mrs Forster. While she flew about the house exclaiming her ecstasy to everyone, ignoring completely Kitty's repining, Mrs Bennet was in such raptures for her daughter that her husband had been forced to retreat to his Study.

Elizabeth secretly joined him there but half an hour after her return from Netherfield. Her intention was to persuade him to refuse Lydia permission to go, for she could not help but feel a foreboding about the journey; a quiet dread that something would happen which would be a death warrant to her sister's character.

Mr Bennet however, was not so convinced. "Lydia will never be easy until she has exposed herself in some public place, and here is an opportunity that is without any expense or inconvenience to her family."

"If you were aware," Elizabeth persisted, "of the very great disadvantage to us all which arises from Lydia's unguarded and impudent manner, I am sure you would judge differently."

"Do not make yourself so uneasy, Lizzy my dear. Wherever you and Jane are known, you must be respected and valued; and you will not appear to any less advantage for having a couple; I may say even three, very silly sisters. We shall no peace at Longbourn if Lydia does not go to Brighton. Colonel Forster is a sensible man, and she is too poor to be any kind of prey to a fortune hunter. Rest easy, my child, all will turn out well."

Elizabeth was forced to be satisfied with this answer but only a week. For, in the second since her return from Kent, matters concerning Lydia's travelling plans were taken out of their hands. It all began with a visit from Mrs Phillips, who came dashing to the house one late afternoon.

"Sister," cried she, "I hope you still do not mean to let Lydia go to Brighton, indeed it is my hope that if you do, you shall no longer after I tell you my news. A terrible scandal has descended on Meryton this day and you will all be surprised at its source. Louisa, one of Mrs Long's nieces, has been caught inflagrante delicto with Mr Wickham! Mr Wickham of all men! It all started at an evening party Mrs Long had held but last night. The officers were all there as usual, and he and Louisa were in company all evening, until it was time for them to go, and only then did all notice the two were missing. Lousia eventually was to be heard screaming and crying from the garden, causing us all to rush to her, where we encountered the shameful sight."

Told as this had been to all three daughters and their parents, reactions were varied and in the extreme. Mrs Bennet exclaimed in grief for the poor girl, relief when she learnt that Miss Lousia was unharmed, the party having reached them in time. Wickham it was said, had been under arrest since the incident, whilst his activities were being investigated. But alas for Lydia, who had yet to appear in the least concerned, things were already decided; she would not go to Brighton. Her father and mother were, for once, in total agreement about that.

As deeply overjoyed as she had been about going, was Lydia grieved that she no longer could. In vain did she appeal to each and everyone of her sisters to persuade her parents to relent. None would hear her. Kitty was glad that her younger sister was for once disgruntled, and Elizabeth grateful that the danger had emerged before her sister had left with the regiment, though she was distressed at the way it had arisen. Even Jane, whose generosity for her sister's well-being was always paramount, was of the opinion that Lydia must be resigned to remaining at Longbourn for the summer.

If there was one constant in his life, then Mr Darcy was sure that summer that it was his home. Despite all the grief its occupants had suffered, Pemberley seemed to possess a certain mysterious magic in its walls and rooms that produced smiles in even the gloomiest of expressions. The weather had blessed its sandstone with a beautiful golden glow, casting magnificence all over the grounds below.

Darcy, who had ridden himself almost to exhaustion by only stopping to change horses during the journey from Kent to Lambton, now brought his mount to a halt where the valley dipped low and presented him with the first real view of his country home. The sun had just cast its brilliance over the walls and grass, and everything glistened as valuable gems. Enchantment took only a moment; his features brightened, his tears faded away. Dismounting his horse, he let the stallion rest while he walked to the large lake that lay in front of the house. Discarding his jacket, waistcoat and cravat, Darcy dived into the water. He emerged some twenty minutes later, refreshed to the core.

Seeing that his horse was attended to, he walked on to the house, where he was welcomed by the comforting arms of his housekeeper. Mrs Reynolds, having known her master from the age of four, had no trouble in the task of making him drop his masks, and Darcy always felt the better for confiding in her all his troubles. Since the death of his parents she was the only person on whom he could rely to offer impartial judgement on any matter that haunted him.

Together did they sit in the Library, his personal retreat, until dinner. Mrs Reynolds was shocked and saddened at the sight of her master. Knowing as she did the full circumstances of his marriage, she had not expected such a onslaught of grief and guilt to be hanging upon him, as it did. Since she had seen him last, he had lost weight, slept little and laughed even less. His entire appearance and manner conveyed to her such a sadness as she had only witnessed at the passing of his parents. And it had been by luck that she had managed to help him rise out of it then.

Darcy did indeed feel as weak as he looked. He had come alone to Pemberley, leaving his sister in the company of Mrs Annesley at their townhouse, so she was not a witness to his sad state. He was not ready to face any part of the world, a feeling he made clear by requesting that his presence in Derbyshire was to be kept a secret. No one, not his tenants, Kympton nor Lambton, were to be informed that Pemberley was no longer shut up. How long this was to be a requirement, he did not know, and neither did his staff. Mrs Reynolds was determined that it would not outrun the summer, and made sure that every other member of the household, strove to ensure the same.

Mr Darcy however, noticed not. Nor did he notice the passage of days, spending time involved with accounts, ledgers, and all nature of things which contributed to his fortunes, without any desire for distraction. He could not yet bare to face the world, nor did he feel ready to read the letter that had remained in his bureau since his luggage had arrived from Kent. He already knew the identity of its author; and it was this alone which drove him away from its drawer, for it related to all the other matters which caused his grief and guilt.

For, if there was one similarity between our hero and heroine that summer of 1812, it was that neither of them could read the letters Anne had penned them. Thus, neither of them were to know that, had they risked doing so, all their feelings of guilt would be forever washed away.

Part XXIII.

Anne did not do it justice. That was the foremost thought which entered Elizabeth's head upon first encountering Pemberley. She had heard her late friend's description of her Derbyshire home many times, including the best stop along the entrance way from which to view the place. Now, as she sat with her Aunt and Uncle Gardiner in their carriage viewing the country house, Elizabeth also realised that no one could really describe Pemberley and do justice to the reality.

A part of her had been concerned at visiting the place so soon after Anne's death, but after being assured by the servant who had attended them at the Inn that the family were not in residence for the summer, she had agreed to her Aunt's desire. And, as she told Mrs Gardiner her opinion of Pemberley, she was glad that she had.

The carriage drove on to the entrance and the trio descended. After acquiring the assistance of a groundsman, they stood waiting to see if the housekeeper would allow them to see the place. Elizabeth gazed at the house, silently observing to herself once more how happily the place was situated. She remembered the words her friend had used once about the place; claiming that no matter how a visitor felt, Pemberley always managed to a cast a spell of happiness upon them. Indeed, she could confess to possessing the same enchantment.

The trio were a little concerned when the wait had begun to lengthen, and then even more surprised when the groundskeeper returned without the housekeeper in tow. Instead the person that accompanied him was no other that the owner himself.

Elizabeth uttered a gasp which drew an enquiry from her Aunt, but before she could reply Mr Darcy was standing in front of her. Scarcely able to lift up her eyes to his face, she was astonished at her efficiency in answering his enquiries after her family and herself. When she apologised at their presumption and misconception that he was not at home, only then did she risk a look upwards. The result gave her much to think about. Though he spoke with the same tone and intellect as reflected their previous acquaintance, it was clear from his entire mien that Mr Darcy was not at all himself. His face, nay his entire form, appeared almost shrunken, and his clothes, once tailored precisely to his measurements, seemed to hang upon him.

"There is no need for you to apologise, Miss Bennet," he answered to her last words. "It is my own fault. I did not wish any body to know that Pemberley was no longer shut up. And now that you are here, it would be my pleasure to escort you and your friends in a tour of the house."

They were first shown a Dining Parlour, a large, but well proportioned room, and handsomely fitted up. Elizabeth, after slightly surveying it, went to the window and viewed the prospect it displayed.

"What do you think of it?" Darcy asked, surprising her, for she had thought him to be beside her Uncle and Aunt, describing the pieces in the room.

"I do not believe I have ever seen a place so happily situated. Anne was right."

"Right? What did she say?"

"That Pemberley possesses a magic about it that has the ability to make any person smile."

Darcy displayed the emotion as he replied, "indeed it does." He returned to her relatives.

As they continued the tour, Elizabeth found the place to be rising further and further in her estimation. The rooms were all lofty and handsome, and their furniture suitable to the fortune of their proprietor; but Elizabeth saw, with admiration of his taste, that it was neither gaudy, nor uselessly fine; with less of splendour, and more real elegance, than the architecture of Rosings Park.

The owner proved also to be an excellent guide, answering any question that might be put to him about any object within the place, with detail and an unconscious appreciation. He truly loved his home, that was clear to see by all of the visitors. It showed in his every description of each room and his what changes his ancestors had done to them. Even the discovery by Mrs Gardiner of a likeness of Mr Wickham- whom she had seen at a Christmas a gathering at the Phillipses -at a mantle piece, did not discomfort him. Calmly did he tell them that it was his late father's favourite room and everything had been left as he preferred it and that was that.

They soon reached the second level, and were shown into a sitting room which their guide explained had been just done up for his sister, who adored the room. A picture gallery, and three of the principal bedrooms were all that remained to be shown. In the former there were many family portraits, which the owner took care to name each one's identity, along with a story about them which served to produce interest in the visitors who otherwise would not have dwelt upon a stranger. Elizabeth soon discovered his own likeness, wearing such a smile as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her. The painting having taken in his father's lifetime, contrasted naturally with the reality, due to the passage of time. Elizabeth however soon noticed as well how much better the likeness seemed than the man himself, who was trying so much to hide his suffering.

With their tour of the interior now completed, the owner offered refreshment, which was politely refused, before escorting them outside. They walked across the lawn to the lake, where they surveyed the outside of the house once more, before entering a beautiful walk by the side of the water. Here Elizabeth found herself by Mr Darcy's side, her Aunt having taken her Uncle's arm. Once more did she offer her apologies about their intrusion, once more did he brush them aside.

"I am glad you have come," he finished, "for as you know, I am joined here tomorrow by Georgiana and Mr and Mrs Bingley. I would be delighted if, providing you and the Gardiners have no fixed engagements, you could join us for dinner."

"I am sure we would happy to," Elizabeth replied, knowing that they had no fixed plans in the neighbourhood as yet.

They entered the woods, where Mr Gardiner expressed a wish of seeing the entire grounds, only to be informed that they were over ten miles round, causing his wife to request for a return to the carriage, as she was not a great walker.

Mr Darcy obliged them by taking them back the long but easier route, passing through the valley and glen on the way. He observed Elizabeth's regret at not exploring the coppice wood, and decided. Instantly did he offer for them to spend the remainder of their time in Derbyshire at Pemberley, assuring them that due to the estate's position they could visit the other places in the county that they had planned to see as well as seeing the rest of the estate at their own pace. After inquiring as whether they were imposing and being assured that they were not, along with the information of the Bingleys joining him on the morrow, the Gardiners were delighted to accept.

When they had reached the carriage he offered refreshments once more, which were again politely declined, and then bade them farewell until the next day. Lastly, as the Gardiners were climbing into the carriage, Darcy turned to Elizabeth. "Do you approve then of Pemberley?" He quietly asked her.

"I think there are few who would not," Elizabeth replied.

They moved to the carriage. Darcy held out a hand to assist her and then added, "but your good opinion is so rarely bestowed and therefore more worth the earning."

Elizabeth was too astonished by the reply to respond, as she took his hand and stepped into the equipage. She could only watch as he delivered his farewells and the expectation of seeing them for dinner on the morrow, before the carriage drove her away.

Darcy watched the vehicle until it had disappeared out of sight, then walked back inside his house. Only when he had reached his retreat did his mask collapse, along with the rest of his strength. Sinking into a chair, he put a hand to his eyes as the entire visit began to repeat itself in his head. He had been overjoyed to see her, but now the guilt at that feeling had started to attack him in the extremes. It had been an indulgence, one that he should have left to Mrs Reynolds, rather than deciding to take them around himself when she had informed him of their arrival. Yet he could not resist the temptation of seeing her again.

A knock at the Library door startled him out of his gloomy reverie. "Come."

"I thought you might like some refreshment," Mrs Reynolds answered, entering with a tray in her hands.

"Thank you Mrs Reynolds, but I am not hungry."

"It was not a request."

There was only one person at Pemberley who could overrule him by authority of relationship, and that was Mrs Reynolds. Darcy gazed up at the woman who had known him most of his life, and reluctantly allowed the tray to be placed in front of him. Slowly he let a little of its contents pass into his mouth.

His housekeeper was not satisfied. "William, you have had no breakfast, and no lunch. You must eat more than that." She sat down upon the sofa opposite him, showing no intention of leaving the room until the tray before her master was cleared.

Darcy carefully swallowed some more food. "They are to have dinner here tomorrow."

Mrs Reynolds smiled, knowing who he meant. "Good. Maybe that will persuade you to partake of the meal."

"Kate....."

"No excuses, please, sir. Your sister will be here tomorrow and you are a too awful object to greet her. Since your stay here you have done little to improve the neglect you have inflicted upon yourself since I last saw you. Rest assured, it may make Miss Bennet pity you, but it will not accomplish anything else. Promise me, that you will try to return to your normal well and happy self while she stays here."

"I promise, Kate." Darcy smiled at her. "Thank you." He knew however, that the assurance he had just given, would prove difficult to keep.

Part XXIV.

"William!"

He caught her before she could fall out of the carriage, his smile almost as radiant as her own for their reunion.

Georgiana's journey to Pemberley had been a protracted affair. After leaving Rosings as she had done so with her brother in April, she had remained in London while he travelled to Derbyshire. A month exactly was then spent in town under the chaperone of Miss Annesley, before travelling with Colonel Fitzwilliam to his parents estate in Matlock, where she had occupied herself until the time had come to travel to Pearlcoombe Abbey, where she had joined the Bingleys in their journey to Pemberley.

Now, as she set herself back from the embrace he had eagerly returned, Georgie looked with solemn concern into his eyes, her own carrying the silent message that she had noted his neglect of himself and that she was most displeased about it. His reaction to it was all that she could hope for; serious acknowledgement, and promise to make retribution upon the neglect as soon as may be.

"Darcy!" The ever jovial Bingley cried, causing his friend to retain a hold of only hand of his sister in order to receive the vigorous shake from the latter. "I must say again how well chosen Pearlcoombe is! How can I ever thank you?"

"There is no need, Charles, you know that. I only passed the description, name and location of the place on. You did the rest."

"Nevertheless I am grateful for your keen senses in smoking it out." He put a loving arm around his wife as he added, "we both are."

Darcy held out a hand, "Mrs Bingley I am happy to welcome you to Pemberley."

"I am happy to be here, Mr Darcy," Jane replied, her eyes grazing up at the sandstone front entrance. "Anne was right when she said that the place holds an enchantment over you."

"And there are none who are more so bewitched than its owner, I assure you," Darcy added as he lead them into the courtyard to the stairs and entrance hall. "I believe your sister said the same thing when she visited."

"Lizzy was here?" Bingley queried in surprise.

"Yes with the Gardiners. Did you not know of their vacation in the county?"

"When we moved to the Abbey they were still fixed for the Lakes," Jane explained as they entered the first room of the house.

Darcy nodded in understanding, and repeated what Miss Bennet had told him the day before concerning the demands of Mr Gardiner's business which had prevented the party from travelling so great a distance. He further elaborated into his offer and their acceptance to stay at Pemberley, along with their addition to the dinner that evening. The Bingleys were delighted at the prospect of seeing them so soon.

Georgiana meanwhile had gone to Mrs Reynolds who had been there to welcome her home. "Dear Mrs Reynolds, how has my brother been?"

"I think you can see that for yourself, Georgie," Mrs Reynolds replied, their voices low and distance from the man himself. "We have tried to remedy the matter, but you know how stubborn he can be."

"Only too well," Georgie replied. "I hope the presence of myself, the Bingleys, the Gardiners and Miss Bennet will reverse the neglect." She gazed at him unobserved. "But he will only really recover if he heals himself."

Pemberley cast its spell upon Elizabeth once more she arrived there that evening, the Gardiners and their luggage in tow. She noticed the deeper effects it had in candlelight; the glow that the decor and furnishings emanated in result. This glow could be found everywhere in the building, including the owner himself. For the first time in their acquaintance Elizabeth discovered herself judging him not as the husband of her late friend, not as a widower, not as a man of wealth, not as a man of influence, not even as her friend. She saw him instead as a woman regards a single man that she cares for great deal, and spends the night in his company contemplating what it would be like for the rest of her life.

Such a revelation was not realised until later night, but it begun like the enchantment of the estate, in slow, soft, small incidences, rising steadily to a crescendo. Nor was the effect noticed by the man himself. Concerned he was that her every whim should be seen to as was due of a host, but Darcy remained more focused on how he appeared by his manner and discourse to the party rather than awake to any new feeling the lady of his dreams might suddenly have. The words of his housekeeper the night before had done a great detail to affect the concern he felt over how people saw and judged him. His natural reserve had assisted the desire, and he forced himself not to collapse and show the reality. A front of perfect calmness and health had to be kept, at least until it became fact rather than fiction.

Dinner was announced; and it was with surprise that Elizabeth noted her place beside Mr Darcy who was at the head of the table, which had been shortened from its usual length for twelve to accommodate conversation more freely. Jane was opposite, her Uncle and Mr Bingley flanked them, Georgie and Mrs Gardiner at the end. Like the house the meal also served to charm its consumers, containing nothing but the best that the season and his kitchens could provide.

Darcy exerted himself to both eat and talk, and Elizabeth, being aware of his struggles in conversation, willingly assisted him, by requesting a history of his family. It was a topic that he was very familiar and very fond of, for the history had been the first thing he had read; a tradition in his family regarding all children.

This occupied them for the first course. By the time the servants had returned with the next, Darcy had realised that he had run away himself on the topic and apologised.

"Forgive me, Miss Bennet, I am being selfish. I have not even asked you about your own family history."

"No indeed, sir," Elizabeth replied immediately, anxious that he should not slide into his reserve. "It was I who asked you, and I was well aware of the length it might entail."

"But it cannot be very interesting, surely?"

"It is, I assure you," she answered with a light laugh. "Please continue."

And he did.

Night arrived, and the guests retired to their beds. Unknowing to each other Elizabeth and Darcy were the last to fall asleep, both their minds having too much thought upon the events of the evening.

Elizabeth lay awake for two full hours, her mind continually reflecting upon every nuance of the evening, from arrival to retirement. He had been everything she could of expected. It was only her feelings that she believed needed clarification and rebuke. She had no right, no right at all to suddenly think of him as a potential partner in life. Marriage of convenience he may have had, but it was to a woman she regarded as friend, and who had passed on not four months ago. Every feeling in her should forbid it. This place and its magic had stole upon her unexpectedly, catching her off-guard, serving to awake such thoughts about a man she had known for ten months. From this moment on she would make herself more aware of probabilities, such as the likelihood of a owner recently widowed wishing to inform no one in his parishes that he was at his estate for the summer so he could pass the season in the relative solitude that the building afforded him.

With Darcy, he spent most of the night seated in a armchair before the fire in his bedchamber, stroking his faithful greyhounds which sat either side. They, alert as any other dog to the moods of their master, had stayed by him from the moment he had allowed them into his present. Silently had they followed him from the gallery, down the stairs to the Music Room an hour after the guests had retired, pushing their curiosity about the room aside to observe him leaning on the mantle, gazing at the pianoforte.

Just as silently they had returned with him to his bedchamber some moments later, watching with anxious eyes as he dismissed his valet, stripped down to his shirt and breeches, and sank into the chair before the hearth. They had joined him their immediately, pushing their heads into his hands for a stroke and pet before he could sink into a gloomy reverie. Like their master, they knew that they had only obtained partial success.

Darcy lost track of how long he remained haunted by the flicking flames, his eyes fixing upon them as a marker to guide him back to the present, upon the instant that memories of the past threatened to overwhelm him.

Part XXV.

My dear Lizzy, you and I have been such close friends for so short a time. I wish it could be longer, but I know that cannot be. I have to depart, if my wishes for you and my other dearest friend are to come to fruition......

Elizabeth opened her eyes, and the image, like any other dream faded way. Arising from her bed, she walked to the window, remembering the scene in her past where the words had come from. It was when she had sat beside Anne at Rosings, on that dreadful day.... she sighed. Even now she could not recall the specifics of the conversation. At the time she had been too concerned with the need to make her friend content rather than the details of what she was promising herself to fulfil.

Before she could dwell upon the moment now though, her eyes and senses recollected where she was. Pemberley. She looked out, gazing at the prospect properly for the first time. The grounds below her rose quite naturally and gradually into a hill, whose own foundation level remained the same until the woods, which seemed to almost surround the estate, over came its plush greenness. Straining her eyes, Elizabeth could espy two figures upon the hill, working in harmony the only way that man and horse excel at. Even at this distance she could, from the outline, determine the identity of the rider. Indeed, it could not be anyone else; Mr Bingley was married and prone to later rides, while her Uncle preferred to hunt the trout. Elizabeth found herself fixed upon the figure until he arched the horse round to return to the house, whereupon she instinctively turned from the window to a chair. She knew it to be ridiculous to think that he could discern her from where he was presently halted, and therefore put the irrational fear down to her revelations the night before. Verily now she still did not believe in the notion that the feelings which had arisen during one evening spent in Mr Darcy's company were more of a longer nature rather than the effects of Pemberley's enchantment. He was an excellent man- she could hardly acknowledge otherwise, given her intimacy with Anne. Their friendship had presented her with a side to him which she might only now be beginning to learn if he had been unattached upon their first acquaintance. And it was in this significance which the barrier lay. As a rational woman she could not ignore the reality, she recognised that. Had they met in different circumstances..... no, she should not give way to such supposing. There was nothing that could alter the situation between them. It was simply not meant to be.

Upon a hill far away, a rider sat upon his steed, staring at the house. He wondered absently if she knew that he had spent the hours before her arrival discerning which window was to be hers, for just this moment. Loosing any desire to be attuned to his whereabouts or the time, he remained gazing at the panes, until he had almost imagined the figure in white who he had seen move away just as he had come round. Below him his stallion, as wild as its untamed ancestors, stamped a hoof and rapidly reminded him where he was. Flicking the reins he complied with its wish for exertion.

Arriving in the breakfast room not half an hour later he found to his satisfaction only his sister and Miss Elizabeth- how oft he was prone to drop her last name, wishing for his own to replace it -partaking of the bread and pastries his servants had laid out. Delivering a genial good morning to them both he sat down in his usual seat, and discovered, to his surprise, that, for the first time in months, he actually felt a desire for nourishment rather than just a need.

Georgiana noticed her brother's marked alteration regarding food, and unconsciously smiled in relief before drinking her tea. Her companion espied the gesture, but was unable to remark upon the emotion until their host had moved to sip his tea at the window, a custom she had observed from her days at Netherfield.

"Forgive me, Lizzy, I did not mean for you to notice it," Georgiana replied, her voice too low for her brother to hear.

"Then I shall not inquire further about it."

"Oh no, I do not want that. It is something I dearly wish to keep an eye on, and I know full well how rarely my daily pursuits cross his. Yet, the matter is so delicate..... and heaven knows I do not want him to realise my worry....."

"But..." Elizabeth prompted her.

"It is necessary. Since.... well, I'm sure you can guess, I have seen him take little, if any, enjoyment from eating. He eats the little that he does out of necessity rather than want. I know him too well to think that this will not last. It is his way when he dwells too often on things past. This is the first time in months that I have seen any change."

"I understand your concern. Do not worry, I will try to help, if I can."

"Thank you, Elizabeth," Georgie answered, her thoughts adding but I believe you already have. It was too soon for that to be voiced aloud.

Darcy returned to the table, and the rest of the occupants entered the room to partake of the repast, ending the conversation.

While Georgiana offered to show the ladies around the rest of the grounds, the gentlemen decided that their morning activity was to be fishing. As soon as breakfast was concluded the latter set off, their host regretful that formalities had to be observed, while the former dawdled longer, reminiscing over their travel delights.

Thus, many a minute of the morn was passed by host and our heroine fighting to appear all that could be expected of them and thinking about the other at the same time. He failed to lessen the quantity of fish in his estate, she found herself spending the entire walk wondering on his location and what distance he lay from her group. His distraction soon led to his friend speaking almost entirely to her Uncle, and her own for her Aunt to smile at her other niece and their hostess and for them to return the expression in mutual understanding.

At luncheon the entire company reunited, and the weather turned for the sake of host and heroine. In the Music Room they sequestered themselves, Georgiana at the pianoforte, idly playing out a tune, the Gardiners in conversation with the Bingleys, Elizabeth at the window watching the effect of rain on the grounds, and Darcy quietly in the sofa by the hearth, his eyes never moving from her form.

The doors opened and the greyhounds came in, rushing for their master in complete disregard of the footman that had only brought them to the room in a request that they be let out of their confinement for some indoor exercise. Their master brushed away the apology, happy for the distraction, his mental meandering having by now drifted into gloom. Silently he greeted them both, and then watched as they moved from him to meet the others. Despite their size it was with grace that they moved to each person, allowing them to make the first move before sniffing their hands and prancing to the next. With Georgiana they balanced their forelegs upon her lap, willingly accepting her joyful fuss of them, until the woman by the window caught their eyes. Solemnly they walked towards her, sitting down before her in almost a bow. Her own pupils lit up at their arrival, and willingly she held out a hand in greeting. Eagerly they stayed by her side.

Their preference did not go unnoticed. Darcy watched them not with surprise, but the emotion of a man who had long suspected such an event to occur. A man who had foreseen that she would have such a way with everything that he owned, stealing all their hearts without any intent or design, but by sheer manner and character themselves. A man who knew how well the woman had stolen his own heart.

Part XXVI.

With the first day passing so agreeably to all concerned, one could hardly hope that the second would pass by with the same emotion felt by all. Yet it did, even going so far as to surpass the first. The weather continued to prove satisfactorily for this time of year, that is as far as satisfaction can be gained by spending one's time in a typical English summer, being both good and bad, wet and dry, answering not only the requirements of our hero and heroine, but the rest of the guests currently residing at Pemberley as well.

Elizabeth woke to the second morning at the estate with cheerful memories of the pleasant day which had passed before. After the entrance of the dogs, afternoon had soon drifted into evening, bringing dinner. In the Dining Room she had found herself seated by him as previously. Conversation was begun by him, an anxious enquiry concerning the company of the hounds, to which she had replied in a truthful and enjoyable opinion. They had continued to talk amongst themselves throughout the rest of the meal, the other guests happy to let them alone. The formalities of separation by sexes followed, whereupon she had spent a half hour with her Aunt and Miss Darcy. Upon the entrance of the gentlemen, he had resumed his usual seat, which happened to be opposite her, causing the trio, quite naturally, to involve him in their discussion.

As a result of this first day, Elizabeth found her emotions unchanged. She responded to them this time however with a new resolution. While she could suppose herself to be affected by the estate for feeling the feelings she currently felt about its owner, she could hardly assume that he was feeling the same about her. She should not even expect him to consider it. Therefore she knew that it was pointless to dwell and second guess those feelings. Nor should she ever hope that he would learn to feel them too. With this resolution in mind, she put the emotions to the back of her thoughts, and concentrated purely on the present.

Thus, our heroine spent her second day at Pemberley in the noble quest of helping Georgiana and her brother in law, Charles Bingley, in overseeing the health of their host. The latter had expressed his own concern to her during the evening before, and Elizabeth, her own sensibilities deeply concerned with what Anne would have thought of this, promised her willing assistance. This she began today, the weather proving a help to her cause by not melting the frost of the cold night before enough to encourage the thought of fishing. Instead their host and the gentlemen spent their morning with the ladies, where Elizabeth and Georgiana banded together to involve the former in conversation, keeping him so occupied that when food came before them, he ate with enjoyment rather than necessity.

Darcy was not slow to feel the effects. He had noticed his sister's concern, as every good brother should, but until now it had not occurred to him that she would gain Miss Elizabeth's assistance in the matter. Before this day he had never entertained any reality in the idea that she might feel some part of the same concern and affection that he often felt for her. The revelation both pleased and distressed him. He still felt guilt over Anne, and he was worried that the distraction of Miss Bennet's presence might lead him to unconsciously express his deep and loving regard for her before either of them were ready to consider such a motion. As an educated man he knew that his lack of concentration had to do with in part at least to the neglect he had shown in looking after his health, so he began to compensate accordingly. To the delight and relief of his household and of those around him, he ate all his meals, and threw himself not so very wholeheartedly into any estate work that might require his attention while he entertained, as he had been inclined to do so before the arrival of his guests.

Added to this, and in a conscious effort not focus on his feelings for her, Darcy sought to encourage his sister's relationship with Miss Elizabeth. To see Georgiana so much like the young woman he had witnessed before the summer spent at Ramsgate was truly a joy. He saw just how much both Anne and Miss Elizabeth had contributed to make Georgiana smile, laugh, and be confident with her feelings and opinions, and the results did much to heal his own heart as well as his sister's.

Throughout the second day therefore, while Elizabeth and Georgiana were encouraging him in the restoration of his health, he was often reverting to silence in their company, content to watch and or listen to their conversation. For this he had no other motive, only a desire that his sister recover fully, aware of the future when she would find her own love and move away from him. He could only hope that she had better success than he.

As the days passed, Mr and Mrs Gardiner bore witness the state of their niece and Mr Darcy. Both being keen observers, they soon detected how much each felt for the other, and the concern that consumed them enough to prevent any present avowal of feelings on either side. It was a topic that the Gardiners often mulled over between themselves, with the rising worry of when, if indeed at all, the relationship might be begun. Due to Mr Gardiner's increasingly successful business, he could not lengthen their disgustedly short vacation in Derbyshire. Nor could they accept the Bingley's kind offer of taking Elizabeth home in their own time, for the Bingley's stay would only last one more day in the county than their own, for Charles still had a multitude of things to sort at Pearlcoombe.

Mrs Gardiner tried therefore to speed things along, but in vain. Usually Elizabeth confided in her everything that she could not discuss with Jane, especially now because of Jane's marriage, but so far she had not. Mrs Gardiner knew of the letter from the late Mrs Darcy to her niece which had yet to be read, knew why it had yet to be read, and could discern from appearance alone just how her niece felt about Mr Darcy. However until Elizabeth made the move to confide in her, Madeline could render nothing in the way of succour. She knew her niece's character too well to expect anything other than a denial in response if she expressed her suspicions.

Madeline was also aware that it was far too early for either of them to begin such a courtship. The recent mortal departure of Mrs Darcy aside, it was clear that neither of them were ready to even contemplate such a possibility, let alone act upon it. A marriage of convenience for Mr Darcy it may have been, but Mrs Gardiner could clearly espy the guilt that still lingered within him, despite their short acquaintance. Added to this was her niece's relationship with his late wife. For Elizabeth to even consider the idea Mrs Gardiner knew to be impossible. Every feeling for her late friend would justly forbid it. Months would have to pass before either of them would begin to dwell upon such a courtship without any feelings of guilt or betrayal accompanying such an idea.

So therefore Mrs Gardiner could only watch the couple she hoped so much for throughout the stay at Pemberley, along with the constant and private prayer that nothing, upon this green and pleasant land or in their minds, emotions and fears, would hinder and or prevent such a future union. For what happiness such an event would bring, not only to their family and friends, but also to the couple themselves.

Part XXVII.

The Gardiners and their niece passed only six more days at Pemberley before moving from the county back to town. With their absence, distressingly, went what little of their host's brief recovery, which they had accomplished during their stay. Mr Darcy felt deeply the effects of her withdrawal. Within a day of the Bingley's departure to Pearlcoombe, he sent his sister to Matlock, and returned to the cycle he had wrapped himself so much in previously. He ate little, slept even less for fear of the dreams that would haunt him, wore himself out so he would have no dreams, and threw himself into work on the estate.

His household tried in vain to prevent it. Mrs Reynolds, whom had the advantage of the others by being held in high regard, tried every day to get him to eat, sleep and abandon what little estate work remained, but without success. Her battle ended with him taking the key of his library and study, and locking himself in both each day, leaving her no chance to disturb him until meals or the household accounts, which, due his lack of appetite, required almost no attention.

Darcy seemed to notice nothing of the worry and concern he was creating by the neglect to himself. The symptoms had settled upon him from the moment of her departure, and nothing could remove them except her return. He would suffer, but he would not allow her to see it. Pleased he had been once in the knowledge that she cared for him, now he looked upon it with distress. He was not worthy of her concern, nor did he neglect himself just to gain her attention. She deserved a better man than he, a man who had no past that he would rather forget.

Summer began slowly to fade into Autumn, and he moved himself out of the house to help his tenant farmers recover the harvest. It was something he had participated in ever since he was a boy, and they welcomed him to their cause. Yet this change of occupation did not result in a reversion of appetite. He accepted their offer of repast during the breaks, but often ate little or no dinner and frequently missed breakfast upon his return to the house. Usually he was a sensible man and realised that this neglect would slowly kill him, but his affection for her had made him act irrationally for so long, that he no longer paid attention to the qualms of his conscience.

If he had thought the strong focus upon his estate would cure him of his fascination for Elizabeth Bennet, he was soon proved mistaken. More and more frequently would images of their time together come into his mind, causing much distraction. Only one look, or expression, or manner, or turn of phrase, only one of these would be remembered without any reason by his mind, and he would be lost for the rest of the day.

When this occurred he worked himself more harshly to the ground; adding riding and fencing- provided by a retired master from Lambton -to his pastimes, until there was almost no occasion to think of her. This resolution had sporadic results. Sometimes he would go days without thinking anything about her, and other days she would come into his mind no matter what he used to try and his distract himself.

As the days passed, suspicions of the reasons were awakened not only in his household, but also in his tenants and parishes of Kympton and Lambton. When presented with a view of the state of him, the populace of both villages and his rented land could only comment about it amongst themselves. None knew how, or even if a recovery could be brought on by themselves.

The household, however, did not loose hope of recovery. Mrs Reynolds risked retribution one day and wrote to Miss Darcy. She had little idea of what result it could bring, but it was the last avenue open to her.

Georgiana was shocked indeed to hear of her brother's debilitating health. Never had she seriously thought for a moment that when he encouraged her to visit the Matlocks that he had another motive than her happiness. She knew it was not a conscious motive on his part to starve himself, but she also realised that he had sent her away so she could not see it, and try to persuade him out of it.

Immediately she wrote a reply to Mrs Reynolds assuring her that she would return at once, and that everything that could be attempted to help her brother, would be. What she did not mention to Mrs Reynolds, is that as yet she knew of nothing that could be done. She knew her brother in grief and guilt too well. Reversing the process would not be an easy task to accomplish with any degree of success. She could guess at the nature of the long term solution, but also knew that for the solution to be a possibility, other things would have to be achieved, including a answer for the interlude.

At length, Georgiana summoned her courage and confided in her Aunt, Uncle and cousins the full history of events since they had last seen her brother, which, apart from Colonel Fitzwilliam, was well over a year ago. The reaction to the discovery was great; everyone could not be more shocked, so far had the suspicion of such an event been from their minds. Only to Richard did the development seem not so wholly unexpected.

Discussion of what to do as by way of resolution then followed. First proposed was the notion that they arrived at Pemberley without warning, and confront him. Georgiana instantly discounted that:

"He would not look kindly upon us," said she, "and I doubt if he would admit anything to any of us. I do not wish him to be angry with me or Mrs Reynolds."

Second was the proposal that they persuaded him to travel to Matlock, a notion that was also rapidly discounted. They knew his stubbornness all too well, he would give too clever an excuse to refuse. Disguise of any sort was his abhorrence, but he would do enough to make sure that the excuse was reality should they try to check.

The viscount then suggested that they took him to town. Soon that was discarded as well; they had all witnessed frequently the effect of Society upon him. Alexis Fitzwilliam was a practical man by nature, and therefore could not understand how his cousin could be so wholly consumed by the guilt of loving someone while under a marriage of convenience, and how his character would forbid him from reacting upon the affection after the end of the matrimonial barrier.

For days did they admit a partial defeat at this juncture, and return to their previous activities for distraction in the hope it would bring inspiration. In vain did they struggle. Georgiana knew not what to do; to inform any one else would only make them concerned, and feel a uselessness in the inability to offer a solution.

At last then, just when all hope of an answer seemed hopeless, a proposal offered itself up for debate, and the nature of it pleased all.

Part XXVIII.

Pearlcoombe
August 24th

My Dear Lizzy,

I know you will wonder at my writing to you so soon after your return to Longbourn, but the news- or rather the confirmation -came so suddenly as to preclude otherwise. Be assured I am well, as well as any woman can expect to be so upon learning of a little addition to mine and dear Charles' happy union. We expect to have Pearlcoombe noisy with childish delights in the new year.

We left Pemberley as you known but a day after yourself, and since then have had no news from the place, other than Miss Darcy is presently enroute to Matlock. Charles believes his friend has much work to do on the estate, though he knows not what the work could possibly be, for he remembers hearing his friend involved upon it while in London.

Nevertheless it is not the motive of this letter to talk of him, but rather of your feelings towards him. Lizzy, I am not so involved in my own happiness to notice that you and he talked frequently during our stay in Derbyshire, and his often distraction while out of your company. Surely you yourself noticed his attentiveness to you? I cannot recollect a moment during all the time we were all together there when he was not in your company. One occasion in particular comes to mind; he watched you throughout your performance at the pianoforte, and with such a look upon his face as to erase all doubt of what he felt for you.

You will protest to this no doubt, but I saw your concern for him. Charles has told me that he confided to you his concerns over the state of his friend's health, but I would not know my sister as well as I claim to if I did not witness something else, some other feeling from you than just concern and duty you felt regarding Anne. If such a suspicion on my part is false, then I beg you to forgive me and we shall never speak of it again. But if it is true, I beg you not to worry yourself over the rightness of feeling it. He clearly feels the same for you. If your hesitation is a result of Anne, remember what she told you concerning their marriage. Such a future union would cause much happiness to your families, friends and especially yourselves. Delay is only needed for Society's sake, and since when did you much care for what others thought of you?

I hope, dear sister, that you will consider all of the above seriously, and send me a reply only when you have thought fully over the whole.

Yours etc,
Jane Bingley

It would cause considerable surprise to all concerned if Elizabeth, after reading such a letter, did not react with astonishment and surprise. She had not been a week back at Longbourn when she received it, and the reaction that it caused was such as one would expect from one so unsuspecting that another had seen the feelings which had arisen in that county and the strange idea that he felt the same. For a long time did she sit in the garden grove where she had first retreated to read the letter, pondering over the revelations.

When she had first returned to the bosom of her family, Elizabeth had been so caught up in talking with her father, her sisters and listening to her mother, that she had scarcely time to reflect over what had happened in Derbyshire, let alone any thought of him. Only now did she realise that her avoidance had be unconsciously deliberate. For Jane had stated the truth. She did still feel for Mr Darcy the feelings that had been awoken in Derbyshire. The degree and intensity of them had not lessened, indeed quite the opposite, increasing so gradually and so silently in her mind that, almost immediately after reading Jane's letter, she could not protest them without lying to everyone that knew her, including herself.

But the idea of he actually returning those feelings was the thing which made her so astonished to remain where she was until her father came to tell her that it was time for supper. Joy at the idea slowly faded into uncertainty as she recollected the events of her vacation, striving to remember if there was any occasion when he had paid her more attention other than that due of a good host. Jane's recognition of the recital evening could not be confirmed by herself, for she had been wholly concentrated on performing the piece to the best of her ability to notice nothing else. No other impression came to her mind that could confirm her sister's suspicions.

Yet, the thought did occur that she might be so determined to think that he could not feel for her what she felt for him so far that her own view of the stay was clouded beyond true and impartial recognition.

However, after just such a concept had occurred to her, Mr Bennet came upon her, and Elizabeth was obliged to forget the matter entirely for the rest of the evening. Indeed, during the days immediately after her return, she was unable to give the matter any attention, for other persons feelings required to be looked after. There was her father to consider, whose penchant for her did not frequently conquer his abhorrence for the pen of correspondency, and as such had much to talk with her about which she had missed during her absence. The occurrence of their daily evenings together in his study only resumed after her mother and her sisters had exhausted their need to tell her of all that had happened while she was away, and to ask whether she had acquired any new beaux.

Then, just as the days returned to normalcy in the Bennet household, their evenings were taken up with the addition of the Phillips and then the Lucases for dinners and social engagements, along with the rest of the four and twenty families that Mrs Bennet claimed amongst her closest friends. Elizabeth was obliged to be all that sociable and dutiful of a daughter, as well as fending off her mother's entreaties on any new- and sometimes old -eligible personages, and make sure Kitty and Lydia resorted not to their usual wilderness.

Thus, it would be many days and many events would have occurred before Elizabeth ever had time to think upon all that Jane had written to her.

Part XXIX.

With the arrival of Michaelmas signalling the full circle of the year which first drew all in to the events in Hertfordshire and its surrounding counties, the house that begun it all had been closed up for four months. Since the quitting of Mr Charles Bingley, the owners of Netherfield had received no requests to lease the place again. It servants had been transferred or dismissed, its windows and doors shut up, and its game allowed freedom of its skies and grounds without the risk of being shot once more.

Speculation as to who might take up the place had long been exhausted by this time. Many- those who regarded Mrs Bennet as the least interfering and matchmaking of all mothers, indeed, compared to some in Meryton,- Mrs Long in particular -she was the mildest of all -had expected the Bingleys to remain at the place indefinitely and had been mixture of astonishment and insulted when they quit the place in May. The latter emotion soon dissipated in the wake of speculation that another eligible gentleman might take up the place, which accordingly faded into disappointment as the months passed on and no such circumstance occurred.

Ergo, by the time the Netherfield estate began to display signs of life once more, the personages of Meryton, Longbourn, Lucas Lodge, the great house at Stoke and Hay Park, had forgotten about the place; though if you were to recall such a opinion aloud to them, they would deny such a truth entirely. Its closure was reversed slowly; with the gradual arrival of a household staff, followed by the slow renewal of shooting on the estate, but so sporadic was the latter that it was hardly noticed. Only when Mrs Long happened, quite by chance,- at least that is her excuse -to pass the house, and look up to see the windows no longer shut up, that the news of Netherfield being let once more made itself known to the immediate neighbourhood.

Conjectures as to the identity of the new tenants duly followed, beginning with the brief expropriation of servants in order to try and gleam the names of who they served. However, unlike the last time, the servants proved difficult to persuade and refused to yield any information concerning whom they obeyed.

Eventually, the tenant himself, being a man of quick parts, caprice and wit, let the neighbourhood know who he was, by posting a notice in the local newspaper. The name at first did not bring full understanding to all, and most complained that it had been done so very ill; just Lord Edmund Fitzwilliam and family, without a syllable said of where he came from or what his family entailed.

Only one guessed the full at once. Elizabeth could not help but gasp at the news, knowing that there was only one Fitzwilliam family. Confirmation came a day after the announcement, with a letter from Jane to herself, relating the news that the Matlocks had travelled to Pemberley and then set off for Netherfield, bring their nephew and niece in tow. It was at this moment that Elizabeth returned to considering her feelings and the possibility that the man in question might reciprocate them. Indeed she could not foresee any other reason that would bring him to Hertfordshire.

She went to bed that night with the matter still heavily upon her mind, and perhaps it was due to this that when she woke the next morning, a memory she was unaware of ever having existence was the first thing to possess her mind. Opening her eyes she was disappointed to find that it had only been a recollection, so vivid was the sensation of his breath, his touch and his words.

You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you that was what he had said, just before she had lost consciousness, that night when he had happened upon her at Hunsford Parsonage. She remembered now, just as she remembered him caressing her cheek, and smoothing away a curl of hair in accompaniment. Despite the suddenness of this revelation, Elizabeth could not doubt its truth. Arising from her bed, she went to her bureau and opened a drawer, from where she took the letter that her tumult of emotions could no longer bar her from reading.

Hunsford
April 11th

My dear Elizabeth,

I write this with the knowledge that I have not long left upon this world, and with realisation that unless such a thing is written, the future I hope for you and my cousin will never occur.

Doubtless such news of my hopes will cause you much surprise, so without further ado, I will relate to you the whole.

I had not long been in Hertfordshire before I saw that William was attracted to you. Knowing my cousin as well as I did told me at once how events would proceed; he has never looked at any other before you and is unlikely to look at any other after you. By the time of the Netherfield ball he was in love with you, of that much I am certain. The only thing that stood in his way, was me.

Depending on when you read this, and the progression of events, I know not how you will treat this certainty of mine. Astonishment will most likely be one feeling that will possess you, along with disbelief of what I write. I know not how to assure you of the truth. William has not confided in me or anyone else what he feels, yet I know it. I witnessed all his unguarded looks at you, saw and heard all his praise of you that he felt he could express before he realised what he felt and thought there was a need to be circumspect. I have never seen him in love before, but I know him to be so and with you. How you feel for him is less certain at present to me. Since what he told you of Wickham and our marriage I know that you see him for the good and generous man that he is, but whether you have yet to begin to regard him as someone with whom you could spend the rest of your life with remains unknown to me.

You have been such a good friend as to make me feel disgusted with myself as to what I am about to ask of you when I know my eternal farewell is imminent, but I cannot let the words remain unsaid. If you have any degree, no matter how small, of the feelings that he feels for you, please tell him. I know him too well to know that if you do not, he will guilt himself to the point of death over it. I do not wish to make you feel guilty if you cannot express the feelings; nor do I wish you to feel obligated into carrying out such a notion anyway, out of some misguided duty towards me. I only wish to let you know that if you do not tell him of what you feel, he will never have the courage to tell you. His sense of duty has so long been ingrained upon his character that the idea of you returning his feelings will probably never occur to him, unless you let some of your own show.

I know that you think him to be a good man, a good cousin, a good brother, so the possibility that this will grow into more and this hope of mine concerning your feelings is not entirely in vain. I wish so much for him to have the happiness in life that he has deserved for so long. The happiness that I could not provide him, for we were never in love and never hoped to be so either.

I wish I had the time or the strength to persuade you to think and feel the way I wish you think and feel about him. But I know I do not. Therefore I can only hope that my wish is father to your thought.¹

So, dear friend, I bid you adieu, and hope that you do not throw this letter out in disgust, but instead consider all that I have told you and the extent of your own feelings towards him.

Anne.

The knowledge that her recently departed friend had not only known all along, but had also given her blessing to the matter, comforted Elizabeth almost immediately. Her estimation of Anne was increased by this news; that she could be so concerned with the happiness of her friend and husband of convenience while she was suffering her fatal disease made her all the more worthy a friend.

Only one thing was left to distress her. That was that she had yet to hear of his feelings for her from the man himself. Until then, she could do nothing but hope.

1. "Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought." Henry IV, Part 2 (1597) act 4, sc. 5. William Shakespeare.

Part XXX.

The motive of the Edmund Fitzwilliam, Earl of Matlock, in letting Netherfield, was twofold. Firstly, it was in the hope that the move would bring his nephew back into the land of the living; for it had been the solution that offered itself after they had been made aware by Georgiana of his state of health. Secondly, it was also in the hope that it might persuade his own sons to quit the bachelor state. After all, if Hertfordshire had the ability to make one of the bachelor quartet- as he had referred to his sons, Darcy and Bingley in private -quit the state for matrimony and another fall in love, it must possess wonders previously unequal to those anywhere else.

Goodness knows he had certainly tried everywhere else. Where London had failed, he hoped Bath would succeed, and when it became certain that the latter was not having much success either, any other place and or county in whatever order after that. His last resort had been before this county, the residence of his sister, but, knowing his sister as he did, he remained convinced that any visit there was more likely to do the opposite, and scare them off matrimony all together.

At present, all of this remained unknown to the general populous at large. Indeed, as these were the private thoughts of the Earl, how could it otherwise? Yet, unknown to all, those thoughts and hopes were about to be revealed to one man of the neighbourhood, a surprise to all concerned, including the gentleman himself.

Mr Bennet- for it was to be he -came to a halt outside the front entrance to Netherfield and wondered for the tenth time that morning why it was he was doing this. Why he was bowing to his wife's wishes? Surely, there were other places of retreat where he could disappear too until it was safe to emerge? Yes, but Mr Bennet's thoughts did not like to be called Shirley,¹ and thus had dealt their revenge by persuading him that he had best oblige Mrs Bennet's wishes and proceed forthwith.

His thoughts however were also due to get their comeuppance. For they had failed to remember one thing. The unpredictability of fate. Just like Murphy's law² it had the ability to completely against one's wishes and plans without warning, reason, or motive, save perhaps just because it liked to do so. In any case, whether it was due to a severe case of scarlet fever, different schooling, or just luck of the draw, fate was to intercede yet again on behalf our hero and heroine, by granting a circumstance and connection previously both unknown and unforeseen by all.

But to resume. Mr Bennet was shown into the Drawing Room of Netherfield, and introduced to the Earl before any idea of there bring some unforeseen past connection was made aware to him. Thus he was completely surprised when rising from his bow to be greeted by a familiar voice calling him to remember a friendship of old.

Edmund Fitzwilliam, by curious luck of birth and education, had started off life as the fourth unnecessary son of the late Earl, who having already three others before him, saw no need to pay any special consideration to his upbringing. He was sent to Eton and then to Cambridge more out of familial tradition than actual design. But, after having graduating from the latter, Edmund soon found himself swept up the ranks from fourth son to first and heir. Barely a year passed to allow him time to adjust to this extraordinary state of affairs before the Earl had departed his mortal body as well, leaving Edmund little time to learn how to run the massive estate left him.

It is not the intention of this tale to describe in detail how he rose to the occasion and beyond, in fact the entire sequence of events is not at all important to us. All that needs to be said that it was while Edmund was at Cambridge that he met and formed a friendship with Mr Andrew Bennet Esq. a friendship that had remained until graduation, when events prevented either of them from keeping in touch. Both possessed the mixture of quick parts and caprice, the ability to laugh at the absurd and express profound wit and intelligence. In Edmund's case though, he had a whole family to share the amusement with, whereas Andrew had only two daughters.

Their previous connection once remembered, thus laid the way for both to sit down and fall into conversation, relating to each all that had occurred between their college days and their present reunion. The quirk of inheritance soon drifted into talk of their offspring and relations, as Edmund related his reasons for letting Netherfield. Mr Bennet, naturally surprised at the state of affairs between his daughter Elizabeth and Edmund's nephew, had no unfavourable opinion of the latter to give the possible future match anything but his blessing. Plans, outcomes and solutions were set, waiting to be put into action.

Edmund then turned to the matter of his sons. "Richard I know," he remarked to Mr Bennet, "is married to the army, but Alexis has no excuse. If he can only find someone as sensible and as practical as he then he ought to be blessed, but the woman has yet to be seen to exist. Lord knows I have tried to search for her. So thoroughly in fact that this county must succeed where others have failed." Edmund sighed and took another sip of his port. "After that, there only remains my daughter Eleanor, and do not get me started on her."

Mr Bennet merely chuckled in reply. "If she's anything like my two youngest then I pity you, Fitz."

"Well, its partly my own fault. She's had too much of Richard's influence from an impressionable age, thus she far more content fencing with him than making bonnets." He set down his drink. "However she is also only eleven, so I do not need to worry seriously as yet."

Their conversation returned to other matters, and when Mr Bennet reluctantly rose for Longbourn, it was with a happy recollection of the meeting, and a healthier respect for fate than he had ever had before.

From an upper window, Fitzwilliam Darcy watched the father of the object of his affections until he had disappeared around a corner out of sight. He knew his Uncle too well to mistake what their meeting had been about. Whether he feared or welcomed the intervention however, remained as yet uncertain and unclear to him.

The day that his Uncle and family had arrived at Pemberley was still clear in his mind. Having been out in the wilds of his lands, no news of their arrival was given to him until he returned for dinner, and encountered them in the Music Room, where Mrs Reynolds had installed them and given them their bedrooms until her wayward master saw fit to return to play host. Images of their shock and disapproval at his state returned frequently without warning to his inner eyes, making him even more ashamed at himself for letting things slip so low. Having been raised on good principles he had always tried to live up to and beyond their expectations. This was the first time he had failed them, and the failure did not sit well with him at all.

However, he was at a loss for a solution. Restoring his health to what it had once been was immaterial if he could not restore his emotions or his heart to the same standard. He did not think he could spend the rest of his life just surviving on that alone. But the state of both entities were dependent on factors out of his control. While he no longer doubted that he had done the right thing in marrying Anne for her sake and Georgiana's, not for his own, he doubted that it had done any good to his own mind and body.

Yet it was not in the nature of a good brother to do other than devote himself solely to the well-being of his sister, no matter at the expense to himself. It had been an arrogant presumption on his part to presume that a marriage of convenience to a dying cousin would not have any adverse affect upon him. The fact that neither he nor Anne had known that she was dying until after their marriage had nothing to do with the matter. He had made the presumption and now he was suffering the effects of it.

To him, it was simply a matter of taking one day at a time.

How little did he realise that events would spiral out of his control, securing an outcome that would prove beyond all his expectations.

1. I'm breaking the traditions of keeping this in its own timeframe here, by referring to a film called Airplane, which is pun is from. Anyone who hasn't seen it yet, should, it is really funny.

2. Murphy's Law, basically means whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.

Part XXXI.

Having enjoyed the first visit, Mr Bennet could be reasonably assured of enjoying the second. And it was with this and more in mind that he returned to Netherfield the next morning.

He did not return alone. By previous design between him and the Earl, he had managed to persuade Elizabeth to accompany him upon a walk, which, by pure chance of course, would take them by Netherfield, outside which the Earl, would 'just happen' be walking. Naturally introductions would ensue. The Earl would then cry, "Oh, Miss Bennet! Do come inside, you and your father. My niece Georgiana has been dying to see you ever since we arrived here."

Elizabeth was thus caught. Realising now the truth of the expression upon her father's face, she chose not to react how he expected, and followed the Earl into the Entrance Hall of Netherfield.

Almost immediately were they greeted by the flying appearance of a tearful Miss Darcy, as she flew to Elizabeth's arms.

Miss Bennet was all astonishment. "Dear Georgiana, what on earth is the matter?"

Georgiana seized upon her with relief. "Oh, Lizzy, I am so happy to see you! Come, walk with me, we must talk."

With that she led her off to the other side of the house, and out into the formal gardens. The Earl and Mr Bennet observed their departure, smiled at each other in appreciation at the success of their plan's first phase, and retired to the Library.

Meanwhile Miss Darcy had secured her arm in Miss Bennet's, and proceeded at once to confide in her.

"Oh, Lizzy," she began, "I am so grateful to see you at last. Things have been so dreadfully amiss."

"My dear Georgie," Elizabeth could not help to entreat, "what is wrong?"

"It is William, my brother," was the response.

And so began the tale. Elizabeth found herself to be grieved indeed by the conclusion of it. Grieved, shocked. She could not doubt its certainty, for Georgie was too dismayed for it to be anything other than truth.

"And has anything been done, has anything been attempted to aid his recovery?"

"Nothing at all, until now. There was nothing that could be done, unless we found a means of getting him away from Pemberley, where he can avoid us. We hoped this move would deprive him of the excuses which he has used to escape detection."

"Then you must not loose hope. You have only been here a few days. It is too soon to notice an alteration."

"Yes, you are right. But still I worry. He is the closest person I have in the world, and I would not be able to bear his loss." Georgiana paused to gather breath, then tentatively asked, "Lizzy, would you..... that is... I would be most grateful for your assistance."

"What assistance could I possibly provide?"

"Support. You help me achieve so much at Pemberley, when he was in such a state before your arrival. Please, Lizzy, it would give me so much ease."

"Very well, I will. I cannot bear to see you upset."

"Thank you, Lizzy."

Elizabeth took a longer, more solitary route back to Longbourn, an hour or so later. Her mind was overwhelmed by all that she had just heard and seen, turning emotions that, only a day ago, she had been sure of, into a conflicted mass of self doubts. So surprised had she been at her father's design for their walk, an emotion which had then increased with every passing minute spent at that estate, bringing along with it shock and grief, both at Georgiana's words, and the sight of Mr Darcy himself.

Yes, she had seen him. After making her promise to his sister's earnest entreaty for her assistance, Elizabeth followed her back into the house to rejoin her father and Lord Matlock, only to encounter the gentleman that had been the object of their conversation enroute. She could not restrain a gasp at his appearance. She had seen him neglect his health before, but it had been as bad as this. If they had been alone, her impulsive decision to wrap her arms around him would most likely have been obeyed, but they were not alone, so all she could do was stand and stare, as she took the full state of him in.

He had seemed as shocked to see her as she was to see him. Standing for a minute in silence, he had then enquired in tones of agitation after herself and her family. His frequent repetition of some inquiries showed plainly the distraction of his thoughts. When she had asked after himself, purely to see what he would do in response; he seem to hesitate, look longingly into her eyes, before answering, "I believe I have newly gained some improvement towards my previous state."

Never before had his implications been more clearer. Elizabeth had blushed, then looked away, only to see Georgiana smiling in appreciation. Mr Darcy then took his leave, adding in farewell, that he was truly glad to see her again, surprising her by taking her hand in his almost frail own, and raising it to his lips. It had only the briefest of kisses, yet it had been enough to make his sister gasp, and her to blush once more. She blushed even now as she thought of it, and as other hand stroke the skin which he had touched, as if she could spread its imprint on herself.

This was the first time which she had encountered him with certain feelings and sure emotions of what she felt for him. At Pemberley she had believed herself to be under the spell of the estate, but now, her feelings were more clear, and had remained the same too long for her to doubt them any more. Anne's letter had helped remedy a lot of her previous conflict. She wondered now if he had received one, and if so, whether he had read it yet. Would it contain the same thoughts that Anne had conveyed to her? Elizabeth could not believe that it would not be unable to avoid some mention of them, lest she had completely mistaken her late friend's meaning. Had she mistaken it? No, the words were too precise, the meaning too distinct to interpreted in any other way. Would he have received one? Or had Anne time and strength to talk to him about the matter? Elizabeth thought back to when she had been at Rosings, trying to remember if there had any indication which would support the last possibility.

You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. When had he said that? The night before she had learnt that Anne was gravely ill. Surely if his feelings had been clear enough to him then, it were a sign that Anne had talked to him? Or had they just been struggling within him so long, that he had been unable to do anything else but tell her? Had he meant for her to hear them, or had he meant for them to remain unheard? Elizabeth decided that it was the latter. This, coupled with certain phrases in Anne's letter to herself, showed that she had not spoken to him before then, only observed and drawn her own conclusions.

Did he still feel the same? Did she? At this moment, Elizabeth could not tell if her feelings were more to with pity at his state since the passing of Anne. Why had she been so certain of what she felt for him before? Was it because they had been apart, and her vanity had been flattered by his spoken phrase? That is, if he had really spoken it, and she had not dreamt it, during the unconscious sleep brought on by the headache she had felt that night. Oh, she hated this self doubt. He needed to be well again, she needed to see him restored to his previous self, then would she be able to sort out her feelings for him.

Darcy did not know how he had managed to walk away from her. All he could remember was reaching the south entrance, walking to the stables, and saddling his horse, before riding as fast as he could into the wilds of the Netherfield estate. He had not expected to see her so soon. Nor had he expected to derive any pleasure from it. He had thought himself too ill, too conflicted with emotion for that. Yet pleasure he had felt, along with joy, and in so much abundance that he could barely refrain from smiling at her. She had seemed just as surprised. Most vivid in his mind were her blush in reaction to his last words, and then another at his kiss upon her hand. The decision to make that act had been completely impulsive on his part. He had wanted to do so much more than kiss her hand. He had wanted to wrap his arms around her and kiss her lips. He had wanted to kneel at her feet, and ask her to be his wife.

Would he had followed through with these if they had been alone? Upon reflection Darcy decided not. He was still too unsure of himself, still too unsure of her feelings, to possess the courage required for such an endeavour. Sometimes he wondered if he could ever be certain enough to do what was so desired for his future happiness. Was he being too selfish, at the thought of it? Did she deserve a man so dependent on her feelings for him for his state of being?

No, she deserved better than he. But Darcy had tried to tell himself that too many times. Always after the thought had crossed his mind, would he suddenly think of a certain look, or word from her, and that would be enough to convince him to abandon that noble intention. Could he really be so sure that she cared for him? Or was he only seeing her pity at his neglect of himself, a part of the friendship she had felt for Anne, transferring to him, out of some promise she had made to her before she died.

Darcy halted his horse, and dismounted, allowing the stallion to catch his breath, and feed upon the grass before they returned to the house. Careful not to mark his breeches or jacket, he sat down beside the steed, clasping his hands around his knees, as he stared at the countryside beyond. His thoughts however were still focused upon Elizabeth. What had she, he wondered, thought of Anne's letter? For that matter, what had Anne written to her? Darcy did not know, for he had reluctantly left Anne alone that day, returning only when she had finished writing them. Never once had he thought of breaking her privacy, only following her request, and handing each one to the persons they were addressed to.

Only two things he had yet to do which he had promised her. Firstly, was Lady Catherine's letter. At the time of Anne's death he and his Aunt had still been on anything but speaking terms, rendering it impossible to deliver it to her. The letter still remained in his correspondence ledgers, in a bureau in the library of Netherfield. Another letter, equally unopened, lay with it. It was Anne's letter to him. He still did not have the courage to break its seal and read the words contain therein. For the first time he wondered if she had ever guessed what he felt for Elizabeth. He wondered that, if she had, if the letter contained anything concerning it, maybe even going so far as to give her blessing to it. Did he need her blessing? True, theirs had been a marriage of convenience, but they had always been close friends, despite the wishes of her mother, and putting aside that first factor, he would still like to have it all the same.

Was he being too presumptuous however? He had been so careful to conceal the feelings for Elizabeth; had they truly remained undetected to all? Before Anne had fallen gravely ill, Darcy had been certain that he had managed to hide it from everyone, but since her passing, the doubts had grown until he was unable to ignore them. Now he was even more conflicted.

His horse neighed, which, together with the ringing of the Church bells, announcing the hour, brought him out of his thoughts. Back to the reality at hand. It was late, and he should be returning, lest they send out another searching party for him. Slowly he rose and mounted his steed, a decision now clear in his mind. He would read Anne's letter. It was time.

Part XXXII.

One might think that after the arrival of such a decision, the gentleman who had made it would stop at nothing, or forgo not overcoming everything and anything which might lay in the path before it, to carry out that decision immediately.

Indeed, Fitzwilliam Darcy tried. He went straight to the bureau that held the all important letter, placed the key inside its lock that posed as a barrier to opening the drawer, and turned. The click of the sliding metal barrier sounded impossibly loud to him in the silence of the room. However, barely had he turned the key, before another realisation came to his presently much tortured and taxed mind.

That he should learn to lock doors to rooms that he wishes to be undisturbed from. This was not Pemberley; he was no longer in possession of the privilege that comes in having one's own house and the right to bar anyone access from any room that he chose to inhabit for any length of time. No, this was Netherfield; presently let by his Uncle, a relative that usually he regarded as one of the most astute gentleman ever to have existed upon this earth. The fact that he only usually regarded him as such was the point in question. For it was the very same relative which now disturbed him from his present mission.

As was custom in the way of intruders who have no possible way of foreseeing what the person that they have just intruded upon was about to do, the Earl noticed not the not terribly well concealed death glare that his nephew was presently sending him. Or if he did, he chose to refrain from commenting about it. "Ah, there you are, Darce. I have the greatest need of you. Have you a moment or two to be at my leisure?"

Darcy was sure that the Earl knew perfectly well- at least he ought, by the looks he had been sending, else he was not as sensible and as intelligent as he regarded him to be -that his nephew right now, did not, have a a moment or two- for inevitably it would take longer than what he judged to be a moment or two -to spare his uncle. Indeed he happened to perfectly correct in supposing this, for the Earl knew that his nephew did not, but just enjoyed seeing the expression of exasperation that was currently on Darcy's face. Putting this aside however, Darcy also knew that his uncle was also his host, and that he had a lot to be grateful for to him at present, namely dragging him- no, dear readers, you have not misheard, he was dragged, indeed when he is being stubborn, how is he to be swayed otherwise? -to Hertfordshire so that he might accomplish what he had done so far; see the woman who held eternal possession of his heart.

Therefore Darcy replied that he had all the time in the world to serve his Uncle. Those were not his exact words you understand, for he did not want to seem sarcastic, or anxious for favour, but they still convey the general meaning.

But to resume. The Earl, having received the reply that he wished for, continued. "Excellent. Do you, by any chance, happen to know who Sir William Lucas is?"

Darcy almost groaned. He half knew what was coming next. "Yes," he said with the tone of a man who knows his immediate future fate and has no means of escape. "Why?"

"Because the gentleman is at present waiting to be admitted into the present of my family to pay his respects, and until now, I had never heard of him in my life before. I would be grateful therefore if you could come with me and be able to carry the conversation."

The Earl could not have asked at present a more difficult task. Darcy turned the key in the drawer back from its previous position, put the key back in his jacket pocket, and with one last look at the bureau, left the room with his uncle.

It would do well on my part as the humble author to mention at this point that this event did not take place on the same day as when we last visited this county. Indeed the late hour that the church bells signalled had been dinner, precluding Darcy from attending to the letter from Anne until the hour which he could, safely, without having to explain himself, retire.

However that hour was also late, and as a result it prevented him from being in any fit state to think calmly and rationally about what the letter said, let alone read it to begin with.

Thus it was now the late morning after, Darcy having been prevented from getting to the letter and securing the time alone needed to read and reflect upon it, until this first attempt. And this first attempt would turn out to be his only at the end of the day. For Sir William Lucas, having discovered that the tenants of Netherfield had a prior acquaintance as a relative, and this relative was with them, and in the mood to talk- or rather listen -spent most of the day in their company. Being a man with a unmarried children, particularly two girls who were both of eligible age, and a wife who had not ceased her pestering of him until he had relented to obey her wishes, he was determined to waste no time in finding out if there were any eligible gentlemen staying with the Earl, and what connection they had to him. Finding out that they were heir, spare and nephew was more than he had dared hoped for. The fact that the spare was a full Colonel and the nephew was one of the most illustrious personages in the land, could not be anything else but an added bonus. True the latter had previously been married and had shown no interest in either Charlotte or Maria, but that did not mean that he did not stand as equal possibility as either of the other two as possible future son in laws. Therefore, Sir William almost transformed into a certain cleric of our acquaintance, singing- not literately I assure you -the praises of his children until it was hinted more forcefully than the last, that he had taken up enough of the Earl's time. However, he did not leave without securing an acceptance to attend a little gathering at Lucas Lodge in two days time.

His duty now over, Darcy began to make preparations to get the solitude in the library he had previously failed to achieve. Circumstances however, were to prevent him once again. For Sir William had stayed beyond and past when the family usually ate, making the hour now time for tea, which precluded anyone from going off on their own. So Darcy sat back down and exerted himself into answering the request of his uncle to acquaint him with what he knew about the neighbourhood.

There was at least one reward from this chat. Darcy discovered his uncle's previous friendship and its present renewal to Mr Bennet. Such a connection could not afford to be overlooked, and Darcy knew well the advantage that it might give him. Due to his previous time in Meryton, he knew that Elizabeth was her father's favourite, and therefore, gaining his approval would give him some aid into accomplishing his hopes and desires for the future.

So when he did at last have an opportunity to make a dash for the library, Darcy did not feel that his imposed delay had been wasted. But by the time he did try again, he began to wonder if the entire world was preventing him from succeeding. First his uncle and Sir William, now an express from his Steward. The latter, Darcy knew, was a very capable man, else he would never have employed him in the position he held in the first place. For him to send such a letter must mean a grave emergency, and he at once put aside the letter he dearly wished to read.

Naturally, an evening at Lucas Lodge with the assured attendance of the new tenants of Netherfield, was not something that Mrs Bennet wished to avoid. Therefore, once she had heard about it from Lady Lucas, she wasted no time in taxing her husband- he called it taxing, she preferred to refer to it as persuasion -until he agreed that they would go.

Mr Bennet, once he had heard the full details of the evening in question, was perfectly willing to comply with such a usually irksome request. However, he was not about to let Mrs Bennet know that. Such a lapse in character type would ensure the methods that she used to be repeated when another, less welcome diversion from his sanctum would be required by him, and thus he could hardly afford to loose the advantage which his strong resistance usually gave him.

Eventually, Mrs Bennet obtained her wishes. She then announced the evening to her remaining daughters. Lydia and Kitty naturally looked upon the event with great enthusiasm. A man in regimentals was not a thing to be missed. Indeed, a man not only in regimentals, but the rank of a Colonel and single, was not a man to be missed by them upon any occasion. They spent the entire hours until the event itself in a flurry of activity to prepare their gowns and themselves ready for the Colonel to fall at their feet.

Elizabeth looked upon the evening with more fear than willingness. She had no Jane to confide in, only Charlotte, but despite their friendship, even she had not been as close to her as her sister was, by sheer fault of relation. Added to this, was the quite unavoidable fact that she might see Mr Darcy there. She knew not yet how to face him, let alone talk to him. The memory and sensation of his lingering kiss upon her hand was still so vivid in her mind, that she doubted her strength to remain calm when she next set eyes upon him. Not only was there he, but there was also Colonel Fitzwilliam, with whom that, although she did not care for him at all like she cared for his cousin, there was still a prior acquaintance, and one that had not been in the best of times, indeed, quite the reverse. There was also the Colonel's father, whom she had discovered, after the visit to Netherfield, her father knew very well. And knowing her father as well as she did, she knew that his friends were holders of the same characteristics as himself, and therefore knew that her every action towards Mr Darcy would be observed and interpreted; for, as she had been informed by Georgiana, every one at Netherfield knew of Mr Darcy's condition, and possibly his history with her, which meant that her father knew now as well.

Yet, despite all this, she did not wish to remain at Longbourn that evening. The fact that she could not any way mattered not; if she had the opportunity to decline, she would not. A part of her that she was unable to surrender to all her fears, wanted to go, wanted to see Mr Darcy again, wanted to see if he still cared for her the way she supposed he had, the way she cared for him. She wanted to see if there was an chance to accomplish her future happiness.

Unhappily for both our hero and heroine, the evening did nothing to accomplish their expectations. For although both of them had planned to attend, one of them could not.

Mr Darcy was that unfortunate person. He had desperately wanted to attend. Despite the need to read Anne's letter, the need to see her, to be simply around her presence, even if no occasion in the evening granted them time to talk, was greater than anything imaginable. But he could not. The express from his steward prevented him doing anything but shutting himself in a room away from the letter- so it did not prove to be a distraction -and working out the problem that he had been presented with.

In the end it was not as grave a problem as he had feared. Nonetheless, it did require many hours in the sorting out of a solution for it.

Part XXXIII.

By the time of the day after the evening at Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth knew the two words she could utter that would make her dear friend Charlotte, blush. She had been astonished that only an evening had managed to accomplish this much from her practical friend, but indeed it had.

"And how was your time with the Viscount Fitzwilliam, Charlotte?"

Miss Lucas could not prepare herself in time. She blushed at the recollection of it, of him and of his voice and manners, before realising that she needed to deflect her friend. This was too fast, it must be too fast for her to feel so much so soon. "We had a pleasant conversation, yes."

Elizabeth smiled at her friend with teasing eyes. "A pleasant conversation? As I recall, he seemed to be doing most of the talking,"

"Lizzy,..."

"Whilst you stared up at him entranced, and when you did speak, one word was enough to have him suffer the same affliction."

Charlotte glanced at her friend, and saw an expression she knew all too well. She could no long deny the truth, else be teased all morning. "I must confess to have enjoyed his company very much. But Lizzy, it is too soon, is it not? One cannot possibly feel so much after only one acquaintance."

"Especially if one has been so practical, never a romantic before?" Elizabeth added to her companion's comments. "Charlotte, stranger things have happened."

"I do not think that anything could be stranger to me than this," Miss Lucas replied honestly to her friend. "Nothing could have prepared me to believe this would happen to me. I am not like you, Lizzy. I do not have time in my favour."

"Charlotte, you are but seven and twenty! I know of at least one woman who is older but still unattached," Elizabeth replied. "And thankfully, she is not here to try sway people with her orange charms."

Charlotte laughed. "Lizzy, that is unkind."

Elizabeth smiled. "My dear friend, if you intend to utter Jane's most serious rebuke, please do not with a laugh, for I shall know that you agree with me!"

At this they both chuckled, before Charlotte sighed and came to halt upon the path where they were walking, her face serious once more. "In all seriousness, Elizabeth, can I really hope? Or is it too soon?"

Elizabeth thought over her recollection of the evening, remembering how the older brother of Colonel Fitzwilliam had spent most of his time in the company of her friend, and the looks he had constantly been in possession over when staring at Miss Lucas. "I think, Charlotte, that you can hope, if naught else. You have a good beginning, which makes all the difference."

Hunsford
April 11

Darce,

What was it about your first name that made you not respond to it? What was it about myself and the rest of your relations, that made us never attempt to call you by it anyway? It was always Darce, Darcy or William. I remember the only one time I referred to you as Fitzwilliam. You seemed to blink, uncertain. As if you were disappointed at the way it sounded. As if you had dreamt of it sounding another way, from the woman you were to marry.

I apologise for this non sequiteur opening. Alas, I could not think of any other way to begin this letter to you. I struggled to open it with the same theme that I have begun all the others I had to write with. You should see the other five versions of this that just become the latest firewood. I must thank you once for your excellent tutelage in throwing. My aim has improved so much.

You will find this letter disjointed I fear. Already I have drifted from my original intent. To resume now. The debate upon your name.

I know I was not the woman you wanted for your wife. I know that circumstances out of your control dictated this course to you. I am not disappointed by that. I never held any illusions that we would submit to my mother and fall in love. You were too much like a brother to me, and I know you always regarded me as another sister. Nor do I regret our marriage. I am glad to have had some freedom from Rosings, and to steady Georgiana on her course for confidence after that dreadful Ramsgate affair.

I still remember your face when you told me of it; that first visit to Rosings since its painful occurrence. You looked so distraught, so sad. So ashamed at what you believed to be your failure to keep her from harm. I know how deeply you wished to make your father proud of you, and how you thought him now ashamed of you. Dear Darce, he could not be more proud. There was nothing that you could have done to prevent Ramsgate, unless you possessed the ability to foresee its occurrence. The moment that I saw all those feelings of yours, I vowed to make you forget them. To help you in way that I could.

I did not expect marriage to be your proposal. I knew it would be difficult for you to find another companion that you trusted for Georgiana, but I did not expect for you offer the bargain that we entered into. On a purely selfish basis, I do not regret our marriage. You helped me so much. Gave me many things for which I am so grateful. Freedom from Rosings has done wonders, never doubt that.

But, as I became more certain of my fate, I knew the union would not do you as much good as it has done for me. I know your disposition far too well. Blessed with the view that you had of your parent's blissful marriage, I knew that you wanted the same for yourself. Too many tragedies have come to you in your life, Darce. I am only too glad that they have not conquered you.

I know not when you will read this. I can only hope that it is not too soon after my passing, for I know that what I am to write next will affect you greatly. You would not be ready for it until I have been gone for months.

It is simply this; I know whom you love. I knew it almost from the first time I met her that you two were destined for each other. I also know that my friendship and my passing will prove a hindrance to you both, so let me say, Darce, that I approve wholeheartedly of Elizabeth Bennet. Do not attempt ignorance. You could not hide from me, we have known each other too long for that. I know you will feel guilt for possessing the feelings that you possess for her, even though our union was always of convenience, and I know this guilt will continue long after I am gone. You will be stubborn and resistant to this I am sure. All I am asking is that you do not let it affect you for too long. If this illness has taught me something, then it is that we frequently take too much for granted, especially when it comes to our passage on this world. It is not the quantity, but the moments, that should be treasured.

I know you believe that she does not feel the same. But the foundations are there. All that need be added is time together, and you being your excellent self. Then I know, you will find happiness in your second match.

I hope this gave you comfort.
Anne.

Darcy laid the letter aside, his fingers going to his eyes, brushing the tears that had formed during his reading away. As soon as the grief and gratitude had faded, he felt anger stirring within him; directed at himself. Anne would not be happy if she saw him now. He needed to recover; to be himself again before he dared to enter that second match. He had neglected himself for too long. He must present himself at his best to the woman that he loved. Only then could he hope for the happiness he wished to achieve.

It was time to act.

Part XXXIV.

"Oh, Mr Bennet! Such wonderful news I have!"

Mr Bennet, with the greatest reluctance, looked up from his book, and inquired, "have you, my dear? Pray, what is this news?"

Mrs Bennet's response was to wave a opened letter in front of him. She did it quite well, and, had it not been for the look of exasperation upon his face, would have continued. "It is an invitation from the Countess of Matlock, to have dinner at Netherfield this evening!"

"Has the Countess properly met all of us yet?" Mr Bennet queried. "For, I'm sure she would not be so enthusiastic to see us all again so soon."

"Oh, Mr Bennet! You take delight in vexing me! You have no compassion on my poor nerves!"

Mr Bennet would have replied to this, had it not for the entrance of his daughters, and Miss Charlotte Lucas. With a smile did he turn and welcome them into the room, noticing with some relief that his favourite seemed a little happier than when he had last set eyes on her. "Is this invitation for us alone, wife?"

"What invitation?" Cried Lydia.

Mrs Bennet set eagerly about telling her dear girls the joy that awaited them that evening. Her happiness at such notice from so prominent a woman, was only slightly marred, by Miss Lucas remarking, "oh, I am so glad you are to come as well."

"You have been invited then, Charlotte?"

"Yes, myself, Maria and my mother and father."

Mr Bennet observed his daughter carefully as she listened to her friend's response. Was he mistaken, or had her expression changed to one of slight apprehension?

"Well, my dears, this is a great honour! Lydia, Kitty, we must go into Meryton today, and purchase some new lace." And Mrs Bennet swept them out of the room with her.

Mr Bennet turned to his daughter. "And you, Lizzy? Are you looking forward to this evening's delights?"

To his surprise, his daughter answered, "Yes, Papa, I believe I am."

The evening soon dawned. Elizabeth, seated before her mirror, was deep in her thoughts as she waited for Sarah to finish her hair. Her reply to her father had been uttered in complete truth, though she had no idea why she was looking forward to the evening. It would be only the second time that they had met since his return to the neighbourhood; by all rights she should be feeling apprehensive of what awaited her. Yet she felt perfectly calm. In fact, she felt perfectly eager to spend the evening at Netherfield.

Sarah quietly excused herself then to attend to the other ladies of the house, leaving Elizabeth to survey her appearance. She was wearing the same dress that she had worn at Pemberley, having cast many of her newer dresses aside, convinced that they would not suit. Based on this, her mind seemed to be a mess of perfect calmness and absolute nervousness. She knew not what to make of it.

This calmness continued as she arrived with her sisters outside Netherfield. The Earl was there to welcome them, ushering them into the drawing room where the Lucases and the rest of the Fitzwilliam and extended family already sat. Elizabeth noticed with satisfaction that her friend was already seated by the Viscount. She also noticed something else.

"Miss Bennet?" Mr Darcy gestured at the empty seat beside him.

"Thank you, sir." Elizabeth replied and sat down. She noticed that he looked remarkably better than when she had last seen him, some days ago. He appeared more robust, less frail, and much more content with his surroundings. His wish for her company, indicated by his gesture for her to join him, made her bold. "Your absence at Lucas Lodge, sir, was dearly missed."

Darcy had great difficulty in withholding a gasp of surprise. Anne had been right, and he was grateful for it. It had been four days and four nights since he had first read the letter. Four days and four nights since he had decided to restore himself to his previous health. And he felt all the better for doing so. It had been hard to realise properly for the first time how much harm he had done to himself, and the stress he had laid on his body by continuing to ignore it. The first day that he had begun was almost too much of a shock, but, by careful degrees, he had recovered enough to attire himself in the clothes that had been tailored to his more healthier form. Now all that remain was to court the woman he held most dear. "I am sorry for it, but it could not be helped. My Steward had sent me a missive that commanded my immediate attention."

"I hope it was not anything bad?"

"No, thankfully it only took the night." Darcy proceeded to give her a brief but informative summary of what it had involved. The discourse soon developed into a discussion upon the subject in general, and Darcy found himself marvelling once more at how much she knew, and on the many subjects that they were mutually interested in. How well we are suited, he mused. Hopefully well enough to have no more barriers before us.

"Mr Darcy, are you well?"

He suddenly realised that he had not responded to her for quite some time. "Yes, I am very well. Forgive me, Miss Bennet. I was just caught by the reminder of a letter I had read several days ago. If you do not mind my asking, what was in Anne's letter to you?"

Elizabeth blushed, as she replied. "Just a wish that I would find happiness. Why?"

"I recently read the letter that she wrote to me, and I found myself comforted immensely by it. It gave me hope for something that, even in my dreams, I had never hoped to receive. And now, I have even more cause to hope."

"Why now, sir?"

"Because I have just received confirmation from the source of my hopes," Darcy replied, with a significant look at her. Elizabeth gazed back.

The world faded away.

Morning seemed to give Oakham Mount particular beauty, Elizabeth found herself musing the next day, as she walked up towards it summit. The thought had been a vain attempt to distract herself from thinking about the previous evening. For thinking about it she could not avoid, as so much had happened for her to rejoice and gain hope from. He had been present, and all that he had always been in her company, pleasant and gentleman like. Not once, save for the separation of the sexes after dinner, had he strayed from her side. Nearly all of the comments he had made seemed to be meant for no one else but her.

Did she hope too much? Elizabeth could not be sure, hence her long walk so early in the morning, before even the rest of her family were up. She had to distract herself, else she feared that doubt and uncertainty, and then their two opposites would fight to reign over her mind for the rest of the day. Even now they seemed to be winning the battle against her determination to distract herself.

She reached the summit, gasped, and came to an abrupt halt. Cautiously she blinked, convinced that she had imagined the sight before her eyes.

The figure turned and spoke, confirming his reality. "Miss Bennet," Mr Darcy uttered in greeting, "I hoped you would be walking this way."

"You did sir?"

He came to stand before her. "I did."

A long moment passed between them, as he gazed into her fine eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, he made a slight gesture to the path before them. "May I procure your company the rest of the way?"

Elizabeth assented.

Days passed. Now, nearly a month since he had opened that letter, Darcy stood in his chamber, another key in his hand. Like the first, its use allowed entry into a desk, although unlike the first, this desk was one that he always carried within. It was a Davenport, and it contained all that he needed to sort out his estate from a distance, and, in a secret compartment, something else.

Now he seated himself at the desk, lifted the flap, and placed the key in its hole. Gently he turned it, listening to the quiet clicks of the mechanism as it unlocked. Then he slid out the false front panel. Before him lay a box, to which he lifted out another key and unlocked. Bringing the box forward, he surveyed it contents. Then he gently lifted out the smallest velvet box, opened it, checked the content for its condition, and, satisfied with its state, returned it to the box and slipped it into his jacket pocket.

Carefully he restored the larger box to its hiding place, and the desk to its previous condition. Then he rose from his chair and walked to the window. Once more did he take out the object that lay in the small velvet box, and surveyed it in the natural and slowly fading light. He knew should be questioning himself as too whether it was too soon, yet, strangely, he felt everything to be right.

It was time. He smiled and put the ring away. Gazing out at the view, he reflected over the days that had passed. Almost every moment of them he had spent in Elizabeth's company. Without saying a word to anyone he had begun a quiet courtship from the morning they had met at Oakham Mount. Her enjoyment of his time with her had soon become easily detectable, allowing his hopes to turn into certainties.

And now, or rather more accurately, tomorrow, he had arranged to meet her at the very same spot they usually met every morning, and ask her for her hand in marriage. This was not a sudden decision. Indeed it had been something he had planned for many days now, from the minute he had been assured by the lady herself that she returned his regard with the same depth of emotion as himself. She had not declared it audibly, but it had been clearly there to see in her expression as she spoke to him.

Darcy could barely believe his good fortune. All that he hoped for now, was that she said yes.

Part XXXV.

"You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. In declaring myself thus I am fully aware that this revelation will cause great surprise, and, amongst certain people, outright suspicion of my motives. It will also result in a complete reversal of my character." He gently took her hands in his own. "Yet I cannot help nor deny what I feel for you. I had never expected to feel so much, indeed to feel anything of this nature at all. It has come upon me so suddenly, without any forewarning on the practical bent upon which my character frequently,- perhaps now too frequently -relies. So I beg you, most fervently, to relieve me from my suffering and consent to be wife."

Charlotte could not refrain from gasping at such a speech. She had never dared to hope that he would ever make such a thing to her. Or that her response would be so willing to comply with his every request. "My lord, I........."

"Alexis, please, my darling."

Miss Lucas blushed but managed to answer. "Alexis, I would be...... that is I......" she paused and gathered her composure. "Yes."

He seemed at first not to hear her, but then a smile came upon him, and he turned to face her once more. If Charlotte had dared to glance at him she would have seen how well the expression of heartfelt delight became him, but she could only listen, as he told her how much she had come to mean to him in so short a time.

They walked on, without knowing in what direction. There was too much to be thought, and felt, and said, for attention to any other subjects. Alexis offered Charlotte his arm, and they walked as closely together as propriety allowed, while they discussed the surprise that, as each discovered, they had both felt, in realising their feelings and developing attachment to one another.

"I was never a romantic you know," Charlotte remarked to him, "my only desire was a comfortable home. At my age I had long given up any hope of finding anything more. But then you arrived, and suddenly, every conviction I had previously believed myself to hold true, was swept away, and their place arose this."

"And it made you uncertain for the first time in your life," Alexis continued, so in tune were his feelings with her own, "I know, I felt the same thing. Society and the Ton had taught me to be forever on my guard. To expecting nothing true from anyone, and to always be prepared for an ulterior motive. Then I met you, and all those cautions were swept away. I realised that my practical bent, had been a result of the society to which I had been raised with from birth. I had no expectations concerning romance, because I never believed I would fall in love,....... until now." He turned and raised her hand to his lips, uttering, "dearest, loveliest Charlotte."

All this and more did Miss Lucas have the honour to raise to her friend the very next day; when she and Elizabeth were out walking, after the news had just been made public to the neighbourhood.

"I am so happy for you, Charlotte," Elizabeth replied, with such a smile, as to know that she was in earnest. "And what did his family say?"

Miss Lucas went on with her tale then, describing how, when they had returned to Netherfield, a single glance from the Earl to his son had been all that was necessary to make it known what had passed during their walk. Barely a minute later and the Viscount was commanded to depart for the Lodge, to ask her father's consent.

Elizabeth bade her friend her congratulations once more, and then returned to Longbourn, where the cries of her mother's despair that Lady Lucas was soon to have a connection in the peerage could be heard throughout every room of the house. Silently, she sighed. It was not that she did not feel truly happy for her friend, it was just that she could not help but feel envious at the same time.

She passed the door to her father's study at that moment, and noticed to her surprise, that the door was open. Looking up, she met his eyes, as he briefly moved them from his book, and called to her, "ah, Lizzy, you are back. There is a gentleman waiting for you in the parlour."

Elizabeth could not be more surprised. Hardly daring to hope, she opened the door and stepped inside. A single look assured her not to despair; it was he. She executed a curtsey, and verbally announced her presence. "Mr Darcy, forgive me. Have you been waiting long?"

He had been facing the window, and seemed to instinctively know of her immediate arrival, having turned round upon the moment of her entrance, though unbeknownst to her. A silence arose as he took in the vision before him, scarcely daring to believe that the moment had come. "No not at all," he replied softly. Leaving his habitual place of retreat, he walked back into the centre of the room, until he stood barely a step apart from her. For a moment he remained thus, gathering his faculties. Then he reached out and took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips for a lingering kiss, causing her to raise her eyes to his face; in hope and anticipation. Quickly did he confirm both of those emotions. "Elizabeth," he began huskily, uttering her name as one would a fervent prayer, "you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you. How long I have felt such feelings, and how deeply they run through me, calling upon me to relieve their sufferings. I cannot fix upon the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which lay the foundation. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun. With each passing moment spent either in or without your company, they have increased tenfold, until I could no longer delay in silence." He withdrew one of his hands and took out the ring which had been lying in wait in his pocket. Holding it before her, he finished his proposal. "Please will you do me the honour of allowing me to become your husband?"

Elizabeth could do naught else but utter her next words. "I will."

His response was to breath a sigh of blissful relief, and then with a smile, slip the ring on to her finger. It was thus her turn to gasp as she noticed it properly for the first time. "This is not the same ring that........" she found she could not utter Anne's name, for fear of making him reserved.

"No," he replied, understanding her half-finished query. "The Darcy Jewels contain many engagement rings amongst them, each in their own way unique to their owner, and I could not refrain from continuing the tradition by buying a new one to grace your hand. Have I chosen correctly?"

"Oh yes, amethyst is my favourite gemstone. How did you know?"

He smiled. "I obtained the intelligence from Miss Lucas and your sister Jane." He brought the hand to his lips, laying another kiss upon it. "Dearest, loveliest Elizabeth."

With such a compliment, she could not fail to disappoint him. "Fitzwilliam."

The next moment she was in his arms, and he was kissing her with passionate reverence. Only when he had to break to draw breath, did he explain. "Anne was right."

"Right about what?"

"She began her letter to me with a query about my hesitation over anyone using my full forename. As if somehow I had always imagined it to sound right when uttered by only one person. And, until now, I had never realised that truth. I have spent my life searching for the one woman who could convey all she felt by one utterance. And now I have found her." He kissed her again, his hands leaving hers to cup her face, and then entangle themselves in her hair, until the both of them were too breathless for either words or thoughts to pass between them.

Guiding her to the window, they stood surveying the reflection it conveyed; of their contented embrace, with finely matched eyes of the same depth of devotion to one another. Darcy raised his head, letting her rest hers against him underneath his chin, and kissed her hair in blissful contentment. "How long have I waited for such happiness," he softly declared to her. "I love you, Elizabeth."

"I love you, Fitzwilliam."

How long they stood there neither knew, and, of those that discovered them, none dared to tell nor intrude. Mr Bennet was the first and the only, having quietly left his retreat to determine if all had gone the way he had predicted it would. Once he had obtained visual confirmation, he silently withdrew, and returned to his sanctum in order to contemplate the happiness he felt for his favourite, and the depth of the loss he would have to bare when she parted for Pemberley.

Afternoon had faded into evening long before the suitor parted from his fiancee to seek consent from her father. He emerged from the room half an hour later, with an agreement and a invitation to dinner, which he happily accepted. Returning to her side, he remained thus in silent contemplation the rest of the night, while the declaration of their future union was left unannounced until the morrow.

"Did you know how I felt?" He could not help asking when she saw him to his carriage in the darkness of the night.

"Know, no. Hoped, wished that you did, yes." Elizabeth smiled at him, as he silently listened to her reply, marvelling over how the starlight seemed to be mirrored in her fine eyes. "Anne's letter had given me her view, but I could not be certain. Even if I had truly heard those words."

"What words?"

"When I stayed behind at Hunsford with a headache, and you came over. You caught me as I fainted, and I thought I heard you utter what you began your proposal with."

"I did," he replied, amazed and pleased that she had indeed heard the words he had never intended her to hear then, having not the courage nor the position to utter them. "Did you also," he asked softly, "feel this?" He repeated the kiss he had given her that night.

"I did," she answered with a blush, "but I never realised until now."

He came to a halt outside his carriage, turning to face her. "Goodnight, Elizabeth." He kissed her again.

"Goodnight Fitzwilliam." Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow.

Part XXXVI.

"A report of the most alarming nature reached me two days ago. Though I know it to be a scandalous falsehood, though I would injure her memory so much as to suppose the truth of it possible, I instantly resolved on setting off for this place, so that I might my sentiments known to you. And to make the report universally contradicted."

Darcy looked at his Aunt sadly. "I am sorry, Lady Catherine, but to have the report universally contradicted is impossible. I am engaged to Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and we will marry as soon as every thing required can be sorted."

"This is not to be borne! Nephew, I insist on being satisfied! Have you lost all sense of reason?"

"No, in fact, Aunt, I do not believe I have never been more sensible in my life." Darcy stood up from his chair and leant against the desk. To the casual observer, this may have looked like a relaxed posture, but to those that knew Fitzwilliam Darcy well, it was one of barely restrained anger. "You can have no reason to object to what is my own life. You have had no claim on it whatsoever."

"Have I not? Was it myself who planned, while you were in your cradles, to marry my daughter?"

"Yes, but the arrangement was never a formal one, only a wish of yourself. The only reason I entered into the match in the first place was because I had Anne's agreement that it was solely for the sake of Georgiana and Anne herself. Why, now that I am unattached once more, should I hold myself back from marrying again?"

"Because honour, decorum, prudence,- nay interest, forbid it!" Lady Catherine replied, her voice rising once again beyond the levels of normal. She paced for a while in front of him and the desk that he leant upon, in proud, forceful strides. Suddenly she stopped and turned to him again. "I see your design! And now, perhaps, I am not quite so displeased. The continuation of your family's line is of course a priority, I quite understand. But surely you could have made a better choice, from among those of your own circle."

"Lady Catherine, to suggest that my marriage to Elizabeth is due to no other desire than to procure an heir, is an insult to both her and myself. I have asked her to be my wife out of no other interest than everlasting love, and she has replied to me with the same."

"You may believe that nephew, if you choose, but her arts and allurements have only lead you to believe this. She has drawn you in."

"Quite the contrary, Aunt. It is a result of mutual attraction on both sides."

"Oh this is not to be endured! The upstart pretensions of a young woman without family, connection, or fortune. If you were still possessed by sense, you would not wish to lower yourself out of the sphere in which you have been brought up."

"In marrying Elizabeth, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. I gentleman, she is a gentleman's daughter: so far we are equal."

"But who was her mother? Who were her Uncles and Aunts? Do not imagine me ignorant of their condition."

"Elizabeth's connections do not matter to me," Darcy replied, by now almost beyond his limit, "thus they can mean nothing to you."

"Unfeeling, selfish, nephew! You refuse to oblige me? You refuse to obey the claims of duty, honour and gratitude. You are determined to ruin yourself."

"The only thing I am determined in, Aunt, is to act in a manner which will constitute my happiness."

"And this is your final resolve? Very well, I shall know how to act. You are aware that if you follow this course of action I shall endeavour to do everything in my power to assure that you do not inherit Rosings upon my death?"

"I do not care whether or not I get Rosings!" Darcy snapped, finally loosing his control.

"You do not care it seems about a great deal that concerned my daughter!"

"On the contrary, Aunt Catherine, there is one matter that I care particularly about. Anne informed me that she wished any mourning I did for her not to interfere with any future happiness my life may entitle me to. I am fully respecting her wishes in choosing to marry Elizabeth Bennet."

"When did she inform you of this?"

"Anne wrote letters a month before her death, to all her family members, entrusting me to give them out upon her death. One such was addressed to me, detailing the wish that I have just pointed out to you." He walked to his bureau and opened the drawer that contained them, lifting out the one Anne had addressed to her mother, before returning to his previous position. "And here is yours."

Lady Catherine took the letter, and then strode out of the room. Darcy waited until the door was closed, then drew himself up to his full height, and breathed deeply until he had expelled the rest of his temper. Then he turned and apologised to his companion, who had all the while, remained unnoticed by Lady Catherine. "I apologise Sir, that you had to witness such an outburst. Let me assure you now that my other relatives do not regard the match in the same way as Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

"I have no need for that assurance," Mr Bennet replied, "knowing your uncle as well as I do. The only assurance I needed in fact, has already been given to me."

"And that was?"

"That you would be willing to defend my Lizzy against the hounds of hell if need be." Mr Bennet smiled. "I think you shall do quite well, Mr Darcy. Now, shall we return to the settlement arrangements?"

"An excellent idea," Darcy replied, "if first, you will permit me to fetch Elizabeth. I would like her to be consulted on this."

"Just as you should, just as you should," Mr Bennet commented. "By all means, though do not tarry longer than necessary."

Darcy bowed and walked to the door. When he had gone, Mr Bennet grumbled loudly for a while on the annoyance of relatives, and then settled back into the quiet alcove, as he waited for his daughter to return.

Several days had passed since the announcement to the general populous at large that Mr Darcy was to wed Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Many had rejoiced at the match, and almost as many despaired, as it meant another bachelor gone, and another reason for Mrs Bennet to gloat. Her husband was just thankful that none of them bar himself and his daughter knew the true wealth of his prospective son in law, which came close to doubling what had been speculated as per annum.

With both weddings now planned to take place later in the year, the majority of days were spent by the Bennet and Lucas families at Netherfield, as the various arrangements required were sorted out to everyone's satisfaction.

Needless to say one person had not been satisfied. Lady Catherine, even after reading her daughter's letter, was of the opinion that everyone had lost their sanity along with their reason, and retired to Rosings immediately, calling her solicitors, with whom she instantly set about restoring the old entailment attainder, ensuring that Rosings Park would pass to Sir Lewis' younger brother after her death.

That event came quickly. Barely a month after the marriage of Mr Darcy to Miss Elizabeth Bennet had passed when the papers published the sad news that Lady Catherine de Bourgh of Rosings Park had suffered a stroke, and had died, leaving the estate to her late husband's younger brother. Despite their less than harmonious relations, the Darcys along with the Matlocks visited the estate soon after the new owner had settled, and had the fortune to see that Robert de Bourgh was nothing at all like his late brother and sister in law. A single but widowed gentleman, with a secure self made fortune, he also had one daughter, who was to inherit Rosings and all his investments. It was here that Lady Catherine had the misfortune to have her wish of no one connected to her family inheriting Rosings swept under the carpet, as Richard Fitzwilliam fell in love with Anastarsia de Bourgh, and married her within a year of their acquaintance.

As for his older brother, Alexis and Charlotte married a day before their cousins, and lived the rest of their lives in the greatest felicity and comfort. They spent most of their time in between Matlock, Pemberley and Pearlcoombe; where they would keep company of the Bingleys and the Darcys, as they enjoyed the happiness their meeting had bestowed upon them. As their children grew, it soon came to pass that there were many a union between all.

And Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, who presently are stealing a few moments of solitude in the hallway of Netherfield, before joining Mr Bennet and sorting out the settlements, have yet no idea of the happiness that awaits them after their marriage. All they have is the knowledge that their lives will, after such a long wait, surely be bliss. We leave them now, in each others arms, their lips entwined in an amorous embrace, as all thoughts of the future fade away from their minds, leaving only the moment to relish upon.

The End.

© Danielle Harwood-Atkinson 2010.

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